Obsessed

by Bella Winters

  I don’t know when my father started cheating on Tara, but I do know it was a year before she caught him. He swore up and down that it was only the one time and he’d never do it again.

  That was a lie.

  Another year later, and she’d filed for divorce and thrown us out. I never saw Emily again.

  That moment was my final straw. I moved away from my dad and swore I’d never talk to him again.

  I have only spoken with him a few times over the years. Once, I needed to ask him for medical records. And there was that one year he sent me a birthday card. I still don’t know who gave him my address. It wasn’t me.

  I always try to keep our conversations short. I’m not interested in making up with him.

  Still, I hang the picture. It reminds me of what being loved feels like, even if it was only for a short time a decade ago, and the entire thing was built on a foundation of lies. There were parts of it that weren’t. And those are the parts I hold on to. Those are the parts that made it home.

  Denise perches lightly on the edge of my desk.

  Hell, she wants to stop and talk. I’m not a fan of talking. I like to stay focused on what I’m doing. When my concentration is broken, I lose time trying to get back in the zone. Not that I was doing much that required focus before she came in.

  “You doing anything tonight, Chief?” she asks. “Some of us are going to grab drinks at Hosey’s. You should come.”

  “I’m working late,” I say.

  “Ugh, you always work late. You should think about taking a break every once in a while, Boss. You know what happened to Jack when he never stopped to play.”

  “He got a promotion and bought a house is what happened.”

  Denise rolls her eyes. “Sure, and who’s going to live in that big old house with you? Gets awful lonely eating takeout every night and pulling doubles on weekends.”

  I do eat a lot of takeout. I can’t deny it. Denise has seen the containers in my trash can. Maybe I should get reusable containers so I don’t leave any evidence, but then I’d have to wash them. When would I ever find the time for that?

  “I’ll cry into my glowing reference letters,” I say.

  “Suit yourself.” She leaves and the door falls shut behind her.

  I’ll admit, she’s gotten to me a little bit. It would feel too awkward to go out for drinks with my subordinates, though. I grab my cell phone and text Derrick.

  I’m off work in a couple hours. Do you want to hang out at the Robin? Shoot a round of pool?

  I’m sorry, who is this? Derrick texts me back. It looks like my friend Peter’s number, but Peter would never leave work before midnight.

  Haha, very funny. We on or not?

  I go through some papers while I wait for him to reply. My phone dings.

  Sure. Just checked my schedule and I’m free. Meet you later.

  The Robin is a bar on Third Street. It’s a dingy hole in the wall reserved for those who walk the fringes of society, but I like it. The atmosphere is nostalgic, with the dim lights hanging low, old country on the juke, and the smell of cured cherrywood hits you square in the face the moment you walk in.

  A couple pool tables are lined up in the front, all of them with their felt worn through and blotted with stains from spilled drinks and too much fun. In the center is the bar with a booth circling it. I used to come here on weekends to blow off steam before I decided that my time was better spent at work.

  Maybe I was wrong. As soon as I walk in, I realize how much I’ve missed this place. It’s nice how sometimes in life, no matter how much time has passed, some things just stay the same. Consistent, dependable. I like that.

  Derrick is at the bar, flirting with the bartender. I don’t recognize her, which means she’s the only new thing in here since I was last here.

  “Peter!” Derrick waves me over, then grins at the bartender. “This is my best friend. I see him once a year when he emerges from the hibernation of his work. I think he needs a girlfriend.”

  The bartender smiles at me. Her long brown hair is piled in a bun on top of her head.

  I need to set Derrick straight before he gets any ideas. “My work is important. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  Derrick stabs me in the chest with a finger. “You need to make time for one, my friend. No one could work the amount of hours you do and stay sane.”

  “And since when are women the path to sanity? No offense,” I say to the bartender, but she just laughs and wipes down the bartop in front of us. “Anyway, my psych eval says I’m fine.”

