The Obsession

by Jesse Q Sutanto

  Sleep took a while to claim me. When it did, it was uneasy, a dark forest full of blood and dangerous secrets that snagged at my skin and sipped my blood. I might have screamed out loud a couple of times. In my dreams, I bit and scratched at something dark, only to find out the thing I was attacking was me, and then I wept with revulsion and lunged at myself again, claws outstretched. I was the biggest monster of them all.

  I woke up more exhausted than before I’d gone to bed. I stayed in bed for a while, watching the dust motes glitter as they floated through the streaks of sunlight streaming through my curtains. No closer to figuring out what I was going to do about my little problem. I shut my eyes.

  There was a hesitant knock on my door. “Sweetie, you awake?” Mom asked.

  I turned my back to the door. I couldn’t face Mom right now. I couldn’t sit at the kitchen counter and have some bullshit girly chat with Mom about how cute my date was. I needed time to think, to let it all sink in, to get my head straight and figure—

  “Detective Mendez is here, and she brought doughnuts. They’re still warm. I’m making coffee. Come on, sleepyhead,” Mom said cheerfully, then she padded back downstairs.

  She might as well have kicked me in the chest. Mendez. I’d spent last night swimming in a lake of despair; now, all of a sudden, fear sliced through the black waters. I came fully awake, my senses painfully alert. Every alarm bell ringing. Mendez is here!

  I shot out of bed and paced about as silently as I could. Don’t want them to hear my footsteps downstairs. Maybe I could pretend not to feel well. But maybe that would make Mendez even more suspicious. She was obviously suspicious, otherwise she wouldn’t be here with doughnuts. What do I do what do I do what do I do?

  Calm. I must stay calm. Or must I not? How do innocent, non-cop-killing teens behave two weeks after the death of their beloved stepdad figure? Would they still be grieving? Or moving along nicely?

  My mind clacked furiously as I brushed my teeth. I splashed water on my face and studied my reflection. I had the good fortune of having a near-perfect complexion—there were no dark circles nor puffiness under my eyes. I looked well-rested. Well-adjusted. Is that a good thing?

  Then it hit me: Mom. Of course! All I had to do was follow Mom’s cue. If she was still grieving, I should probably also be grieving. And if Mom was all breezy and fine, then I could probably be all la-di-da. Mom had sounded happy and relaxed at the door, so that was how I should carry myself. Okay. I got this.

  Ten minutes later, I went down the stairs and greeted Mom and Detective Mendez with a cheerful, “Morning!”

  Mendez was seated adjacent to Mom at the dining table. She gave me a Saturday-morning smile—bright, cheery, relaxed. But her eyes gave me a quick once-over.

  I looked back at her, my face open. I’d done well, I knew I had. I’d put on a pink cable-knit sweater over faded jeans and tied my hair up with an actual, goddamn scrunchie. No one, especially not a cop, has ever been murdered by a girl who wears scrunchies with daisies printed on them. Mendez couldn’t possibly find anything suspicious about me, not like this.

  “Your mom told me you had a big date yesterday,” Mendez said as I slid into my seat.

  My skin shrank at the mention of Logan, becoming too tight for my body. One fucking emergency at a time! I wanted to scream.

  “Yeah, it was okay,” I managed to say. I’d been so focused on dealing with Mendez’s questions about Brandon that I’d completely forgotten to consider what to say if she asked me about Logan. Why’s she even asking me about Logan?

  “She’s been so secretive about it,” Mom said. She and Mendez exchanged a look that said, Teens, amirite?

  Mendez gave a laugh that was probably designed to sound light and breezy and very one-of-us-girls. “Where’d he take you?” She popped a doughnut hole in her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine, studying me, assessing, prickling across my skin like spider legs.

  I needed caffeine to sharpen my sleep-dulled mind, so I took a glug of coffee before answering. It burned my tongue, and I coughed, almost snorting it up my nose. Oh god. I was so bad at the whole Appearing Innocent thing. “Um, we went to this like, obstacle course thingy in the middle of the woods—”

  “Oooh, Monkey See Monkey Do?” Mendez said. “I love that place! Good choice. I like this kid already.”

