Page 61 of Devious Obsession
Coach Roake follows me into his office, closing the door behind him. The window that looks out into the hallway won’t shield the fact that we’re meeting, but it will stop the passersby from eavesdropping.
“What’s this about, Coach?”
I stay standing in front of the chair. I don’t plan on being here long—I’ve got a paper due for my biology class tomorrow, and I don’t plan on being in the library until midnight. Practice ended about twenty minutes ago, and he called into the locker room that he needed to see me. It gave me enough warning to finish showering and get dressed. My hair is wet, my shirt sticking slightly to my skin.
All’s been quiet on the Aspen front. She’s been keeping to herself the past few days, dealing with the repercussions of the video and waiting for the storm of attention to pass. The room she shared with Thalia in our house was cleared out yesterday while we were at dinner, which means she obviously knows I was behind drugging her.
I thought posting it would make me feel better. But instead, I feel worse. Like I betrayed her by sharing a vulnerable moment. Except, it was a vulnerable moment I created specifically to embarrass her.
Anyway, practice tonight was fine. We did drills and learned a new play, and Miles and the other goalie worked separately on stops. Not out of the ordinary, although all of us were exhausted by the end of it.
I’ve racked my brain for reasons why Coach would summon me, but I keep coming up empty.
He folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. “You didn’t mention you have a half-sister attending CPU.”
“What?” I shake my head in disgust. “Stepsister, Coach. I barely know her.”
Lie. It tastes like ash on my tongue. I know her in all the ways that matter. The way she squirms, how fast to get her to come, her expression when she’s cross, afraid, or in pain. I know exactly how to make her shiver or moan. And I know how to destroy her, piece by piece.
Coach clearly believes me as much as I believe myself, because he grunts at my answer. He sits at his desk and types something out on his computer. He swivels the monitor toward me, and the video that’s been circulating of Aspen plays on the screen. It’s muted, but I can still picture the words she mumbles.
There was more that I didn’t film. Her helpless cries, her pleading with the shadows not to take her. The way her eyes went wide as tears poured down her cheeks, her sobs almost choking her.
My gaze stays glued to the screen, although I hate every second of it.
“Explain this, O’Brien.”
I shake my head, suppressing my anger.
I took it down last night, and I told everyone else to, as well. Obviously, I can’t control everyone. The video was more for my father than anything, but it spread like wildfire. That’ll be the last time I underestimate the allure of Aspen Monroe.
Option 1: bluff my way out of it.
Option 2: own up to my part in this.
Yeah, right. “Not sure what you want to hear, sir.”
Coach sighs and shuts it down, leaning back. “Listen. This is your senior year. Do you really want to go down for something petty like this?”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, O’Brien,” Coach snaps. “I’m not sure what you wanted to gain from exposing this poor girl’s mental illness…”
I open and close my mouth, but ultimately, what the fuck can I say to that?
He seems disappointed.
I dig my nails into my palms.
But Coach is already done with me. He points to the door, his face redder than I’ve seen it. And it occurs to me that this may be taken as some sort of psychotic break, not drugs. Why would anyone think drugs when all the scary things our brain can make us see or do can be caused by malfunctions? By some deficiency of a chemical, or overabundance of another.
Shit.
“I’ve already told people to take it down,” I say suddenly.
Coach waves me off and turns back to his computer. I leave quickly, striding toward the end of the hall. I make it without running into anyone else, then dial my father.
He needs to open his eyes and actually see who he let into our family.