  Derrick shakes his head then looks back at the bartender. “He’ll have a gin and tonic and a shot of fun, please.”

  “No, I won’t. I’ll have a beer. I’m driving.” I sit down on the stool beside Derrick.

  “Did you come all the way out here just to sulk about how you’re not at work?” Derrick asks.

  “No. I really do want that game of pool. Been a while since I made you cry like a girl.”

  “Yeah, you wish.” Derrick gives me a shove that makes me rock on my stool.

  The light-hearted moment turns serious quickly, though. The bartender brings me my beer and I study the label for a moment. “Do you really think I work too much?”

  Derrick snorts. “Workaholics would think you work too much. So what’s going on? I’m guessing whipping my ass at a game of pool isn’t the reason you dragged me here.”

  “I don’t know. This job has been getting to me lately. I’m bored. I miss being away from a desk.”

  “That’s an easy one,” he says. “Take a vacation. Go ziplining.”

  I laugh. “Sure. Ziplining.” He’s missed the point. It’s not just the excitement I like. It’s helping people. It’s knowing that I’m needed. That there’s an immediate effect from my actions.

  Growing up, I knew I could never rely on my dad for anything. It made me independent. It also sucked. Now there’s nothing I love more than being the person someone can rely on. It feels good to give others something I never had.

  Derrick slaps my shoulder. “Seriously, man. Let me set you up. I’ve got some friends who would be perfect for you.”

  I make a face at him. He’s really not listening to me. Some best friend. “Why, exactly, do you think a woman will solve my problems? Shouldn’t I solve my problems first and then find a girlfriend?”

  “It’s not about a woman solving your problems.” Derrick rolls his eyes as if he’s just said the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s about making you feel like you want to solve your problems.” Derrick takes a sip of his gin.

  I stare at him. “When did you become a relationship expert?”

  “Since forever. I’ve had six girlfriends in the last year and you’ve had zero.”

  “Derrick, six girlfriends in a year is not a good thing.” I’m definitely not an expert, but I am aware that relationships are supposed to last longer than two months. “I’m pretty sure that makes you terrible at relationships.”

  “Still better than you.”

  He may have a point there. I rake my mind trying to remember if I’ve met any of those six girlfriends. I would absolutely still consider Derrick to be my closest friend, and not being aware of the women he’s dating seems strange.

  “Weren’t things going well with Jessica?” I ask.

  Derrick stares at me. “Jessica was five years ago. How do you even remember her?”

  Fuck. I do work too much.

  We take our drinks and conversation and move over to the pool tables. I really need to make more time for hanging out with my friends. It’s suddenly occurred to me that I’ve been pretty bad at maintaining even the most basic friendships. It’s a wonder Derrick agreed to this off the cuff meetup. Hell, it’s a miracle he hasn’t blocked me yet.

  Derrick isn’t a very good pool player, so I quickly take the lead.

  “If you were open to dating,” Derrick says, leaning on his pool cue, “what kind of things would you be looking for in a
woman? Blonde, brunette?”

  I sigh. He’s really not letting this go. Loving is the first word that comes to mind, but I’m not about to say something that sappy to Derrick. He’ll never let me live it down. “Smart,” I say instead. “Funny. A bit of a homebody.”

  I sink another stripe and cue up for my next shot.

  Derrick laughs. “And here I thought you were going to say adventurous. What about all that ziplining you’re going to do?”

  The ball hits the cushion and comes twirling all the way back to me.

  “Adventure? Nah. I’d rather be home if I’m not at work.” It’s true. Home is an empty apartment right now, so I don’t have much reason to be there. But if I had somebody? Yeah, I’d be home.

  There are only a few stripes left on the table and almost all of Derrick’s solids. He frowns, lines up a shot, and hits the eight ball straight into the pocket. He curses under his breath and I laugh.

  “Bet money on the next game?” I ask.

  “No way in hell.”

  I’m resetting the table when my cell phone beeps. I check it. A new message from work: a mugging was just reported.

