Page 10 of Quiet Obsession
Shaking off my unease, I scoot closer. “My move?”
Noah doesn’t answer right away and when I peer up at him, he’s watching me as he did before. Focused, calm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if I’m a problem he can’t solve. He lifts his glass, taking a measured sip, and as he licks his lips, I spot a barbell piercing close to the tip of his tongue.
“Go ahead, Millie.”
My skin warms under the dark, penetrating stare and something about him makes me tingle.
Maybe sending Hyde away wasn’t such a good idea.
3
Creed
This. This is why I don’t drink.
My head’s pounding, my mouth’s dry, and there’s a fucking disgusting taste coating my tongue. As far as I recall, my drink of choice last night was whiskey, not battery acid.
Grunting into the pillow, I turn to lie on my back. The clock on the nightstand reads 8:42 a.m. but I squint, making sure, because everything’s blurry.
I don’t remember crawling into my bed. I don’t remember undressing, either... Maybe because I only managed to shimmy out of my hoodie. It lies crumpled on the floor. My jeans are still on, the belt off, zipper down. The light spilling into my bedroom pierces through my skull, amplifying my pounding headache.
“Goddamn it.” I cover my face with a pillow, then promptly yank it off, my eyebrows scrunchingalongside my nose when I get a whiff of burned toast.
I better be having a fucking stroke.
The alternative means Hyde has decided I’m in desperate need of immediate supervision. And that means I fucked up.Again.
Jamming my fingers into my eye sockets, I sit up and swallow the pang of guilt before it festers.
Time to face the music.
Hyde’s a good friend. The best I ever had. He’s my brother by choice, and despite being the same age as me, always does the big-brother act. He’s got a higher sense of duty and a compulsive need to care for the people he loves, whether they want his care or not. He’s patient, a fucking saint, but, as I think I’m about to be reminded, rub him the wrong way and he goes nuclear.
He’s probably fuming about the mess in the kitchen. Fuming that I ditched his calls yesterday. Fuming that when I finally did call, I couldn’t say his name without slurring.
Fuck. What did I say that brought him over? He knows why I drank myself into oblivion, he knows I’m fine, and yet theone timehe needs me to hold it together so he can take care of his little sister, here he is.
Yeah, Hyde’s a great friend.
Me? Not so much.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, grab the discarded hoodie and shove it over my head, zipping up my jeans as I barrel out of the room. Three Days Grace and “I Hate Everything About You” greets me in the hallway,coming from downstairs.
A little on the nose... Hyde’s way of saying he’s pissed without saying anything. He’s standing at the stove, sleeves rolled past his elbows, a spatula in hand. The mouth-watering scent of eggs and bacon wafting through the air turns my stomach.
“You would’ve had a choice if you showed up five minutes ago,” he says when I drop into a chair at the dining table. “Too late now. Scrambled it is.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, raking a hand through my hair. “I don’t remember asking you to come over.”
“I didn’t need an invitation.”
He slides the eggs and bacon onto two plates, adding sliced avocado and the slightly burned toast. Grabbing both servings, he finally turns, cutting me a look, his lip curling in disgust.
“You look like shit.”
“Feel about the same. Shouldn’t you be with Millie?”
I swallow hard, my mind rushing back almost a year and I see her in a hospital bed—blonde, pale, lips tinted blue, dark bruises under her eyes. I only saw her like that, never conscious...
