Page 46 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

“How has the last week been for you, Eva?” Dr. Singh asks, and I take a moment to think before I respond because so much has happened.

Wringing my wrist, I reply, “To be honest, it’s been shit.” I pause, remembering the nearly back-to-back blows I suffered at the hands of my bullies. The scene from my run where the video was aired for all to see comes to mind before the scene with pictures outside my dorm quickly replaces it.

Dr. Singh nods, but doesn’t speak, waiting to see if I’ll elaborate.

“I don’t know how or why I’m still here,” I begin. “When the audio of Farrah and me making our pact was played, I thought it would mean the end, but then those fucking photos were plastered everywhere.”

My teeth grind, and my nails claw at my skin. “Why can’t I find peace?” I blurt out, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

“ You don’t deserve it ,” Farrah’s voice hisses.

“Would you allow yourself to feel it?” Dr. Singh’s question is an open callout.

Shots fired .

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand before stating, “No. I don’t deserve it.”

Her perfectly sculpted brow arches in challenge. “Says who, Eva? Who says you don’t deserve to heal and find your peace?” And I must admit that I didn’t expect this level of fire from Dr. Singh.

Anger boils like molten lava, spreading faster than an infectious disease ignored by the government. “How can I find peace when my best friend is forever the same age and died in the same mental headspace that took her from me?” I snap, my spittle flying across my laptop screen.

How can she ask me that? Doesn’t she know why? The Eva Rose Pierce, who once was, died on that cold, wet, and snowy day. July 11, 2022, at 10:52 AM, Eva Rose Pierce was laid to rest with her best friend, Farrah Amira Jacobi.

“So you believe you must be a walking corpse in order to atone?”

“I don’t deserve to find peace. It’s what I owe her— it’s what I owe them ,” I confess.

Then lift my hands, palms out towards the computer screen.

“I’m not the victim here. I’m the perpetrator, and m-m-my h-h-hands are st-st-stained with blood.

” By the time I’m finished speaking, I’m gasping for air as I sob uncontrollably.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been crying, but Dr. Singh hasn’t said a word, allowing me the space to feel my never-ending swirl of emotions.

Once I finally calm down enough, I peer down at my bloody forearm covered in crescent-shaped cuts.

They aren’t deep enough to scar, so I’ll wait until after my session ends to clean them, because the last thing I need is for my therapist to realize I’ve harmed myself.

Inhaling, I collect myself, wiping the remnants of tears away from my swollen eyes. “I’m sure I look like the picture of mental health right now,” I joke, hoping to cut the self-imposed tension in the air.

“What you are is someone who is in pain, who’s not ready to let themselves heal,” she retorts. “But the path towards healing isn’t linear or timed, so give yourself the space to figure it out.” Dr. Singh studies me momentarily before she speaks again, “How did you handle those situations?”

Grateful not to dig into my inability to permit myself to heal, I think back, remembering that I haven’t used my razor recently. In fact, I’ve had no urge to even pick up a blade, and I haven’t had any dreams about Farrah.

What’s been different?

It takes me about a millisecond to find the answer—the Jacobi twins.

Outside of being found in a compromising position two days ago, I’ve slept peacefully and have had fewer urges to purge my anguish with a slice to my flesh.

“I’ve recently enlisted the help of a couple of friends to help me reduce my stress through intense workouts, and it’s seemingly working well, at least thus far,” I state.

Dr. Singh smiles. “Oh, that’s lovely. High-intensity interval workouts are a great way to practice self-care. Keep it up.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I fight to keep a straight face because the minute I say who those friends are and what those workouts consist of, I know she’ll be on the next flight with her team to Groveton, Texas.

“Only a few more weeks until homecoming, and I for one can’t wait,” Paisley exclaims. “The parties, the food, the parties, the games—did I mention the parties?”

Shaking my head, I stand, grabbing my tray and beelining for the garbage can.

Full is an understatement for what I’m feeling right now.

I groan, tossing the remnants of my food into the trash can.

I ate entirely too much, but who can say no to a great double bacon cheeseburger and seasoned curly fries?

Oh, and a side of buffalo sauce to dip them in.

The only thing missing was a vanilla milkshake.

The girls are all standing by the time I make it back to the table. “Are we heading back to the room?” I ask, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

“We’re going to a study session,” Cammy and Ayana reply.