  I could let someone else handle it. I could leave it until morning.

  But someone could need help, and that’s all the information I need to make my choice. I grab my keys from my pocket. “Gotta go. Let’s meet up again next week.”

  Derrick shakes his head and discards his cue on the abandoned table. “Sure. Whatever. See you next year.”

  It hasn’t been a year since I’ve hung out with Derrick. I’m sure it hasn’t. The trouble is, I can’t remember the last time I went out instead of working.

  I’ll make time next week. Right now, someone might need me.

  I get in my car and drive to the station. I try not to think about the stuff Derrick was saying about me needing a woman in my life, or the empty apartment waiting for me when I get home. I won’t make it there until past midnight at this point, anyway. I’ll only have enough time to sleep. Until then, there’s more than enough to keep me occupied.

  Chapter Three

  Emily

  Someone is watching me. I try to shove the thought out of my mind, but it’s stuck there like gum on the bottom of my shoe.

  I’m being silly. I’m alone in my apartment and I’m letting my imagination run away from me. All this is the leftover uneasiness from this morning. And there was nothing. Nothing happened. I just have to shake it off and move on.

  I settle deeper in my couch with my bowl of popcorn next to me and flip through Netflix with my remote, looking for something to watch. Definitely not a horror movie. Not tonight. A romcom seems safe, but I’m not in the mood to contemplate my epic failure of a love life. I pick a superhero movie I’ve seen before and start on my popcorn.

  Normally I wouldn’t take this much time away from studying, but I had scheduled tonight to work on a lab report I will no longer be allowed to turn in. Watching a movie feels better than brooding on my personal shortcomings as a pre-med student.

  A noise outside makes me look over at the window. It sounds like the scuffling of feet. My stomach twists. I set down the bowl of popcorn and edge carefully toward the window. I pinch back the curtain, taking care not to announce my presence there, but all I see are the neatly-trimmed abelia shrubs around my apartment and the parking lot. No people.

  I pull back from the curtains and they close again. It’s deathly quiet, but my hands are still shaking.

  No one’s there. I’m being paranoid.

  My phone rings and I jump. I nervously laugh at myself as my cheery wind chime ringtone keeps playing. This is what giving in to flights of fancy gets me. I check my caller ID. It’s just my mom.

  I sit back down on the couch and answer the call.

  “Emily?” Mom sounds angry, but she usually sounds angry so no shocker there.

  “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

  “I was just checking your grades on your portal and saw you missed an assignment!”

  Hell. I should never have given my mother the password to my grade portal. I switch the phone to my other ear and lay back on my couch. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll turn it in late.” I’m lying, but that’s easier than arguing with my mother.

  “I’ll check it again after your next class to make sure,” she says. “You know I’m paying a fortune for you to go to that school.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know.” My scholarships cover most of the tuition, but there are still book fees and living expenses. My mom paying for it saves me from having to get a job on top of dealing with school work.

  It’s not that I’m not grateful. I am. I know how lucky I am to have my mom helping me out. I just wish she wouldn’t remind me of it every single time we talk. I’ll pay her back someday, once I’m a doctor and making good money. I don’t want to be a freeloader forever.

  “You’d better know,” she says, that familiar warning tone in her voice. And then it’s replaced by a much lighter one, like a switch has been flipped. “Oh, I heard from my friend Kevin yesterday. Did you know his son is an engineer?”

  Brilliant. Straight into the match-making sales pitch. “I’ve never met your friend Kevin.” I try not to sound bored.

  “I’ll invite him to the Christmas party. You can wear your red dress.”

  I rub a hand across my face. My mother is exhausting, and I’ve already had the longest day ever, so I don’t feel very guilty when I rap on my coffee table to imitate someone knocking on the door.

  “Gotta go, Mom!”

  “Emily, wait! Don’t answer your door at this hour!”

  I hang up and toss my phone on the couch. Finally, it’s just me, my popcorn, and my movie. I turn the movie on and try to calm down enough to relax.