  It took every drop of will not to give her a Look, not to give any indication of anything bad happening with Logan. New strategy: my date was uneventful, boring, and I probably won’t be seeing more of Logan.

  “Yeah, it was okay,” I said. I tried to punctuate it with a hair flip then belatedly realized I’d tied my hair back with a goddamn scrunchie.

  Luckily, Mendez didn’t seem to notice the awkward hair flip. “Your mom tells me you’re thinking of applying to the National University of Singapore,” she said.

  I glanced at Mom, who beamed proudly at me.

  “It’s one of the hardest colleges to get into in the world,” Mom said.

  Mendez nodded. “Very impressive choice.”

  “Well, I haven’t gotten in,” I mumbled.

  “You will,” Mom said loyally. She turned to Mendez. “She has a 4.0 GPA, and you should read her college application essay. It made me tear up.”

  “I’m sure it’s excellent.” Mendez smiled at Mom then turned her attention to me. “How’re you holding up, Dee?”

  Here it comes. I glanced at Mom, took in how she was carrying herself. Bravely cheerful. Right. “Well, it hasn’t been easy…”

  Mendez nodded encouragingly.

  “But I think Mom and I are doing the best we can?” Should that have come out as a question? I tried again. “We’re getting by.” I wondered belatedly if “getting by” sounded too much like “getting over it.” I was a robot trying to pass as human. Before long, Mendez, someone who was actually paid for detecting bullshit, would sniff out my lies and—

  “Good, good,” Mendez said. “I’m sorry if I’m prying. I wanted to make sure you’re both doing okay. I’ve been trying to move things along with Brandon’s life insurance, but you know how insurance companies are.”

  I almost snorted out loud at the mention of Brandon’s life insurance. It was one of the many gestures he made earlier on in their relationship to prove what a good guy he was. To prove how much he cared. “Look, babe,” he’d said, presenting the insurance papers with a flourish. And Mom had fallen for it. So had I, actually. As far as gestures went, it had been a damn convincing one.

  Mom gave a bitter laugh. “I know how they are, all right. It took ages after Dee’s father passed for his insurance company to pay out.”

  “I really hope Brandon’s insurance company pays out before college. I’ve heard international student fees are no joke,” Mendez said.

  “Yep, they’re brutal,” Mom said. She glanced at me and smiled proudly. “But Dee here has been working really hard at her part-time job. They pay so well, much more than you’d expect from part-time work at a school!”

  Mendez’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

  My stomach curdled. The last thing I wanted to talk about right now was my part-time job. I tried a small laugh, which came out wooden. “Mom’s exaggerating.”

  “What is it exactly that you do, Dee?” Mendez asked.

  “Just boring, old library stuff,” I said quickly. Too quickly? Shit. Change the subject, quick!

  “I don’t know about boring. You’re helping to save up for college,” Mom said. She turned to Mendez. “That’s why it means so much to hear that you’re following up on Brandon’s life insurance. It’ll help us out a lot, Detective.”

  “Please, call me Val.” She hesitated for a second. “I just wanted to—uh, this might be inappropriate, but, um, I know Brandon might not have been the easiest person to get along with sometimes, and I always wondered if he—um, you know—”

  “
Brandon was…” Mom stared into her coffee. Her voice came from afar. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but…” Mom said, and her chin trembled a little. Then she looked straight into Mendez’s eyes and an understanding passed between them. Mendez nodded, her face registering no surprise, only an I-knew-it expression.

  My stomach plunged. Mom had pretty much given Mendez the information she’d been hankering for—that we were being abused by Brandon, that we had a motive for killing him. Mom didn’t care if we had a motive for killing Brandon; she thought his death was an accident. She couldn’t notice the new way Mendez was looking at us. I could almost hear her thoughts whirring away, the mental calculation speeding as we sat there sipping our coffees and nibbling at doughnuts—they both have motives, which one did it, the mother or the daughter, the mother or the—

  Mendez’s gaze flicked from Mom to me, quick as a striking snake. Too fast. I was caught with my mask off. Something flickered in her eyes, and I felt the firm hand of the law closing around me, squeezing. Crushing. I saw the answer in her eyes, searing bright.

