Page 12 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

“Eva.” I rouse at the sound of my name being called. “Eva.” It’s crisper this time and I spring up, recognizing her.

“Fah,” I murmur into the darkness of my bedroom, my voice still raw from crying, but there’s no response.

You’re dreaming again .

Shaking my head clear, I switch on the light and lower my blanket to examine my skin. I scold myself, angry that I still succumb to the urge to self-harm. The cuts are deeper than usual for me, but there are no signs of dried blood.

My nose scrunches in confusion. The area is clean. I quickly take stock of my surroundings. My sheets have been changed, and the towel I was wrapped in has been replaced by sleep shorts and a tank. I try to recollect when I woke up to do all of this.

“Evie.”

I freeze at the sound of Farrah’s voice. All earlier musings, long forgotten… cast into the darkest depths of my mind, safe from hurting me.

“Evie.” This time, I hear the melodic timbre that once was uniquely my best friend’s.

Stop it, Eva. You’re losing it.

That thought doesn’t stop me, though. Shutting my eyes, I call out, “Fah?” I call out, unsure if I want her to reply. Old tales of never responding when your name is called and you know you’re alone skitter across my mind.

“Eva Rose. Where are you?”

My throat tightens, temporarily paralyzing me. I know it’s not her. She’s gone, I try to reason with myself.

Have I lost so much blood that I’m still passed out, and this is some fever dream?

No. I can feel the cool air kiss my skin, causing goosebumps to run up my spine. So, I know I’m not unconscious.

“Evie,” Farrah giggles, and moisture fills my eyes. That sound… the one I believed I’d never hear again, fills the room, eviscerating my battle to maintain my composure. Warm, salty tears stream down my cheeks in rivulets.

“Fah,” I muster between choked sobs, knowing this is probably a dream, one I never wish to wake from because, in this world, my best friend is truly calling my name.

Springing from my bed, I stumble in the direction of the sound, but she doesn’t speak again.

“Fah,” I shout out. The pain in my voice barely scratches the surface of my inner turmoil. “Farrah,” I try again, but am greeted with silence. No sound, not even the ticking of a clock… just me and my cries.

Sighing, I lean against the wall outside my closet and slide down until my ass meets the floor.

“How am I supposed to do this without you, Fah? How do I keep going when every fiber of my being wants to be wherever you are?” I mutter, hoping for an answer that will never come.

It’s just me and my demons. My guardian angel has long since abandoned me, recognizing the waste of resources I am.

“Enough of this shit.”

My gaze snaps up to see Jade standing in my doorway.

“Time to get up,” she orders. “Go wash your face and your ass, and let’s go.”

Momentarily stunned, I gawk at her. How the fuck long has she been here, witnessing my self-deprecation?

“Long enough to know that sitting in these feelings will drown you from the inside out,” she declares, answering my unspoken question.

“I know.” I exhale, shutting my eyes to hide my shame. “I just don’t know how.”

Jade tips my chin up. “One moment at a time,” she explains, and my eyelids flutter open.

I peer up to study her face, expecting ridicule to be written all over it, but no judgment or pity is twisting her features.

She extends her hand, and I take it, allowing her to help me stand. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I just?—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Eva. We all have crosses to bear, and it’s nobody’s business what they are unless you’re ready to share.”

Nodding, I reply, “Thank you,” with a small smile. Then, I actually take her in, like I’m seeing her for the first time. Her carefully constructed mask slips slightly, and our pains brush before she slides her mask back into place.

My lips part, tempted to ask the tried and true question– what happened? Instead, I snap my mouth shut. If she wanted me to know, she’d share her story.

“No need to thank me. Get your ass in the shower. We leave for practice in the next thirty minutes.”

I freeze in surprise, then look at the clock. 5:32 AM. Shit, morning practice.

“Yup,” she confirms, popping the p. “You’ve been knocked out for hours. You were fast asleep when we came in yesterday, so we left you to rest.”

I dip my chin. “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

“Good because we have Texas State this week, and we need our best hitter in peak condition,” she quips, making me laugh before she exits my room.

I prepare to shower, ready for any distraction from my thoughts. It’s time to get my ass in gear.

I slide into my seat at the front of the lecture hall, groaning at the burn in my glutes.

If I never see another jumping burpee, I will die a happy woman.

“That bad, huh?” someone chuckles to my left.

I turn toward the sound, and my eyes widen in surprise. “It’s you.”

Smirking, he replies, “It’s me .”

The night of the party rushes to the forefront. Our bodies moved with the synergy of three lovers familiar with each other instead of perfect strangers.

My cheeks heat as my skin flushes, more from arousal than embarrassment. If there’s one thing I’m confident in, it’s my sexuality. I will never be ashamed of my appreciation for the human form. The choice has never been, nor will it ever be, binary.

