Page 21 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

“Eva, it’s so good to see you again,” Dr. Singh greets me with a warm smile.

I return one of my own. “It has been a while since we last spoke. A lot of big things were happening.”

She beams at this reminder. “That’s right. You started college. How have the first few weeks gone?” she probes.

Pausing, I try to answer her loaded question without triggering a visit from her mobile crisis team. I can’t be pulled from school. The last time I left, I returned to a dead best friend and a broken relationship with one of the people closest to me besides Farrah. Callum.

My heart clenches. I haven’t spoken to my brother in quite some time, which is wildly different from our multiple times-a-day communication style.

He still reaches out.

I just don’t respond.

“Eva?”

Dr. Singh’s soothing voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“It’s been…” I still don’t have the right words.

“Eva, you know there’s no right way to get the words out,” she assures me, but I believe that’s untrue.

I begin to wring my wrist.

You can’t tell her about the pig’s blood, or the nightmares, or the voices, and sure as shit can’t tell her about how I’ve been dealing with all of it.

“You’re in your head, Eva. Focus on the sound of my voice,” she coaxes, but I can’t.

My nails dig into the flesh of my wrist, and the burn is the first thing that finally grounds me. So, I dig even deeper. The kiss pain wraps me in its deceptively loving embrace, and I hum my relief, welcoming its faux sincerity.

I thought scheduling this telehealth visit would be what I needed, but it’s just adding fuel to an already roaring wildfire.

“You’re feeling too much at once. Let it out,” Dr. Singh instructs. “Expel the pain from your soul. I want you to scream, Eva. Grab a pillow and scream.”

“I can’t,” I shout, desperate to rake my nails down my arms until the pungent smell of iron hits my nose.

Why doesn’t she get it?

“Yes, you can. Get mad. So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and it’s overwhelming.”

Fighting to breathe, I let her words sink in. She’s right. There isn’t a day that passes that something isn’t thrown at me. There are so few moments of peace. The noise is so fucking loud.

“Let. It. Out,” she demands, and the dam finally breaks.

I yell, swinging my arm out and knocking over the books sitting on the edge of my desk. Pain rips from my chest in waves, freeing me from the chains that fastened me to my suffering.

“That’s it, Eva. You’re so strong. Free yourself.”

How can someone be strong yet broken?

I am in the battle for my life, and the enemy is me.

My screams turn into wails. The keening sound emitting from me is a shock to my ears. It’s a hurt from so deep that not even I recognized its presence.

Guilt…

Betrayal…

Fear…

Hopelessness…

Curling into myself, I just let it bleed from me with each tear that drops, and Dr. Singh continues to encourage me, helping to see me through the storm like a beacon of light. She never once pushes me further than I’m ready to go.

I’m uncertain how long it takes me before I whisper, “I’m ready.”

Yesterday afternoon was a shitstorm of epic proportions. Having my most private moments played for all to hear snapped something inside of me. I immediately set up a call with my therapist. I had to speak to someone because all my attempts at coping have been unsuccessful.

Once I finally calmed down, I confessed most of what was happening. I still didn’t tell her anything about the voices or my cutting. Any time I felt that’s where things were going, I refocused on something—anything else.

My phone vibrates on my nightstand. I grab it and answer without looking. “Hello.”

“Evie.”

I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of my brother’s voice. He is someone I discussed with Dr. Singh.

“Cals,” I reply with a small smile.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Callum sighs.

He’s right. I usually wouldn’t have, not after everything. But Dr. Singh raised a valuable point, “How will you get any answers if you keep ignoring him?”

“I… I figured it was long past time we spoke,” I state.

“Thank you,” he says, and I can hear the relief in my brother’s tone, like all the muscles tightening in his chest are loosening. “I’ll be at your game next week with Mom and Dad. Do you want to grab a bite afterward?”

My eyes light up. I haven’t seen Callum in months. Guilt hits me in my gut.

Nope, not today, Satan.

Pushing the feeling back down, I stuff it into the proverbial box in the back of my mind and padlock it before covering it in cement and burying it more than six feet deep.

“Yeah. I’d really like that,” I offer.

“Eves, you ready?” Paisley asks, tapping on my room door.

Peering down at the time, I see it’s almost time for practice. “Cal, I gotta go. I can’t wait to talk finally.”

He confirms that he’ll make the reservations, then disconnects the call.

“Yeah. One sec,” I shout, springing from my bed. I grab my shirt off the back of my chair, pull it over my head, and grab my volleyball bag before sliding my feet into a pair of white Crocs.

“One of these days, you’ll be on time,” Paisley quips.

“Now, you just sound like my mom, and there’s no reason for all of that. We still have forty-five minutes before practice even begins,” I mutter, then rush out of my room. “See, I’m ready.”

