Curious Obsession

by Elora Ramirez

  I must be losing my shit.

  But I know the truth: it’s not my students. Not really.

  It’s Silas.

  He is the reason I’m bent over in my kitchen experiencing things I haven’t felt in years. Nothing else has happened — my life has been perfectly vanilla until this year.

  For far too long I’ve allowed him way too many moments of crossing boundaries because he’s just a teenager but that’s wrong. He’s a grown ass man by now — a grown ass man still in high school but with the emotional bandwidth of a kindergartener who is beside himself because he isn’t getting what he wants.

  Me.

  I start sobbing then — deep, choking sobs that come from the realization that I have completely lost control of this situation. Again: who thought I should teach? Who put me in charge of these humans? Who is going to take over here? Because it really can’t be this bad. I am clearly losing my fucking mind over a few notes left behind on my car and desk and inside my house.

  Jesus Christ.

  It’s not just notes, though.

  Simon walks in then, pausing in the entryway where the carpet meets the kitchen tile. I turn quickly so he can’t see just how much I’m falling apart.

  “Babe?”

  I feel his hands on my shoulders and he turns me around, deep ridges of concern etched across his face. I lean into his chest and wipe my cheeks with my hands, inhaling his scent.

  .::.

  My pho cold and forgotten on the stove, we make our way back to the bedroom. I’m exhausted now that the tears have finally stopped, and I point toward the soft light filtering through the darkness.

  “Can we head to bed?”

  He pauses for a moment a wrinkle creasing his forehead, and then nods. He has learned in our time together that more often than not, I don’t want to talk about whatever is stressing me out, so he skips over the asking me about it and moves right into reminding me of my options. Because apparently, my boyfriend is intuitive enough to know my falling apart has to do with my job.

  Curling up behind me and wrapping his arms around me middle, he leans in close and kisses my ear.

  “You know all you have to do is say the word and you can come work with me, right?”

  I sigh and let myself collapse into his chest, my back feeling the way he rises and falls against me. His consistency — the stability — scares the shit out of me. When he talks about me working with him, I can’t even begin to think about the ramifications of us falling apart and me being stuck working with him.

  He wants so badly to take care of me. And I want so badly to run from any type of commitment because I know what happens when you begin to trust a sure thing. At some point, this is all going to disappear. It always does. I’m not the runner though — I’ve never been able to escape. Like the books. It’s why Lavender freaked out so much when I decided to leave for Providence.

  Instead, I freeze. I go quiet. I ghost. Emotionally or physically, at some point I make the decision to shut down in order to push the other person to leave.

  So tonight, I find myself doing just that. I breathe in slowly through my nose and don’t reply. I just squeeze his arm and twist my head so I’m right in the crook of his shoulder and allow myself to drift off to sleep with his breath on my neck. For now, he’s here.

  For now.

  22

  Everything is dark on my way to school. I leave early on purpose in order to get to the school before the hallways are populated: usually before 6am. This is my favorite part of the day — just me and the road, the sun peeking over the horizon and beginning to color the sky, no thoughts except for my own. More often than not, the rhythmic sound of the highway lulls me into a state of relaxation and meditative thinking and allows my creativity to take over. Which. according to Lavender, is what I need in order to stop picking apart decisions and breaking them into pieces in order to determine their worth.

  “How’s it in your brain these days, Juni?” she’d asked with a knowing smirk on her lips. It always infuriated me, the way she knew me and would poke me on purpose. Now I know it was her way of connecting with me. No one knows you like a twin. This is both a blessing and a curse.

  I think of what she must be doing in that moment and realize that she’s most likely just now falling to sleep. Outside of crazy hours at work, she prowls the night hours hunting for creativity like I waited for it during the early morning hours. Ultimately, I knew we were different sides of the same coin.

  I leave early in order to get to the school with enough time to still hear my own thoughts, and she stays up late to harness the energy of the moon or what the fuck ever. All I know is that the creativity that appears during these moments is unmatched, and so I let it flow. So many people complain about the commute, but it’s become my respite.

  In San Francisco I relied on public transportation and didn’t really think twice about having a working vehicle that could get me from one place to the other. This was great and easy and made decisions about where to go really simple. But it also took away a lot of freedom. I had a car in San Francisco, but it was fifteen-year-old Honda Accord with a questionable engine. I never thought twice about just letting it rust in storage. It’s now owned by some high school senior, which is fitting because who doesn’t have their own history of a dilapidated car that barely gets them to where they need to go during their formative years?

  Purchasing my Subaru Crosstrek was one of the first things I did when I came to town, and I still experience a tiny thrill when it comes to being able to leave at any moment and travel the north eastern coastline.

  I consider pulling my phone out to send Lavender a Marco Polo, but decide against it and continue on my way, breathing deep and enjoying watching the world wake up around me.

  I see a car on the side of the road as I pass the interchange where the highway splits off in another direction. I wrinkle my nose.

  “What a nightmare,” I whisper to myself.

