Page 9 of Unhinged Obsession

CHAPTER FIVE

"Look, Serena," I say, already exhausted, "I really don't have time to listen to you pinpoint everything everyone is doing wrong today. Can we just skip all that and I’ll give you a blanket apology for whatever I do or say that isn’t to your liking?"

She blinks.

She actually blinks like she's genuinely shocked someone called her on her bullshit. I’ve had my ribs cracked from being kicked by a grown man wearing boots. I will not be berated by a girl whose only accomplishment in life is that her dad buys her whatever she wants.

Thankfully, I don't have to deal with her for long.

The big barn doors slide open again, as Paris walks in with Benjamin close behind her like a loyal, but rabid guard dog.

He's leading Moonbeam, Paris's retired Thoroughbred off the track. The dark bay gelding ambles along behind him, white socks flashing against the concrete aisle while his ears flick lazily from side to side. Retirement clearly agrees with him. His belly is so big that Serena once snidely asked if he was a pregnant mare, to which Paris retorted, “No, are you?” And times like those, I wish I were a little more like Paris.

Paris is leading the barn’s mascot, Sunny. He’s her pride and joy, despite the fact that he would sell her and me to Onyx Dominion for a single molasses muffin horse treat. They’re sweet, soft, and he has barely any teeth left, so I guess from his perspective it's a pretty fair trade.

Sweet, grumpy, perpetually hungry Sunny pins his fuzzy ears at Serena and then lets his eyes bounce between the rest of us. I sincerely suspect he’s trying to determine who is going to be the easiest mark to get extra treats out of.

His golden coat gleams beneath the barn lights, and he has a wide white blaze that goes all the way down to his pink, wrinkly nose. He has this resting look that tells me he’s permanently offended by the world around him. At thirty-five years old, he has one priority, and that’s how many dinner options he’s going to have any given night.

If I remember correctly, he likes alfalfa pellets soaked in hot water with his senior feed and beet pulp mixed in. The second his old, brown eyes meet mine, he stretches his neck toward me with exaggerated enthusiasm, his upper lip wiggling as I reach up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Hi, handsome," I say sweetly, hoping he’ll lean into my touch for some cuddles. But he’s on a mission. Sunny’s eyes practically cross as he investigates my hand, and I clock the exact moment he realizes it's empty.

The betrayal is immediate, but he doesn’t pin his ears at me like he did Serena just for existing.

With all the offense an old gelding can possibly muster, he lifts his chin, dismisses me entirely, and immediately begins frisking Paris's pockets with his lips instead.

I can't help it. As genuinely stressed and sad as I’ve been, I laugh at his antics.

"Oh, Sunny." Paris scratches between his ears as she speaks to him. "I know. Blair is rude. She showed up empty-handed knowing you’d be starving even though you’re the only horse at St. Augustine who gets lunch on top of breakfast and dinner."

"I'm so sorry," I tell him dramatically. "I forgot your peppermint."

Sonny looks me right in the face and huffs.

I think he called me a curse word in horse language.

Then I hear Serena start talking and I suddenly realize I’d rather be surrounded by people scratching their fingernails on chalkboards for all of eternity.

"I don't know why you insist on keeping that thing." Her hair is slicked back in a low bun, and she’s dressed like she’s going to a show, but really she’s waiting for an instructor to walk her around the arena and pretend her seat isn’t terrible and that she could keep her heels down to save her life.

But that’s none of my business, so I don’t say it out loud.

"He's thirty-five. You can't ride him, you can't compete on him, and he's taking up a stall that⁠—"

Paris clears her throat, and it's the politest interruption I've ever heard. She turns slowly, her impossibly blonde ponytail swishing across the back of her light pink shirt. Benjamin reaches down and adjusts her pink hair bow as if he’s busying himself so he doesn’t overstep. If the smiles on Paris’s face is any indication, she can handle Serena herself.

"I've heard Saints say the same thing about you," she says pleasantly. "Yet somehow your daddy still pays for you to go to this school so you can follow boys around and beg for their attention. Did you get invited to the Sinners or Saints this year? Oh, what’s that? You didn’t get a letter?"

My mouth falls open because neither Paris or myself wanted to get that letter from The Society. It's hilarious to me that she’s using it against Serena, who has been nothing but mean since she stepped foot on this campus.

Benjamin coughs into his fist, and I'm almost positive he's hiding a smile. I get confirmation when he shoves his glasses up and isn’t able to fix his face first.

Serena looks like someone physically slapped her, and my God, after years of dealing with her just being rude for no reason, I wish someone would.

"I'm just saying," she sputters, "being an equestrian, especially at St. Augustine, is a privilege, and you don’t even take it seriously. Neither of you do." Serena looks at me, as if I’m going to cosign her talking trash about me.

Benjamin shifts beside Moonbeam. It's so subtle that most people probably wouldn't notice. His shoulders square ever so slightly, and I know exactly what that means. He's about two seconds away from stepping in.