Page 2 of Twisted Obsession
My thumb nail picked absently at the corner of the already abused copy ofL.M. Montgomery’s The Blue Castlein my lap. The crumpled little edge was pinched and pressed in a futile effort to uncurl it, but the spiderweb of cracks and folds that marred the simple cover ran deep. It was one of the hazards of buying books from used bookstores; there would always be a roadmap of someone else’s time with the book. But that was my favorite thing. I loved the little secrets people concealed within the pages, the notes, and highlights of their favorite parts. I loved reading through a book and finding a fellow book lover’s words back to me. The majority of my books were used, and their deformities only made me love them all the more.
The damaged corner came off under my careless picking and fluttered down into my lap. I sighed as I stared at it, seeing it, but not really. It only brought to mind another book a million years ago, a different lifetime when I had someone I could share them with, someone who appreciated the breaks and creases as much as I did, someone who understood the importance of each word cut into paper.
The girls read.
I’d seen them crack open a book or two in the past, but they didn’t need it the way I did. They didn’t haul tattered copies of their favorite volumes around or even see the need for the physical when digital was so much more convenient. I owned an ereader. It was a gift still wrapped and unopened at the back of my closet.
Darius loved paperbacks.
Not hardcovers.
Not digital.
He liked flipping the pages through his fingers in a fan of black and white. He liked stuffing the copy into his pocket after Iwould hand it to him. I always made sure I got him the smallest version for that reason.
I missed him.
I missed our talks and the way he’d focus on every word I said as if I were giving him directions to dismantling a bomb. I missed our book swaps and the random texts he would send of something he’d see that would remind him of a book we both just finished. I missed the way he’d almost smile when I would get outraged by his outlook on a villain character. I missed our normal, non-book chats. I missed the ink, metal, and musk scent that lived on his skin, and the way he’d always slide an amused sidelong glance in my direction when his family was being a tad bit extra.
I missed him so much it fucking hurt to think about.
There were other things, inappropriate and highly off limit things I missed, but those were never allowed to see the light of day. They hurt more than all the others put together.
Occasionally, I cracked the box open just an inch and let myself linger on the memories of his lips devouring mine, his hot breath scraping across my skin, his hands tearing at my clothes, but only in the darkness of my bedroom at night. Those thoughts only ended one way — with me finishing what he started alone in the cold expanse of my bed.
The helpless spine cracked beneath my grip, and I quickly loosened my white knuckled fingers. I ran my thumb along the fragile dip keeping the pages together as if in apology. All those thoughts were neatly tucked back up and replaced in its box with all the other things threatening to spill free. They could never come out while the girls were around, particularly Lavena. She could never know how I’d betrayed her and would do so again without a moment of hesitation if given half the chance.
I slanted a glance in the other woman’s direction. Her attention was on the road, her fingers drumming to music onlyshe could hear. The radio, all music was banned from the car if Sasha was in it. For some inexplicable reason music and motion made Sasha nauseous. An oddity that baffled all of us, but it made for long, silent drives when we were all headed somewhere together. I didn’t mind it so much. The silence was fine compared to the deafening thunder of bass and screeching Lavena was fond of.
“Enzo wants to know if we’ll be back Monday morning or evening,” Sasha broke into the silence.
The woman in the seat beside me smirked, showing sharp little canines were her red lips curled up at one corner. “You should tell Enzo to join us. I haven’t seen him in such a long time.”
“He’s in the middle of a job,” Sasha explained, the rapid patting of her fingers dancing across the screen.
Lavena scoffed. “You can tell him we’ll be back when we get back. He’s not the boss of me. At least, not outside the bedroom.”
“Gross,” Sasha muttered, going back to her message. “I don’t want to know what kind of weird kinky shit you two are into.”
Lavena and Enzo were an open secret we all knew about. They attended functions together and occasionally hooked up, but they dated other people and lived their separate lives and that was how Lavena liked it.
“Shit. My signal died.” Kas gave her phone a hard shake as if to knock the sense back into it before tossing it down into the knitted bag by her feet with displeasure.
“Mine, too.” Sasha pitched hers down onto the seat between her and Kas. “Remind me again why you keep choosing bum-fuck nowhere for our vacation.”
Lavena smirked. “Because you addicts need a break from your fucking devices. Your brains are turning into literal garbage.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kas countered. “Some of us have school—”
“Bullshit,” Lavena cut in. “What school, you liar? You just want to cyber hump that lumberjack from Alberta.”
Kas kicked the back of Lavena’s chair. “Fuck you!”
“I don’t think I’m your type. I look like shit in plaid.”
Sasha burst out laughing. I had to bite back my own twitching lip at the look of outrage, and slight amusement on Kas’s face.
“You’re such a bitch.” Despite the insult, there was no heat behind the weirdly affectionate words.