  I drive for another ten minutes and see another car on the side of the road. Five minutes later, I see two more. Then five. Then with ten minutes away from the school, I notice cars lining the highway. I fight to slam on my brakes and wonder what in the world could be going on. People are out of the cars, talking to each other, pointing to their tires.

  They’re all flat.

  “What in the —“

  My whisper is cut short by a pop sound and I know immediately what’s happening. My Subaru swerves and I narrowly miss the car next to me. I careen toward the median, embracing for impact. By the time I crash into the railing, metal is scratching and I know all of my tires are dragging against the asphalt. I barely have time to recover from the crash before I see someone walking toward my car, a smile on his face.

  Silas.

  I blink and try to wrap my brain around what’s happening.

  “Hi, Juniper. You look ravishing this morning.”

  I blink slowly, confused.

  “Silas?”

  He leans into my window, the glass crunching beneath his feet. I’m taken aback by the overwhelming scent of antiseptic. I jerk away and he reaches in, caressing my face.

  “I told you, Juniper. You cannot stop this train. Do you understand now? Do you see what I will do for you?”

  I slap his hand away and struggle to gain purchase in my seat. My head throbs. The seatbelt cuts into my neck. I need to get away. Why can’t I get away? I glance around, and realize I’m the only car nearby. There’s no one else.

  “You did this?” I shake my head again, confused. “But how —?”

  He opens the door and leans over to get me out of the seatbelt. I start fighting but it’s no use. He’s too strong, and I’m too shaken, and there’s nothing I can do. I start crying then, big heaving sobs, begging for anyone to come help me. Once he loosens the seatbelt, I push against his chest in order to get away but simply pushes me back against the seat, holding a cloth in front of my face. A scent hits me like a violent fist and I gag.


  The antiseptic.

  “Just give in, Juniper. Just let it happen,” he whispers.

  As I’m going under I hear the song on the radio rise to the surface, Taylor Swift’s voice cutting through the madness and ether singing about being haunted by her ex-lover’s face.

  I can’t even wipe the tear falling down my cheek.

  .::.

  I awake with a start, my heart pounding.

  “Juniper?”

  I stifle a cry before realizing it’s Simon. I look at him in confusion, feeling his arms and chest with my hands to make sure it’s really him and not an apparition.

  “S-Simon?”

  His face is full of concern, and I can tell he just woke up. I look at the window behind him and see that it’s still dark outside. Moments from the day before circle back into my memory.

  Silas in my classroom.

  The tarot cards.

  The snowstorm.

  Silas in my house.

  But now here, in my bed, next to me? It’s Simon. He’s leaning forward now, earnest in his worry.

  “I-I think you had a bad dream. Are you okay?”

  Only then do I notice that I’m sitting up, my body drenched with sweat. I swallow and straighten my back, pulling my sheet closer to my chin.

  “I’m fine,” I whisper.

  He looks at me incredulously.

  “Babe, don’t get mad, because I mean it in the most loving way — but you do not look fine. You look like you saw a ghost.”

  I stare at him then, letting him receive the full weight of my fear and terror and anger.

  “It was just a dream, babe. Give me a fucking minute to collect myself and I’ll be okay. Just go back to bed.”

  He clenches his lips together then, nodding his understanding. He doesn’t look happy, though. In fact, he very much looks as if he wants to dig some more and figure out what’s wrong. I look away from him, hoping he gets the hint.

  “Got it. Well. Sweet dreams, I guess.” He snuggles back into the sheets then, back turned away from me, and is snoring within minutes. I watch his chest move back and forth as his breaths get deeper and deeper and only then do I finally let out a muffled sob.

  23

  I wake up with my head throbbing. I haven’t had a bender in years, but this feeling rolling through my bones is like the worst rager times a million. Even worse than the morning after that rave Lavender made me go to in college. I close my eyes and squint against the sun bursting through the window and realize it’s a lot brighter than usual.

  Groaning, I rub my eyes and turn slowly to stretch and see the time.

  11am. I blink, thinking that I must have seen it wrong. I haven’t slept this late in forever. I let my head collapse back onto the pillow and watch the fan whir above me. I hear Simon in the kitchen and silently hope he’s making coffee. My hand falls to his side of the bed and I realize the sheets are still warm. He must have just woken up as well.

  Last night and the dream come back to me in a fog, the edges blurred from the sharp teeth of memory. It takes me a moment before the feeling drops into my belly.

  The worst kind of foreboding.

  I think I might be sick.

  No wonder I feel hungover. Nothing like trauma and nervous system activation to make you feel as if you’ve been hit by an emotional semi.

  Simon walks in to the room then, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Despite the protest of last night’s pho, I anxiously reach out to claim the liquid gold.

  “Please tell me that’s mine,” I croak.

  “I thought I heard you waking up and figured you might need this,” he says with a smile, handing me the coffee. I blow on the liquid out of habit before taking a sip and allowing the caffeine to roll through my veins.

