Page 31 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

I blink down at the message on my phone.

Coop: Someone’s not following the rules.

My eyebrows knit together, and I struggle to recall my day yesterday and see if I broke any rules.

Outside of classes and practice, I didn’t go anywhere, so how could I break any rules?

Shaking my head, I quickly type my reply.

Me: And what rule was that exactly?

I wait for his response when I hear someone approaching.

“Evie,” Jade calls from the other side of my closed bedroom door. “We’re going to be late for the morning run.”

“Shit,” I mutter, scrambling from my bed—all thoughts of what Cooper’s text could mean get swallowed by trying to find clothes. I forgot we voted on going on runs as a team at our last practice.

I slip into fluorescent blue shorts and a white sports bra before heading to my bathroom. “Tick… tick… tick. That’s the sound of the time running out on you, bitch,” Jade taunts, and I throw my hair in some semblance of a bun and then quickly brush my teeth.

“You can’t see the finger I’m giving you, but I’m definitely flipping you off,” I shout after spitting out the toothpaste.

I ignore her cheeky clap-back as I check the mirror, ensuring I don’t have anything on my face. Then my sneakers are on, and I’m out the door.

“I swear you’re going to be late for your own funeral,” Ayana jests, standing from the couch.

“You’re probably right, but then it won’t be my fault,” I retort as we scramble through the front door.

We’re halfway through the fourth mile when my phone chimes.

I ignore it, enjoying the tranquility the burning in my muscles provides.

But then the sound of other phones going off in rapid succession gives me pause.

I slow to a jog, pull my phone from my arm strap, and check my messages. It’s a video.

“Evie, we should use this one.” I hear a very familiar voice to my left.

Whipping my head toward the sound of Farrah’s voice, I pray that this isn’t what I think it is.

“It’s the sharpest. It’ll cut past all that scar tissue.”

Bile roils in my gut at the realization of what’s playing. How can they have this? I don’t have to listen to know what’s coming next.

“No. I’m going to use the boxcutter,” I murmur, picking up the blade and turning to Farrah. She’s spread out on my bed, holding the butterfly knife. “Where did you even get this?”

She giggles. “I stole it from Owen’s gym locker.”

“As is Owen fucking Jefferson—thee Owen fucking Jefferson?”

She nods. “The one and only.”

“Have you lost ? —”

I pulled from the memory at the echoing gasps ringing out, and I know what they’ve seen?—

Farrah straddling my chest…

Farrah bending, a knife between her lips…

Farrah holding my thighs open.

They won’t understand. They’ll twist it. Weaponize it. Project all their disgust and sanctimony onto something that was never meant for them to see.

Her voice echoes like a ghost in my ear . “Evie, this is how we become blood sisters.”

That’s all it was. A promise. An anchor. A fucking lifeline, carved into skin because sometimes words weren’t strong enough.

We came from good homes—loving families—and still wanted to die. Still hurt ourselves. Still needed something to make it stop. That was our shame, the guilt no one else could ever understand.

I was supposed to be her safe place. Her vault. Her person.

But I left her behind.

And this video—this digital necromancy on full display for everyone to dissect—doesn’t just prove I failed her. It rubs my fucking nose in it.

My stomach clenches, and the tears come hot. Not from grief. From disgust— at myself.

With this, we seal our fates—forever one. Fi hadhih alhayaat walakhira.

In this life and the next.

God, I didn’t deserve her.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not today, Evie.

I drown out the sounds of our hisses. “How did they get it? No one’s supposed to have this,” I mutter when a hand lands on my shoulder.

My blurry gaze meets Ayana’s brown eyes, but the warmth that usually greets me is replaced with worry. “Eva.” Even her voice is laced with pity. “Let me take you back to the dorm.”.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jade murmurs, coaxing me like she’s talking me off a ledge.

I snort, wishing for the millionth time that I was standing on one.

How can I be alive while she had to die?

My intrusive thoughts swirl, throwing jabs at the brick wall surrounding the box I don’t touch. I want to shout “Good luck” to each throw. There’s not a chance in hell it’s getting through that barrier.

“Turn it the fuck off,” Camiel demands, but it’s too late. The damage is already done.

My nails dig into the flesh of my thighs—the pain, a close friend, taking me from the reality of my current existence.

There’s too much noise.

“Holy shit, did they really do that?” I hear someone mumble.

I can’t silence all the fucking noise.

“Why would they share blood like that? It’s fucking gross,” another person mutters. But they don’t fucking understand. They don’t get the headspace you have to be in to be that desperate.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Sprinting, I brush past everyone, ignoring all the calls for me to wait, and sprint away from the noise.

I run as fast as my feet can carry me away from everything, knowing today’s events will go into the box of things I may never process—knowing that I’ll pretend this day never happened.

It’s too much to fucking deal with, and I don’t have the mental capacity to begin to try. Today is more than my brain can handle. It’s more than I could fathom, and it’s for that very reason that my mask is firmly back in place as I round the corner to my dorm.

Today can go fuck itself raw with no lube.