Page 16 of Darkest Obsession

Still, this place is way easier on me than anywhere in America. I don’t think I could survive another year of my parents tri-weekly uploads completely fucking with my life, especially not when the news about them hits the public. I want to stay far as hell away from that, even if my parents’ job always comes back to haunt me. I hope I finally ran far enough away.

When I was a senior, some asshole guy in my math class thought it would be hilarious to pull up my first period video — the one with twenty million views — and remind everyone of what an awkward middle schooler I was. I can still hear my voice in the video even without watching it. Mom, turn off the damn camera! This is embarrassing!

They plastered my humiliation on the internet for the world’s entertainment and reminded me that this was the only reason I had nice things growing up, so I had better be grateful for it. I don’t know. Maybe my mom’s right.

Once we’re in my bedroom, I explain what happened again to my friends, giving as many details as possible. Sylvia and Kola both want to do something about it, but I insist that I can handle myself.

“At least let’s talk to the school about getting a self-defense class set up,” Sylvia offers.

She’s seriously the most activist minded person I know. It’s sweet. In the family channel world, everyone is the perfect mixture of cutthroat and shallow. It’s hard having real friends without knowing when they’re going to stab you in the back or help break up your parents’ marriage. After my friends spend too much time comforting me, I insist that I can handle things on my own and I just need to go to sleep. Kola reminds me to lock the door behind me and Sylvia reminds me that she’s just two doors down if I need her.

I crawl into bed and I do the only thing I know to do when I’m in trouble, even if a part of me knows it’s a mistake… She's still my mom.

I dial her number and hold my breath waiting for her to pick up. After our phone call, I don’t feel better, but talking to my mom hardly ever makes me feel better. She ends the call reminding me to comment and like her latest video and to ‘share it with my friends’. Ew. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to my embarrassing online life back home.

Falling asleep after what happened isn’t easy, but I manage to get to sleep a few minutes before Molly slips in from the party and crawls into bed. I sleep peacefully until early in the morning when a piercing shriek awakens our entire dorm at once.

Chapter Seven

Thomas

Clover. Clover. Clover. My pen swirls on my page in the margins as I sketch a four leaf clover all over my notebook. Partying late doesn’t mean I get to sleep in, especially when I’ve got coursework. It’s boring but… it’s routine. Habit. Ritual. Without discipline, we lose ourselves.

But seriously, fuck coursework. It’s boring compared to dreaming of her and imagining all the places I could put my cock in her. I need to stop thinking about her. I’ve never cared much for academics but dad insists that all of us bring home As and Bs if we expect a seat at the table. Literally. My brother James got a C+ in art during secondary and dad made him sit in the living room for dinner until he mustered a B+.

Unfortunately, I still need to see dad. Mum won’t let me tell him to fuck himself with a broomstick. But she won’t be able to stop me from telling him forever. Kit’s still sleeping, giving zero fucks about coursework. Unlike me, he spent the entire night drinking. I got high on something else. Her scent. She’s so bloody captivating.

I answer my final question when my phone buzzes. A text from Sylvia? I suppose she’s talking to me now…

Sylvia: SOS

Thomas: We’re talking now?

Sylvia: I’m serious

Great. Now I look like a prick.

Thomas: What happened?

Sylvia: Gym lobby before dance practice. We’ll talk.

Thomas: Cheers.

I dunno what Sylvia needs help with, but considering she thinks I’m a huge twat (she’s wrong) I’d better help her so I don’t confirm her beliefs that I’m inherently and incurably wicked. If this is about their stupid dance studio, hopefully she gets over it soon. We need a place to practice before we get out on the water and trust me, no one is in a greater hurry to get into a boat than I am.

I miss the water.

Kit groans and shouts out loud. “Fuck, you have a great cunt.”

“Wake up, wanker,” I grumble, grabbing one of my size 17 shoes and flinging it at Kit’s head. It’s time he wake up anyway instead of rambling sexual comments in his sleep. His sleepy missives make answering history questions incredibly annoying. He groans as the shoe hits his head and pulls the blankets up higher. Fucking hell, Kit.

“Wake up!”

I fling my other shoe at his head and Kit groans.

“Wanker!” he whines. “Why are you throwing bloody shoes at my head?”

His blond hair is a shaggy fucking mess. I swear he cuts it with kitchen scissors.