Page 11 of Shattered Obsession

I set the phone down slowly, anxious it might go off again.

My room is quiet. Too quiet. My heart is still racing from the call, and I don’t know if it’s nerves or dread or some messy knot of both.

I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

Minutes pass. Then hours. My eyes burn, open and unblinking. Every time I close them, I see Damian’s smile through the phone screen—sharp, expectant, hungry.

My phone is face down on the nightstand, but it feels like it’s staring at me. Like if I touch it again, he’ll know. Like the connection is already something binding, not digital.

Eventually, exhaustion drags me under.

But even in sleep, I don’t rest.

I flinch awake twice, heart racing, convinced someone said my name in the room.

I think about canceling.

I draft the text in my head.

Hey, actually, I’m not feeling great.

Hey, something came up.

Hey, I don’t think I’m ready.

Hey, I changed my mind.

In my head, I hit send. In real life, I don’t.

Because the version of Damian in my head does not take ‘no’ well. The version of Damian in my head says, ‘Don’t waste my time.’ The version of Damian in my head says, ‘You said yes.’ The version of Damian in my head gets mean. Loud. Dangerous.

And the version of me in my head does what she’s always done: keeps the peace.

So, instead of canceling, I open Instagram.

I go to Xander’s profile.

He’s posted a twenty-four-hour story of a cat tangled in a blanket, only the tail sticking out. The caption reads, ‘He’s fine, just dramatic.’

I smile.

My thumb hovers over the reply box.

I want to tell him I’m scared. I want to tell him something doesn’t feel right. I want to tell him I wish it was him picking me up tomorrow instead of Damian.

I don’t.

Instead, I open the dating app and type.

Thalia

I saw your insta story. Your cat is ridiculous.

He replies almost immediately.

Xander

It’s actually my mom’s cat. He gets it from her.