  The daughter.

  * * *

  The rest of Saturday passed by in a haze. After Mendez left, I wandered around the house with my headphones on. They weren’t plugged into anything; they were there so I wouldn’t have to talk to Mom.

  More texts from Aisha. Helloooooo? Details about the date pls!

  I began to type out: It was goo—

  Nope. Couldn’t make myself do it. My stomach clenched, my teeth clashed. The thought of telling Aisha, of all people, that my date with Logan went well…

  I turned off my phone instead and went back to trying to figure out how to get out of the shitstorm my life had become. But I was no cunning plotter. I knew I was hopelessly outmatched by both Logan and Mendez. Both were strategists—meticulous, able to see the big picture, patient enough to stick to the step-by-step aspects of their plans. And here I was, stuck between them.

  Hah.

  The same nightmares plagued me that night, and in the morning, I awoke with a start when Mom knocked on my door.

  “You’re gonna be late for school,” she said.

  “I’m up,” I called out, then I remained in bed and stared at the ceiling for a while.

  A delicious smell wafted through the door, tickling my nostrils. Something bready along with eggs and sausages and coffee. Despite myself, my mouth watered. What did I have for dinner? Mom had gone out with her friends, and I…had a big plate of nothing. Maybe I’d feel better after a good meal. I got dressed and bounded down the stairs. “I’ll have a big plate of whatever you’re making, Mom,” I said, halfway down.

  “Morning!” someone said. Someone who was distinctly not Mom.

  Logan.

  My legs forgot how to move. I stood there, staring at him, my stalker, my blackmailer, as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a frying pan loaded with what looked like diced mushrooms and onions. What the hell was up with people thinking they could drop by my house for breakfast?

  “Take a seat,” he said.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” Mom said, her head popping from behind the fridge door. She took out a carton of tomato juice. “Logan brought bagels and offered to cook us breakfast. Why didn’t you tell me the two of you are partners in chemistry lab?” She placed a glass in front of me and poured some juice into it.

  “Mom—” My voice was strangled, small. It was drowned out by the other sounds—Mom chattering as she poured juice for all of us, the pan sizzling as Logan cracked eggs into it. Dimly, I felt myself sinking into a chair. My legs had given out beneath me. “Mom—” I tried again, louder this time, and Logan turned his head and snapped his gaze on mine. I choked on my next words. He was still smiling his easy smile, but his eyes were steel, a warning etched into the hard lines of his mouth.

  “Yes, sweetie?” Mom was too busy poking inside a paper bag. She missed the look of horror that passed across my face. “Which bagel do you want? Sesame? Poppy seed? Plain?”

  I tore my eyes from Logan’s, my heart racing. I couldn’t do it. He’d tell her everything. He’d show her the video, show her how I’d walked past Brandon’s Camaro and then turned around and put my foot out and tripped the jack—

  I forced a smile. “I’ll have a sesame one. Thanks.”

  Mom winked at me when she passed me my bagel. Lowering her voice, she leaned close and said, “I like him, sweetie. I think he’s a keeper.”

  Mom always did have the worst taste in guys.

  Chapter Ten

  Logan

  By the time we finished our breakfast, it was time to go. Delilah mumbled something about catching the bus to get to school, but you could tell her heart wasn’t in it. We both knew I would insist on driving us to school, and her mom would tell her riding the bus was ridiculous given I had a car and was also going to Draycott. We walked out of the house with Delilah’s mom telling me I was welcome at their place anytime.

  Anytime, Logan, when you get tired of boarding school food.

