Page 32 of Darkest Obsession

What the fuck is this? Some test of my obedience? I reply to the email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: disobedience

Who the fuck are you? Honestly.

The reply I receive includes just one word: obey.

I thought Clover might have sent the first message. When I left her alone with my things in the library, she could have dug through my laptop. She was using it to work on the school project. Based on her reaction in the dance studio, I was incredibly wrong to assume. I risked everything when I should have stayed away from her.

I don’t want to hurt her properly. I have to get her out of my head.

That means someone else is sending the emails. Fuck. I don’t like the idea of blackmail. Amelia Harrington. Whoever sent the message isn’t bluffing and it’s very unlikely to be Clover. She would have been in America and she couldn’t possibly know unless Sylvia knew – and Sylvia doesn’t know the truth.

So what’s this now? I wear my hair a particular way or risk my secret coming out? Like fuck is that going to scare me. Fuck man-buns.

I’ll have to do something I truly don’t wish to do – tell my friend the truth and accept that sweet Sylvia Richards will never forgive me.

Chapter Fourteen

Sylvia

“What do you want, Thomas?”

He’s late to our meeting — as usual. Dealing with him has been a pain lately. Amina says he’s going through a lot and he needs a friend but Thomas’ moods are just… I don’t know, a burden? I have school to worry about. And my business. And… I met someone. But I don’t want Thomas knowing that because he’ll run his mouth to Violet who will run her mouth to Amina or worse, he’ll tell my big sis directly.

I ain’t ready for all that.

Thomas fidgets with the strings on his hoodie, the black nail polish he painted idly on his hands during our statistics class shimmering as he moves the hoodie strings between his fingers. Nerves. Thomas isn’t normally nervous, but when he is, it’s normally because he’s done some morally incorrect bullshit.

“Someone’s after me, Syl.”

“Wow, join the club Thomas,” I snap. “When someone was after me, you didn’t have much to say about that, did you?”

“Well, it wasn’t my problem.”

“Thomas, you are kind of a bad person.”

“Yeah, and you’re a good person, that’s why we’re friends.”

Friends? Mr. “Friends” is on completely thin ice here considering how he’s treated me.

“We are only 15% friends considering you stole our dance studio, you won’t help me catch whoever vandalized my room, you steal my best friend away from dance practice to work on your stupid Ethics project, and now you’re only coming to me because you need something.”

Thomas gives me one of those monumentally stupid expressions that he gives whenever I explain basic human decency to him. I really don’t see it for guys with that square jawline and way too much hair like that.

“I suppose I’m sorry.”

“You suppose? Where did you learn to apologize, Thomas? A barn?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, which I guess is the closest I can expect from his annoying ass. I pinch his forearm as a final act of retribution. He flinches but doesn’t otherwise respond. I only feel mildly satisfied from my tiny act of violence. I roll my eyes.

“Okay. Fine. What do you need from me exactly? Because if someone’s really after you, that sports team of giants seem like they would do a great job of handling that for you.”

“I’ve kept things from you,” he blurts out. “And you won’t like it when you find out.”