Attraction is a spectrum that society tries to deny exists… instead, choosing to enforce mores and norms that try to shame people into conforming.

“Hi,” I state.

“Hello.” He grins, and the bass in his voice shoots straight to my pussy.

I bite the inside of my cheek, halting the moan eager to escape. Then I lean over to grab my bag, attempting to distract myself, and instantly regret it. At this point, I think even my eyelashes are sore.

“So, what sport do you play?” he inquires.

Distracted by my jello arms, I mindlessly reply, “Huh?”

Laughing, he repeats his question as I place my laptop on my desk and turn toward him. Then he tips his head in the general direction of my broken body. “I recognize a workout from the pits of hell when I see one. So you either have an overzealous trainer or a coach trying to make a point.”

“The latter. I was ten minutes late to morning practice,” I explain.

“Good afternoon,” a voice booms from the front of the room, shifting my attention away from the gorgeous man with the megawatt smile before I can finish answering him.

Gazing up, I observe the person standing in front of the smart board in white linen pants and a coral tunic top with white and gold accessories, accentuating the beauty of their smooth, warm ochre complexion.

“Welcome to Human Sexuality. I’m Dr. Ife Robinson.

You may call me Dr. Robinson or Ife. My pronouns are she, her, and hers.

While in my class, we will address everyone by their chosen name or preferred pronouns.

” Dr. Robinson opens her laptop, loading her screen before she continues.

This course will require building a safe and respectful space.

If everyone would bring up the course outline, we can begin,” she instructs.

Dr. Robinson spends the next fifteen minutes reviewing the syllabus, and going over the assignments, tests, research papers, and course expectations.

Once called on, a student from the other side of the room asks, “Are we going to be able to pair up with anyone for any of the research projects?”

“There will be an opportunity for collaboration further down the road. However, that will only be an option once I trust that we’re fostering community,” Dr. Robinson answers.

A few other students ask follow-up questions, inquiring about the class discussions and weekly reading.

“This might just be my favorite class of the semester,” the guy next to me whispers.

I hum my agreement, ignoring the gut punch of a reminder that this is one of the classes Farrah discussed taking at length. Clenching my teeth, I remind myself that each thing I do in memory of her is penance.

“Okay, I’d like to spend the remainder of class with you all introducing yourselves,” Dr. Robinson begins.

“We’ll go around the room starting over here.

” She points to the student in the first seat of the row closest to the window.

“Tell us your name, your preferred pronouns, your major, what year of school you’re in, and one of your funniest memories. ”

One after another, each person introduces themselves.

“My name is Liam Bradley. I’m a cybersecurity and software engineering major in my third year of undergrad.

My pronouns are he, him, and his, and my funniest memory is the time I tripped over my Spiderman shoe laces and fell facefirst into my birthday cake when I was seven. ”

The class breaks out into laughter and I can’t hide my amusement either. An image of a young Liam covered in cake plays like a movie reel in my head.

Fuck. He’s hot and intelligent.

It’s not long before it’s my turn. “I’m a first-year student majoring in history.

” I pause, trying to recall a hilarious moment I can share without revealing my name.

The last thing I want is for more people to know I’m a Pierce.

“My funniest memory is when I lost a bet with my best friend and had to wear a glittered-rainbow inflatable narwhal costume to my eighth- grade graduation while singing “Under the Sea” when I accepted my graduation certificate.”

Nice, Eva . I mentally high-five myself.

Before the student behind me can begin, Dr. Robinson cuts in. “Your name?”

My short win dies a quick death with her command, and my palms begin to sweat. I peer around the room. Expectant gazes await my answer so we can continue.

Clearing my throat, I finally confess, “Eva Pierce.” There’s a gasp, and I follow the sound. Liam’s demeanor has shifted, and his laid-back vibe has vanished.

“Pierce as in the Pierces?” he probes.

“That part is irrelevant, Mr. Bradley,” the professor states, but I see the recognition register on Liam’s face.

What I am not expecting is the anger rolling off him in waves. I open my mouth to speak when he stands abruptly, storming from the room.

Sliding down in my seat, I shrink away from curious eyes while running through our earlier conversation to see what could have upset him, but come up empty, so I shrug it off.

People usually get stars or dollar signs in their eyes once they discover who my family is.

I’m still lost in my thoughts when class ends. I barely make it five steps before I’m pushed against a wall.

“Did you have fun at my expense?”

My gaze meets Liam’s sneer.

“Hey man,” someone begins to grab him, but he waves them off.

“Wasn’t it enough that your family took everything from mine?” Liam growls.

Confusion knits my brows as anger roils up my spine. My arm raises before I consciously recognize what I’m doing. It’s not until my fist connects with his jaw and he stumbles backward that it registers, and I’m not mad about it.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me without my permission again,” I hiss, glaring at him. Then, without waiting for a response, I storm out of the building, ignoring shocked stares.