  “Waking up, yes. Actually awake?” I shrug. “Debatable.”

  He chuckles and leans down to kiss my forehead before sitting down on the bed by my knee.

  “About last night.”

  I take a longer swig than necessary, feeling the burn against my throat and esophagus. I fight from wincing.

  “Yes?”

  He pulls at a thread on the blanket and twists his lips, and I know he’s trying to figure out what to say and how to say it.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine?”

  He watches me for a moment longer before nodding and looking down again.

  “I feel like there’s….something going on. And I don’t know what it is, but it’s obviously affecting you,” he looks at me then and I fight to hold his gaze.

  He clears his throat again and places his hand on my leg.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I’m here for you.” A smile peeks out and he squeezes my hand and the pressure feels good. Safe.

  “I know, Simon,” I whisper. I sigh. “I’m just — I’m stressed. Work is a lot right now. And there are students in my class that are bringing back all of these memories of my mom —“

  He nods, a look of recognition and understanding crossing his face.

  “The notes?”

  I freeze for half a second before shaking my head.

  “No — those are nothing. Really. They probably don’t help my stress, but it’s more than that — it’s….” my voice trails as I try and find the words.

  “Grief is a bastard,” he surmises.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  As if you can sum up everything I’m going through with one fell swoop. As if that alone would solve everything. Even still, I’m not about to offer anything else. I let him follow that train of thought to its completion, even though it’s slightly askew from what is actually happening. He doesn’t need to know about Silas. Not yet, anyway.

  Simon clears his throat again and I suddenly realize he looks nervous.

  “I was thinking,” he ventures.

  I try to keep my expression open — expectant. But my heart is galloping against my ribcage.

  Please don’t be another conversation about coming to work with you.

  “What if we move in together?”

  My mouth drops open in shock.

  Definitely not what I was expecting.

  “Us?”

  He laughs, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

  “Well…yes. That’s what I was thinking.” He opens his hands and gestures in front of him, “I’m already over here most nights anyway. We can make it official?”

  I stare at him, disbelief battling an unmistakable sense of excitement at what this step would mean. But also, absolute terror. I think about his condo downtown.

  “You want to move in here? Give up your condo?”

  “I know how much this place anchors you, so it makes sense. And I can rent out my condo — there are plenty of people moving north right now.”

  “Oh.”

  It’s all I can manage.

  He grabs my hands and I watch them like a puzzle, hoping the answer would float up and out of our entwined fingers.

  “You don’t seem as excited as I would have hoped,” he whispers, trying to catch my eye.

  “I’m surprised,” I admit. “It’s not a small thing to move in together, Simon.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “And I realize I’m the one who is often asking if you want to just stay over, but I guess I just thought we had more time before we got to this stage.”

  He moves one of his hands and lets it rest against my cheek. I lean into him, the heat radiating from his skin a reminder of what we have — what we’ve built.

  “I love you, Juniper Reese. And I’m committed to seeing how this relationship plays out. I want us to move to that next step — we’re so good together.”

  “We are,” I agree.

  His hand falls and I breathe sharp when his finger begins to trace my collarbone and the heat transfers to his gaze. He knows I can’t resist him when he touches me like this.

  “Simon…” I struggle to breathe. There’s so much to talk about — so much we need to get out
on the table if this is going to work. So much I have yet to even mention to him.

  “Let’s move in together,” he mutters against my lips and when I gasp as I feel his hands elsewhere, he takes that opportunity to show me just how serious he is — I almost forget about the cloud of worry hanging over my head.

  .::.

  A few weeks later, I’m in the classroom speaking with a student when I feel someone watching me. I stiffen, knowing who it’s going to be before I even look up.

  “Good morning, Ms. Reese.”

  “Silas,” I intone, not offering a glance in his direction. I smile at the student in front of me and return to the conversation about the gala. “You were saying, Madeline?”

  She bites her thumb and I can tell she’s worried.

  “I called around for sponsors and I can’t find anyone. We don’t have a caterer or a band or a photographer or —“

  I cut her off, knowing in this state, she was only going to work herself up even more talking about it. “I’ll take a look at the budget and get with Mr. Dillion about the specifics to see what we can manage. We’ll figure something out.”

  She breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. “Thanks, Ms.. Reese. I’ll see you in second period?”

  I nod.

  “Always.”

  She walks away and I turn, making my way to my desk. I feel a hand on my arm and I close my eyes for a brief second before swallowing my words.

  “Were you just going to walk away from me?”

  “Silas — this is enough. You’re being highly inappropriate.”

  He glances at me then, his gaze rolling down my body.I raise my hand and throw my fingers in a peace sign, motioning from my eyes back to him.

  “Seriously?” I hiss. “In my classroom? You need to leave.”

  He smirks.

  “You’re right. This conversation is probably best somewhere private. Like…your bedroom?” His eyes take on an unearthly glow and he motions in front of him, “maybe on that rug in front of your bed where—“