  I laughed when Delilah jerked open the door to the car. This was something I loved about her. I knew that hidden deep beneath the thick layers of shyness, Delilah had a temper that was always bubbling, constantly on the edge of erupting. It was a privilege to know this side of her, the side she’d kept hidden so well that nobody else knew about it. Nobody but me. Months down the road, when we’d be solidly, definitely, In a Relationship, we’d surely get into some passionate fights because of her temper, and I couldn’t wait for that to happen, to have Delilah be comfortable enough to show me everything, all the raw, red edges she’d hidden for so long. But for now, I couldn’t let that spark get the better of her. She wasn’t thinking straight, what with all that happened in the past couple of weeks. It was up to me to be the rational one. If I wasn’t careful, she’d end up burning both of us down.

  Sure enough, the moment we were ensconced in the cocoon of the car, Delilah jabbed a finger into my chest and hissed, “Never, ever show up at my house again, you freak.”

  I won’t lie, that hurt. I knew I shouldn’t let it. People say all sorts of terrible things in the heat of the moment that they later regret, and this was obviously one of those times, but still. You freak. Freak.

  It was something Mom called me. When she found my Sophie box—the strands of hair, the old sock I’d managed to steal from Sophie’s gym bag.

  It stung. I’d even brought bagels. Deep breaths. I wasn’t a freak. I just had a bit of difficulty controlling my impulses. But as long as I understood that about myself, I’d be fine. Perfectly fine.

  When I finally managed to shake Mom’s voice out of my head, I forced a smile. “Dee, take a deep breath.”

  “Don’t tell me to take a deep breath!” she cried. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Logan, but whatever it is, you are not welcome at my house, okay, you asshole?”

  Christ, the girl was brutal. I tried again. Love is patient. “You’re stressed out—”

  “Hell yes, I’m stressed out! You know why? Because I freaking murdered my mom’s boyfriend and now it turns out you’ve recorded it and I don’t know—I don’t understand what it is you want!”

  “I want you to give us a chance,” I said in calm, measured tones. Love is kind.

  She looked at me like I’d grown another head. “Yes, but I don’t get it. You know what I did. You know I’m a killer. Why would you want to go out with me? Logan, look at you. You’re a real catch. You can date anyone you want.”

  I wanted to shake her. I hated having to sit here and listen to her say these things, because what was she really saying? “You can date anyone you want” means “Why me?” I hated how she’d been so broken by Detective Jackson that she’d think of herself in this way. How could she believe she wasn’t worthy of me? Of anyone? But over time, I’d make her see I wasn’t out of her league. We were perfect for each ot
her, she’d see that soon enough. I looked her straight in the eye, unflinching, and said, “I want to date you.”

  She stared at me like the head I’d just grown had started licking my other head. “But why?”

  “When you meet the love of your life, you know. It’s useless trying to pin any sort of logic to it. You might as well try to solve a calculus problem by chewing gum. And Dee, you need to know this about you: You’re amazing. You’re perfect. You can date just about anyone you want.”

  “Logan—” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, but there was a tremor in it. “You don’t know me. You can’t possibly know that you love me.”

  I wanted to shake her. Why did she keep questioning it? Questioning us? She wasn’t supposed to fight this hard.

  Deep breaths.

  “Look, I get that it’s going to take some time for you to accept that we’re meant to be with each other. And that’s okay. We have all the time in the world. I told you, I’m willing to go at your pace”—I held my finger up when she opened her mouth to speak—“as long as it’s moving forward.”

  She sat there for a while, staring at me, breathing hard. My chest tightened with guilt. This wasn’t what I wanted. The last thing I needed was for Delilah to fear me the way she feared Detective Jackson. I had to make her see I was nothing like him.

  “Just spend some time with me,” I said kindly, and my heart ached because Delilah wasn’t used to kind, wasn’t used to being handled with tenderness. “You’ll see it’s really not as bad as you think.”

  She didn’t answer, merely turned her head so she was looking out the window. I started the car and turned on the stereo. Her favorite song came on. She glanced at me, her forehead clearing for a split second, and I smiled, hopeful. Then she scowled and punched the Power button on the stereo.

  “You probably didn’t even know about Planet Green until you stalked me,” she snapped.