Page 83 of Shattered Obsession

Shaking, I swipe to open social media, desperate to drown my anxiety in a stream of mindless images and videos. But there it is, glaring back at me—a new post in one of the small community groups I still occasionally follow from my college days. There are no names or tags, but the words leap out at me, vibrant and unmistakable.

‘Some girls think they can just erase people. Block a number, delete a profile, pretend like it never happened. But ghosts linger. And some of us don’t forget.’

The comments paint a different picture, laughing or shrugging it off as a vague rant from a bitter ex. But I know better; the message is designed for me. I throw my phone, my heart racing as if it’s trying to escape the confines of my ribs.

The walls close in; the air grows thick and suffocating. My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the counter, forcing myself to inhale, to breathe through the turmoil. Xander isn’t here. He can’t see this chaos convulsing within me. He can’t hear my mind screaming.

He’s watching. He’s too close. He knows.

I don’t know if I should confide in Xander. A part of me yearns for his strength, for the safety that comes with sharing my fears, yet I hesitate, terrified of making it real. What if the mere act of speaking it into existence brings the danger crashing down? Because if I say it out loud, then Xander will act.

And he doesn’t just react; he detonates.

He’s fire.

Beautiful.

Uncontained.

If I tell him someone threatened me, he will burn the world down to the foundation. And I don’t know if I could watch him lose himself that way, becoming a monster to protect me from mine.

That terrifies me more than Damian ever could.

But deep down, an undeniable truth lingers—Damian hasn’t forgotten me. He never will.

The secret weighs heavily in my chest, a stone that feels ever more suffocating with each passing moment. Every time my phone buzzes, I feel its weight, and the words echo in my mind. ‘You look better in black.’ The post. The haunting reference to the red skirt. It gnaws at me relentlessly, night and day.

But I bury it deep, donning a mask of normalcy.

I laugh with Xander, kiss him goodnight, and allow myself to be held close, even as a shadow hangs over me. I convince myself that I’m shielding him, preserving our connection from the burden of my fear, where he might spiral into obsession or, worse, throw himself into perilous dangers just to keep me safe. In truth, perhaps I’m trying to shield myself, too. Because once I voice my fears, they transform from whispers in the dark to stark light that can’t be ignored.

But the truth won’t remain hidden forever.

One evening, the dam breaks. I flinch at the sudden buzz of my phone, watching it vibrate across the table, and scramble to shove it away as if I’m a child caught in wrongdoing. Xander’s voice sharpens as he asks, “What was that, Thalia?”

A paralyzing fear grips me, and I freeze. My throat tightens, suppressing the words that threaten to spill. I could lie, but those piercing eyes of his feel like knives, cutting through my defenses. So, I exhale, the confession tumbling forth like water from a cracked vessel. The messages, the post, the skirt—every haunting word spills from my lips in a rush.

The atmosphere shifts like a storm, tension crackling in the air. His face contorts, fury igniting every feature. He shouts, not at me, but the volume and sharpness of his anger feel like physical blows, leaving me reeling.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? After everything? After I promised I’d protect you, and after you swore you trusted me, why would you keep this from me?”

-Xander-

I don’t yell because I’m angry at her.

I yell because I’m terrified of losing her.

Every nightmare ends with her gone.

Every fear ends with me too late.

-Thalia-

I stumble back, a visceral panic clawing at my heart. My voice trembles as I whisper, “I— I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t want to⁠—”

“Worse?” he snarls, stepping closer, overwhelming me. Xander stops breathing. “You think telling me the truth makes things worse?”

I wrap my arms around myself. “Sometimes protecting someone means protecting them from what you’re afraid of.”