Page 38 of Obsession

“I’ve missed you.”

“You have?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice.

“I have.”

I tried to breathe through the ice-cold fear that curled itself around my heart when she slid her bare leg along the length of mine, wrapped around me like a koala bear.

I didn’t have a single memory of my mom hugging me. Not one. Yet here she was, squeezing me to her and peppering kisses on my shoulder through the thin material of my T-shirt.

“Mom?” My voice was thick, a strangled question in the late of night.

“You’re not my little boy anymore.”

She only just noticed? Puberty had me in its grip, much like she did with my fear.

“You’re growing into a man.” She moved, and I stiffened when her alcohol laced breath heated my collarbone. She placeda kiss there before shifting on top of me. Her fingers came to my boxer shorts, and every muscle in my body locked tight. I held my breath, fighting the urge to shove her off.

She would kill me if I did.

No, that would be too quick.

She’d starve me.

What was even sicker was the small, desperate part of me that craved her love and acceptance. It didn’t care how. Mom had never said she loved me. Never so much as stroked my cheek affectionately. I knew this was wrong, but for the first time in my life, she didn’t hate me. She didn’t tell me how disgusting I was or what a failure I’d turned into.

For the first time, I hadn’t ruined her life.

The words she whispered now were different. Softer.

“I’ve missed you, Robbie. You’re a good son.”

“I’ve missed you too, Mom.”

16

SAVANNAH

Abuzz of excitement greets me when I arrive at work with my travel coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. That can only mean one thing: something buzzworthy happened in the world of media.

“Campbell,” Jeanine calls out to my left as she walks up to me, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. Her charcoal pencil skirt looks painfully tight.

Unwinding the scarf from around my neck, I quickly enter my cubicle with her close on my heels.

“James wants to see you in his office.”

Oh great, what does he want now?

“What’s with the gossip?” I ask, placing my bag on the chair by the desk.

Jeanine stares at me for a beat, unaware of the lipstick stain on her front teeth, and then laughter bubbles up from her chest. “For a reporter, you sure don’t read the news.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “I don’t need to read the news when I work for a newspaper.”

“Well,” she starts, following after me when I leave the cubicle, “if you did, you would know that Atley Hill has a new serial killer on the loose.”

I halt in my step, and she catches up. My nose prickles when her peachy perfume precedes her clicking footsteps in a heady cloud. “A serial killer?”

Beaming, she nods. “Exciting, huh?”