I swivel my attention towards Paisley, and she shakes her head. “I’m off to meet my girl. I’ll catch up with y’all tomorrow.”

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” I say to Jade, linking my arm into hers. We joke about the way I landed on my ass at practice today, trying to get under one of the spikes.

“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?” she asks once our laughter dies out and we step out into the cool autumn night.

My cheeks heat at the reminder of the look on Jade’s face when she walked into the room and found me bound, gagged, and covered in Cooper’s cum.

Quirking a brow, I unlink our arms and reply, “Not a chance in hell.” Because there’s no way I’m sharing that I’m currently at the beck and call of my dead best friend’s twin brothers.

“Not even who he, she, or they were?”

Before I can offer another emphatic “no,” I’m yanked by my hair so hard I begin to fall.

“Eva.” I hear someone yell as they catch me in their arms before I tumble to the ground.

Righting myself, I turn to meet Mason’s soft brown eyes. “Are you alright?” he probes, and I barely nod before his attention lands on Candace and the future Quantico reject trio, Chad, Thad, and Brad. “What the fuck is wrong with y’all?”

It’s the second time I’ve caught a hint of a Southern drawl. It’s warm and smooth like warm spiked cider on a cold and snowy winter’s day. If this were any other time, I might’ve melted on the spot and saved it for my spank bank.

“Oh, let me guess. You’re fucking her too,” Candace snarks, a smarmy smirk plastered over her overly done up face. “How many dicks can you take in that greedy, diseased-riddled cunt?”

I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I feel the sting against my palm, and a blooming red handprint appears on her cheek.

“Fuck, yeah.”

“Yes, my gurl.”

“’Bout damn time.”

I hear Jade’s raucous cheer echoing behind me.

“You fucking slapped me,” Candace shrieks with a murderous glint in her eyes.

Glaring back, I snap, “And I’ll do it again, if you try me.”

Candace shrieks, nostrils flaring, and dives at me. “I’m going to fucking kill you—you fucking murderous depressed skank.”

“You’re gonna kill her, Evie. Let her go,” I hear someone say before long, muscular arms wrap around me, burrowing me into a very well-defined chest.

Shit. I must’ve blacked out.

Gasps and whispers make me peek around Mason to see a small crowd watching in both parts, excitement and shock at Candace’s prone body.

I may have slapped the bitch a bit harder than I thought I did because she’s out cold. That doesn’t stop a grin from forming, though.

Stupid bitch.

After weeks of their bullshit, I snapped. I’m depressed, not incapable. Part of me wants to kick her and stomp on her head for all of the bullshit her and her friends have put me through.

“You can put me down now, Mase,” I mumble, peering up at the God of a man holding me.

He tilts his head, a rueful smile that shows off his perfect teeth beams at me. “You sure there, killa?”

Jade snickers, and I pinch her as I fix my clothes. “Promise,” I retort sheepishly.

Thad steps towards me, looking as if he’s about to grab me, when Mason steps in front of me. “You’re not gonna wanna do that, my boy. You won’t find that you like what’ll happen to you if you take another step.”

Panties incinerated .

Thad’s steps stutter to a stop before course-correcting, moving to get to Candace instead.

“You’re lucky you got your bodyguard with you,” Chad snarls. “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Then they all leave. Thad hoisting Candace over his shoulder.

Once the crowd disperses, Mason asks, “What are you doing next weekend?”

Shrugging, I reply, “Nothing at the moment. Why?”

Mason hands me my bag before he answers. “There’s a poetry slam and a step show. Y’all should come.”

My eyes light up. “As in the Divine Nine type of step show?” Because a bitch needs confirmation.

Smirking, he replies, “The very same.” And I squeal.

Plans for the weekend are locked and loaded. Even if I had something, I no longer have it. Black fraternity and sorority step shows just hit differently. The vibe, the energy, and the culture—a trifecta of different.

“Oh, I like this Eva,” Jade squeals before turning to Mason. “And you bet your ass we’ll be there.”

Mason gives me another once-over like he’s checking to see if I was lying about being okay. Then he nods and then strides away.

Whirling around to face me, Jade’s lips quirk into a smile. “Bitch, if he’s who tied you to your bed, then yes please.”

“I plead the fucking fifth,” I mutter and grab her hand, tugging her back to our dorm.