Page 21 of Obsession

It would be so easy to kill my father.

It would be so easy to bury the pathetic man in front of me.

Throw a wilting rose on his casket and watch the monster of my nightmares disappear six feet under.

I wished for it once, but Robbie is right. Even now, I crave my father’s respect. And because he’s unable to give it to me, I seek it in other men.

James.

Elliot.

The tears in my eyes spill over, cascading down my cheeks. I swipe them away before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and reaching for my father’s withered hand. Despite the pain he has put me through, he’s still the only flesh and blood I have left in this world.

My mother packed up a bag and walked out weeks after my birth, leaving me behind with a man who would steal my childhood.

I stroke my thumb back and forth over the protruding veins on his hand. The ache in my chest refuses to uncurl its fingers from around my heart.

“I hate you,” I tell him, my voice shaky with emotion. “For everything you put me through.” As my throat constricts, I swallow past the thick lump. It hurts to offer him this mercy of his hand in mine. Despite everything he did to me, I still can’t truly hate him.

“But I also love you,” I whisper, staring at the side of his wrinkled, gaunt face. A deep sigh rattles my chest. “That doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you, Dad.” I press down on the cannula in his hand, and the ache eases inside my chest when he grows distressed. “I don’t think I can.”

Leaning in close, I stare at what’s left of the monster of my nightmares.

The man who stole the last of my innocence.

“Look at you now. So pathetic and helpless.” I place his hand on the sheet and stroke the backs of my fingers over his cheek, whispering, “Just like I was helpless back then when you let your friends take turns with me.”

He stays staring at the TV, unable to move his head to look me in the eye. Unable to do anything but gargle as I flip my fingers and dig my nails into his wrinkled skin.

The urge to rip him open overwhelms me as the kitchen clock fills the silence. If I leave a mark, his nurse will ask questions.

I brush his thin hair away from his forehead instead. Just like Robbie tossed his bat on the bed that day in surrender.

“It’s funny how karma works, Dad. I hope you rot. When you take your last breath, I will finally smile again.”

10

SAVANNAH

Sometimes I do stupid shit because I’m too weak to resist my own curiosity.

And this is arguably one of those times.

The logical thing would be to turn around and return home, but I drove three hours to get here. Sure, I could use work as an excuse, but it would be a poor one.

No, my curiosity alone brought me here.

My obsession with a dangerous man.

Before I can let those thoughts fester and grow into taunting monsters, I raise my hand and knock firmly on the door.

The wind chime to my left sings in the fall breeze, the soft notes lulling the anxiety inside me. When I shift on my feet, the wooden porch creaks. I note the flaking paint and the potted flowers beside the front door.

A car drives past on the road behind me just as the lock flips, and an elderly woman with graying, brown hair tied back in a neat bun eyes me curiously.

“Hi, Mrs. Ashton?” I start. “I’m Savannah. We spoke on the phone.”

“The reporter?”