  Something snaps outside. A twig, maybe. But it could be something else. It doesn’t have to be a snapping twig signaling something sinister. And if it is a twig, that doesn’t have to mean it’s something bad. Could be a stray cat.

  I pause the movie. This is ridiculous. I’m going to put my shoes on, walk outside, and make sure no one is there.

  I shove my feet into my sneakers and grab my keys. I also grab the can of pepper spray from my purse, just in case the cat happens to be an axe murderer. Are axe murderers immune to pepper spray? I shake my head at my own stupidity.

  When I step outside my building, the night is quiet and dark and drenched in the sweet smell of abelias in bloom. There’s nothing creepy about it aside from the growing cramp of unease in the pit of my stomach.

  I look around to see the lights on in the apartments on either side of mine. Single-story, like the rest of the apartment complex. It’s nice that I never have to worry about deafening hoof noises from above me keeping me up at night, but right now I’m wishing I was on the second floor.

  My place is cheap and close to campus, I remind myself. And in a safe enough neighborhood, too, which is an unheard of trifecta in Boston. A unicorn, that’s what my apartment is. I know people—my closest friends included—who would do anything for this kind of deal. There’s never been a break-in or any other kind of petty crime for that matter. All the more reason for me to quit freaking out about nothing.

  I walk down the sidewalk that leads from my door to the parking lot. There’s nothing and no one. I turn back and scan the sparse trees and bushes. Without so much as a breeze, the branches are still and peaceful. Not even a rustle in the leaves.

  So where’d the sound of a snapping twig come from?

  I shiver and bite the inside of my lip. A squirrel, I tell myself. Or maybe an opossum. I’ve seen the odd raccoon near the dumpster every now and then. One of them could easily be the culprit. I should know better than to jump to stupid conclusions that will only creep me out further, but I can’t help it.

  I step closer to the bushes just outside my living room window to double-check. Right then, something moves in the corner of my eye and I whip around, my eyes frantically trying to land on something solid I can bl
ame.

  But nothing’s out here.

  There’s the sound of feet on pavement from around the corner, then a car starts up. Probably just a neighbor on a late-night store run. It’s unusual, but not impossible. And far better than the alternative.

  I rub my arms to try and get rid of the goosebumps that have shot up all over. My nerves shattered, I walk back inside at a quick clip and slam the lock up as soon as I’m in. I press my forehead against the cool door and take a deep, steadying breath.

  I’m fine. I’m imagining things. Nothing is going on. No killer cats and no killer stalkers.

  I consider calling Heather and asking her to come over, then reject the idea. She’s probably out with her boyfriend, and I’d just be ruining her night over my silly paranoia. What would I even tell her? I heard a sound and now I’m scared, please hold me? I’d rather not.

  I settle back on my couch determined to make it through the movie, and my determination goes a long way because before long, the credits are rolling and my hand hits the bottom of my popcorn bowl. I’m starting to feel better as I clean up. I don’t know why I was so worried before.

  Ready to call it a night, I pad sleepily down the hall to my bedroom and freeze up the second I walk in. The exhaustion I felt a second ago is replaced by something else as my muscles tense up. The window beside my bed is covered in markings. It looks like it’s been done with the grease pen I use to leave myself reminders on the bathroom mirror. With nothing but my twenty watt bedside lamp illuminating the room, I can’t make out what they say.

  Taking a breath, I convince myself it’s okay to move, and slowly step closer to the window until the writing becomes clear. Hearts have been drawn all over the glass. My name is etched in one of them. Around the hearts are hurried, scraggly messages. One says, Emily, I love you. Another, I know we’ll be together someday. And a final one: I’ll make you mine, no matter what it takes.

  I cover my mouth with both hands as a gut-wrenching scream rips from my throat and I stagger backward on legs of jelly. I can’t take my eyes off the words, but they’re swimming in and out of focus now, and my knees hit the floor.