Page 71 of Obsession

The disbelief in his voice pisses me off even more, and I sneer at him.

“What did you expect, Elliot? I’m new to the paper. No previous experience to speak of. Not like you. In fact, I’d been with the paper for how long? Less than two months when Hammond asked me to interview him? I was never qualified for the task in the first place. James would have never considered me if Hammond hadn’t asked for me specifically.” My anger is quickly draining out of me. “Just…leave. I’m already ashamed.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Elliot hovers, looking as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know what.

I finally locate a pair of scissors beneath all the clutter and use it to tear open the package, removing a sea of packing peanuts.

“I can talk to him if you want. There’s still The Bridge Killer. I can’t cover both stories…” He falls silent when I stiffen.

My hands shake violently as I remove the bottle of cola. It slips from my fingers, and I press my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. I can’t even look at the remaining item. I’m going to be sick.

“Are you okay?” Elliot’s voice is a symphony of distorted sounds, a blend of high and low notes that fade in and out.

I’m vaguely aware of him walking up to me and removing my bag from the chair. He helps me to sit before he crouches in front of me and removes the parcel from my hands. He sets it on the floor, and I try to stand, but he forces me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Savannah? What’s wrong?”

When I fail to answer, he looks from me to the offending items on the floor and back. With his hand on my upper arm to steady me, or maybe to comfort me, he picks up the item and reads over the text. His eyes find mine, and his brow furrows in confusion.

“I need to leave.”

Before he can say a word, I shoot to my feet and rush from the room.

“Savannah,” he calls out after me, but I don’t wait for him to catch up.

I run like my life depends on it.

31

ROBBIE, AGE 16

Miss Knox, who was supposed to oversee this exam, turned another page in her romance novel, ignoring us all.

“You’re such a freak, Hammond,” Keith Campbell whispered behind me, and my grip tightened on the pencil until it snapped. I squeezed my eyes shut, counting to ten in my head to keep my emotions under control. Now I couldn’t finish my test in time, or at fucking all.

Story of my life. I just couldn’t catch a fucking break.

“Jackson saw your mother in the town square yesterday, begging anyone who would listen for money. Think she’d be down for a fuck in exchange for some cash or beer. I’m sure I can steal some from my dad’s stash.”

Never mind the fucking fact that his girlfriend was seated a few rows ahead of us. Keith was an asshole who refused to leave me the hell alone. He’d been the bane of my existence at school since fucking kindergarten.

“Are you listening to me, freak?” He shoved my shoulder, and I tensed them in response, but he wasn’t done, shoving me again. “Are you deaf or something? Did your mom damageyour hearing when she beat you? Yeah, we know,” he taunted. “Everyone fucking knows that your mom beats you black and blue, and you’re too chicken shit to hit her back.”

I whirled around in my seat. “Shut the hell up, Campbell.”

“Ooh,” he laughed, looking to his friends for backup. “The freak can hear, after all.”

As I faced forward again, my eyes landed on Keith’s girlfriend, Samantha, who was already watching me with a sympathetic look in her eyes. She was too nice for someone like him, and it was a mystery why a girl like her would put up with the likes of Keith Campbell.

My cheeks heated with embarrassment. I glanced down at my broken pen and gnashed my teeth. Why did I even try anymore? Two weeks had passed since I walked out on Mom. I slept beneath a bridge with some other homeless locals, and then I went to school an hour early to catch a shower in the changing rooms, hoping no one would spot me. I’d had to sneak into the trailer once or twice to pick up some clothes and something to eat, so at least there was that. But I didn’t have access to a washing machine, and the river didn’t do a good job of removing the stains.

And now this.

Picking up the broken pen, I tossed it to the floor, grabbed my bag off the back of my chair, and walked out. Miss Knox turned another page, ignoring me.

The bell rang just as I exited the room. Chairs scraped against the floor, and I hurried down the hallway, with tense shoulders and fisted hands.

I was never lucky enough to get away.