Page 50 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

“Okay, I’m going to need a rundown of what exactly a step show is,” a girl behind me says.

We arrived not too long ago, getting here early so I wouldn’t miss anything. I don’t think I have the words to express how excited I am. Jade and I made sure all the girls made it to this. Zero excuses would be accepted. They would thank us later.

“So tonight is a combination of stepping and strolling,” another girl, who I’m guessing is her friend, says.

“The stepping is more about using the body like an instrument. So, there will be a lot of clapping, stomping, and chanting throughout the performance. Strolling is a bit different. It’s also all about body movement, but in a unified line as music plays.

They are both ways to express pride and celebrate culture. ”

I nod in agreement. It’s a decent explanation. I don’t think any description of stepping and strolling can compare to seeing it live.

“Are you ready?” I turn and ask my friends.

“Bitch, we were born ready, da fuck you mean,” Ayana teases, making me laugh.

I’m doing that a lot more these days. I rarely cringe away from being happy these days.

Especially since them—Colt and Coop. They’ve been a lifeline in the darkness, urging me to no longer be afraid.

They don’t push me to smile or tell me I should be happy.

Instead, they fuck me senseless and help me find parts of me I didn’t know even still existed.

“Earth to Eva.” A hand waves in front of my face, and I blush.

Grimacing, I raise my hands in mock surrender to Cammy. “My bad.”

She pinches me just as music begins to blare through the speakers. The lights in the room go dark, and you hear it—the marching of feet. When they come back on, men in red suits, crisp white dress shirts, and red bow ties stand in formation.

“Hell yes. It’s Sigma Alpha Psi, ” a girl shouts. “The way these men move is the definition of swoon.”

I hum my agreement because sweet fuck they look good. Glancing across the stage, I instantly pick out Mason. I mean, he’s hard to miss at that height. Then my gaze lands on the man in the front holding a candy-cane-striped cane.

Liam.

“Fuck, he looks fine as hell,” Ayana squeaks, pointing right where my attention just was. Both he and Mason look dapper as fuck. Their waves are laid perfectly. Their edge-ups are clean, leading to perfectly trimmed beards. I’d melt into a puddle if there weren’t people here.

An image of being sandwiched between them plays in high definition. I already know what Liam can do, so I can only imagine what it would be like to have them both.

Am I a greedy bitch? You bet your ass I am. I don’t believe in conforming to the ideology that couples are the only acceptable relationships. I feed off energies. So, if yours blends with mine, then sign me up.

I wonder if I could convince Colt and Coop to have a five-some?

Shaking my head, I reign in the wanton bitch doing backflips at the idea of that and watch them perform. They are so smooth it’s almost criminal. Each step echoes, and each word fills the venue, captivating the audience into silence.

They end the performance with their signature fraternity sign, and then they line up.

“The Nasty Song” by Lil Ru begins to play, and goosebumps travel up my arm as Liam leads the stroll off the stage.

When their shoulders begin rolling and their legs kick out, landing into a squat, I think I hear my pussy scream.

Sweet baby Jesus, I think I need a shower.

My eyes don’t move until they’re almost out the door.

Liam’s eyes land on me just as his hips roll into a squat.

As he stands, he smirks at me with his megawatt smile.

“Fuck, I think he just winked at me,” the girl from earlier squeals and I cut my eyes at her. Part of me wants to be like he’s mine, but he’s not. So, maybe my possessive, addled brain imagined that his attention was on me.

More fraternities and sororities perform, but my focus is on the two brothers whose waistlines leave my imagination running wild. The idea that I could hang from Mason’s shoulders as he eats my pussy and I suck Liam’s dick is enough to make me want to leave and go back to my room with the fun toys.

An hour or so goes by before a guy walks onto the stage.

“I want to thank everyone for joining us,” the MC begins. “Tonight is all about the vibe. It’s about expression and feelings. Remember, there’s only one rule— Respect the Mic.”

He steps away, and the first person comes up, introducing herself.

“Stand for something or fall for nothing

That’s the trick. Something was always meant to divide.

How many somethings are made to hide?

One group

Two groups

Your group

My group

We all lose

That’s the trick—something was never meant to be, why you stand tall?

What if standing is what made you fall—made you lose it all

What if you were forced to stand before you were ready—does seeking your peace trample on my free speech

That’s the trick—something is trying to make you sick

Sick of those who don’t look like you

Sick of those who do look like you

Sick of justice and freedom for all

Because— that’s the trick, freedom without exceptions was never meant for y’all.

Don’t stand for something—stand for one thing—seeing the world thrive, no longer caught in the global divide.”

The room erupts with clapping and snapping. “She was fucking awesome,” Jade shouts over the noise and I nod my agreement.

A few more poets perform, some sultry, while others are political. There’s a great blend of artists that take the stage.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it,” I hear the deep, familiar timbre of Mason’s voice.

He begins to sit when Paisley hops up from beside me. “This seat is open,” she says, smirking as she passes me, and I both want to love and kill her for this.

“Y’all did an amazing job,” I murmur, peeking up to see a warm smile.

Mason lowers his head until his mouth is by my ear.

Sparks shoot up my spine at his nearness.

I can smell the spicy scent of his cologne and the minty freshness of his breath.

“Thank you, kindly. We’re happy to please you,” he whispers, and I have to clench my thighs to prevent myself from giving the crowd a public performance they’ll never forget. I want this man and his brother.

Before I can wrap my brain around what’s happening between us, the other part of the duo takes the stage.

Liam has changed into a pair of ripped, black denim jeans, brown shoe boots, and a black blazer with a white button-down shirt.

This man needs to be on the cover of GQ. I don’t know if it’s fair to the rest of the human race to be that level of fine.

I devote my attention to where Liam stands, not wanting to miss one word. Liam surveys the room before he begins.

“Regrets are the ashes of dreams unrealized—the hope to push past what haunts you before forcing you to your knees.

Buried deep in the marrow of your bones, it takes root, aiming to make despair your prison— home.

Don’t fertilize it with the pain of what ifs and what could never bes— it will swallow you whole with endless glee.

For despair will turn to fear

And fear—fear will tell you it’s your cross alone to bear

While those who never truly cared will point and stare, celebrating your downfall in raucous cheers

Yank out the poisonous weeds wrapped around your heart, telling you you’re never allowed to fall apart.

Fall—fall into pieces and find your way back to the center.

For there’s beauty in your broken pieces—peace brought in the calm during a raging storm.

So, while regret may be the ashes of the unrealized, they also tell the story of how you survived.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until warm palms touch my skin. Mason wipes the tears and pulls me into a hug. “It’s okay, Evie.”

His words are a comfort, but not enough to alleviate the crater-sized chasm in my chest. Liam’s words hit like it was crafted just for me. Another reminder that I do deserve to forgive myself, but it’s also okay to not be okay.

Needing fresh air, I stand. “I’ll be right back. I need to step out for a minute,” I explain, then exit the venue.

I walk down the corridor, searching for the bathroom sign, when I see her. It’s just the back of her head, but that’s her. But as quickly as she appeared, she disappears into the ground.

“Fah,” I yell, causing people to look at me, but I don’t have time to care about that shit. She’s alive. I fucking saw her. Fah’s alive.

Running down the hall, I turn left and then right. I search until my feet hurt, but I’ve lost her again.

I crouch down until my ass hits the floor and hug my knees to my chest. I replay the scene, questioning my sanity. One thing I’m almost certain of is that she’s alive— Farrah’s fucking alive.