Page 52 of Shattered Obsession

As I drive home, the unease settles deeper, wrapping around me like an unwanted cloak. The air in the car thickens, heavier with every turn.

My pulse jumps in uneven skips, like a record scratching.

Don’t overreact. Don’t be dramatic.

The words echo in Damian’s voice.

I grip the steering wheel harder.

A few blocks from the apartment, I catch sight of headlights in my rearview mirror, bright, relentless, and ominously close. I stare at the rearview mirror so long my eyes blur. My breath shortens. Every time I change lanes, the car behind me does too. It follows.

Heartbeats slam in my ears, a shiver runs down my spine, and my chest tightens painfully.

I slow down, then flick my turn signal on and veer down a side street. The silver car mimics my turn, unwavering. My grip on the steering wheel strengthens, knuckles turning white as each nerve in my body screams a warning. The closer I get to home, the more convinced I am that it’s following me.

By the time I pull into the parking lot, my heart drums loudly, drowning out the sound of the radio blaring in the background. The silver car has not abandoned its pursuit; its headlights slice through my rearview mirror, illuminating the anxious shadows on my face. I freeze in place, chest tight, hands trembling against the steering wheel, as my mind races through all the possibilities.

And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the car speeds past, turning the corner and vanishing down the street. I sit in my car for what feels like an eternity, my shaking hands still gripping the wheel. Logic whispers to me. Perhaps they live nearby. Maybe they weren’t even following me at all. But my gut knows better, and a cold dread settles in my stomach.

When I finally manage to climb the stairs to the apartment, the weight of anxiety clings to my chest. My legs feel numb as I reach the top step.

The key shakes in my hand, scraping against the lock.

I’m not crying.

But I feel like I should be.

Xander is already inside, sprawled across the couch, toolbag carelessly tossed in the corner while the TV murmurs quietly in the background. He looks up the moment I walk through the door, his usual smile lighting up his face, a joyful greeting to my presence. But the warmth in his eyes fades as he registers the panic etched across my features.

“Thal? What’s wrong?” he asks, jumping to his feet, worry lining his brow.

I drop my bag heavily at the door, standing there frozen, every part of me trembling. My throat constricts painfully, the words sharp and heavy, feeling as if they could slice me open on the way out. “I think… I think I saw him.”

Xander’s posture immediately shifts, and his expression morphs into one of determination. “What do you mean? Where did you see him?”

“At the park. A car. Silver.” My voice trembles as the memory rushes back, clawing at my composure. “It was there the entire time I was walking with Isla. And then when I drove home… it followed me.” My brain tries to logic its way through the fear. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe someone just parked. But instincts don’t care about logic. Instincts remember pain. My stomach twists. My palms sweat. My throat tightens.

In an instant, he’s in front of me, his hands gently cupping my face, grounding me in this moment. His jaw is set tight, eyes burning with concern and a protective intensity. “You’re sure?”

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe they just live around here. But it felt wrong, Xander. It felt exactly like—” My voice cracks, emotions swirling. “I couldn’t breathe. I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in.”

He pulls me against his chest, holding me so tightly it aches, but in a comforting way. There is a kind of strength in collapsing.

I let myself sag into him—not gracefully, not beautifully, just honestly. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift away. He holds me like he’s willing to carry the weight with me.

“You did the right thing telling me. Always. You don’t have to carry this alone.” I bury my face in his chest and shake. A sound escapes me, but it’s not a sob or a word. It’s my breath breaking apart. Xander holds me through the storm. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just stays.

I nod against him, my body trembling as I grapple with feelings of both shame and relief. His hand moves in slow, steady motions down my back, grounding me further.

“We’ll figure it out. If he’s back, if he’s trying to mess with you, we’ll handle it together.”

The heavy weight in my chest doesn’t disappear, but for the first time since seeing those headlights, I find a breath I can finally draw, slow and deep as faint flickers of hope begin to rekindle within me.

That night, when Xander falls asleep beside me, I don’t succumb to nightmares. I listen to his breathing. And, for the first time since escaping my past, the darkness inside my mind feels less like a threat and more like a room with a locked door. He’s not here. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Healing isn’t a straight line.

But tonight… the nightmares keep their distance.