Page 95 of Secret Obsession
It doesn’t work.
There’s a bone-grindingclickof a lock engaging, and then… nothing.
I stand there for a second, staring at the door. Waiting for Miles to open it up again, to say:Just kidding!
He doesn’t.
I try the handle again, but it doesn’t budge.
I shiver.
Wait.
I look around, and my stomach knots. It isn’t just a room that he’s locked me in. I go to the shelving and tip the closest box toward me. Frozen balls of pizza dough roll around the bottom of it. I move along, wincing at the bite in the air.
It’s only going to get worse.
Does he just want to play hero?
I laugh at that, then kick a box. It’s full of something hard and heavy, and it barely moves. My foot, however, feels the effects. I howl and hop away, cursing the box and Miles. Like, what the fuck is his problem?
I exhale a visible cloud.
Fuck.
My drunkenness is wearing off faster as I pace. I’m not in dance condition anymore. I haven’t been working out since before Amanda booted me off the team. Where I used to run and take enjoyment in the weight room, it just felt too hard to go there by myself. Especially sad.
Sometimes it’s easier to do nothing than one tough thing.
No, it’salwayseasier to do nothing.
I watch my breath puffing in front of my face, the cloud rising and dissipating. I had a jacket when I arrived, but I lost that somewhere between my seat and here. Beer usually makes me hot, which means I definitely shed it on purpose.
Stupid.
I lean against one of the shelves and slide down it, wrapping my arms around my legs. My fingers are cramping from the cold, but the worst part is my hair. My head is like an ice block. When I touch a lock of hair, it’s crisp. Freezing already.
Do I have my phone?
No. It’s in my jacket pocket.
I close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of my arm. My mind spins, trying to figure a way out, but all I can think of is the burning cold.
And Miles’ last words.
That I’m self-destructing? That I want to die?
Maybe I do.
Would that be the worst thing in the world?
“Yeah, it would,” I say out loud. Surprising myself.
Is this how I want to go? Because he could just leave me here and then I really would be toast. I’d be a frozen corpse by the time anyone came by, which probably wouldn’t be until next week. For the next game. Or I’d traumatize the delivery or stock person. Poor unfortunate soul.
Dying hasn’t been my plan.
But I can see why he thinks that’s my path. I’ve been…self-destructing, as he said. Refusing to connect with my emotions.