Paisley chuckles but says nothing else as we join the rest of our friends.

We barely make it downstairs and out the front door of our dorm when we’re greeted by Portia’s tagalongs sans their leader.

“The sky must be falling. You lot can put your collective brain cells together to function without your owner,” Cammy snipes, and I smother a grin. She never misses an opportunity to take verbal jabs at these bitches.

Tricia rolls her eyes. “You stupid cunt. Wait ’til I get my hands on you!”

“Oh no. I am so scared. The big, bad Tricia has threatened me. What will I ever do now? I may as well drop out of school to escape the clutches of an utter and complete waste of fucking space,” Cammy snarks. We all burst into laughter, failing to school our features at her sass this time.

“I’m going to—” Tricia begins, but she’s immediately cut off.

“What? Are you going to tell me that you don’t like me?” Camiel taunts, narrowing her gaze at Tricia. “That’s okay, babes. I’m for a more refined palate.”

Tricia’s face blooms red as snickers ring out. “Who do you fucking think you’re talking to, bitch?”

Candace tugs at her arm, “Trish, let’s just go. These bitches aren’t worth our time.”

“The only?—”

The blaring of sirens interrupts Jade, grabbing all of our attention.

A fire truck drives past, followed by an ambulance and campus police.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tricia mutters as we see them stop in front of the dorms adjacent to where we’re standing.

Turning, my gaze follows as first responders run into the building.

“Does anyone know what’s going on?” Ayana probes as she walks over to us.

I shake my head. “No clue. They just arrived.”

Time passes, and a crowd begins to form, and with it comes chatter of possibilities.

“Someone says they found a student unresponsive,” a person to our left states.

My eyes furrow.

“Said it was some drug overdose,” another person announces.

Another ten minutes tick by, but no one exits the building.

Tires screech, causing my head to snap toward the sound, and then a woman bolts from the matte-black Porsche Cayenne.

“Isn’t that Portia’s mom?” Candace chokes out.

Jade snorts

“What?” Camiel asks.

“Portia’s mom driving a Porsche . Seriously cliche,” Jade quips.

Any other time, I’d find this amusing, but not knowing if the witch is hurt stops me.

Jade glances at me. “Don’t feel an ounce of remorse for that gutless trash. I heard what she said about your best friend after you left, and she doesn’t deserve one ounce of sympathy.”

“What did she say?” I inquire, still curious about the cause of her death.

“She made disgusting comments about—” Jade pauses, obviously checking my reaction before she continues.

Is this what I’ve become again?

Biting the inside of my cheek, I hide the hurt I feel at her reluctance because of what it means… I’m too fragile. Poor Eva Rose can’t handle the pressures, so now everyone tiptoes around her, trying to spare her feelings.

“Just say it,” I request.

“—about Farrah. She was saying repugnant things about your best friend.”

Fisting my hands at my side, I swallow the crater-sized lump of rage, trying to lodge itself in my throat.

“This dorm is supposed to be nut-free. How did this happen?” Portia’s mother shrieks at the campus police officer.

The officer’s response is drowned out by the collective gasp of the crowd when EMTs push a stretcher outside. It’s only then that we realize the severity of what’s happening— Portia’s dead .

I stand, unable to move, as I watch Portia’s body being wheeled down the sidewalk toward the ambulance. A sheet covers her, but murmurs of how swollen her face was when they found her float around the crowd.

Allergic reaction?

“She had a nut allergy—a seriously dangerous one,” I hear someone behind me say, confirming her mother’s words.

My attention shifts to the woman chasing after her daughter. Tears stream in rivulets down her flushed cheeks as she repeats, “How did this happen? How could this happen to my baby?”

No parent should have to go through the loss of a child. Reminders of how the Jacobis had to do the same freeze me in place. My paralysis forces me still, making me watch as it breaks past the barrier I erected and fortified after talking to Dr. Singh. Gone is the newly built confidence.

“It’s time for you all to leave,” the officer instructs. “Please return to your dorms and wait for further instructions.

Students begin to disperse, and the crowd dwindles, clearing a path.

“Come on, Evie. Let’s go make a cup of tea,” Camiel suggests, tugging my arm when she recognizes my distress.

Slowly nodding, I turn, still processing Portia’s death as my feelings oscillate between compassion for her family’s loss, the relief that she can no longer terrorize me, and guilt for feeling that relief.

Sighing, I push those thoughts in the giant clusterfuck box part of my head and begin to walk away when the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I freeze in my tracks when I look up and see two identical faces… olive skin with icy-blue eyes and wavy onyx-colored hair.

Two faces I never thought I’d see again appear before me.

“Hello, Eva.”