Page 19 of Unapologetic Obsession

She nodded, looking down at her feet. Rose couldn’t meet my gaze or speak when she was scared half to death, though I had hoped lowering my voice would help.

It didn’t. She was tense and rigid, as if she were on the verge of a heart attack.

It seemed she could only speak at times. Was it selective mutism?

Smoothing my menacing glare—so I didn’t scare her to death—I tried again, careful to keep my voice even. “Where did you find PMU? It’s extremely rare.”

Still, she said nothing. The only sound in the lab was the low hum of the fridge and the lab equipment in the background.

Perhaps it was my body language.

I lowered the bag and widened my arms for an open stance. “Were you restocking the supplies?” I asked quietly.

Another nod.

“You could’ve brought it to the next class. How would I have known it was you who restocked the PMU?”

She didn’t nod this time and hung her head, waiting for me to hand out a vile punishment for doing the right thing.

It was the first capable thing someone in my class had done. She tracked down an impossible-to-find product and brought more than what her friend had destroyed. Why didn’t she want credit for restocking the supply, especially since she took the fall for someone else?

Since Rose refused to speak, I had to guess. The most likely answer was that Rose wanted to avoid attention at all costs.

For once, I craved to hear someone’s voice and their reasons for doing things, but she was dead silent. It made me want to push her buttons. “How did you get those scars on your stomach?”

The question landed the necessary shock value. She gasped, her expression a mix of surprise and uncertainty. The vulnerability on her face struggled with the first words she uttered today. “How do you know about my scars?”

Her lips had moved slowly and hesitantly, and the words took a few seconds to register. I stared at her mouth, disbelieving that she spoke. Her voice was husky, and because she rarely spoke, it sounded priceless. It made her delicate features softer.

The astonishment had eradicated her fear long enough to speak and make eye contact. I took full advantage of it to keep the momentum going.

“I saw them today by accident. Are there others on your body or just your stomach?” I nodded at the conservative shirt she was wearing.

Her hand flew protectively to her collar, trying to conceal more than what the shirt already hid. The inappropriate question baffled her into answering. “No. Only on my abdomen,” she replied defensively, her hoarse voice music to my ears.

With all the patience I could muster, I pressed, “How did you get them?”

“I was stabbed multiple times when I was a kid.” She spoke without an ounce of emotion, as if reciting her schedule for the week. There was no anger over the fact that someone had stabbed her numerous times. No sadness. Nothing. She was dead inside.

Her innocence, naivety, and doe-brown eyes dispersed the thoughts. “Do you know who did it?”

She shook her head.

I continued the interrogation because she clearly wouldn’t contribute anything to the conversation. “What’s the long-term care plan for the scars?”

“Huh?”

“If this happened a while ago, your doctors must have given you a care plan to follow.”

She looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about.

Rose’s family rivaled ours in wealth. Her doctors would’ve provided her with alternate options, long-term care plans, and monthly follow-ups. Most girls in our circle would have visited plastic surgeons by now to have the scars removed, though itwouldn’t be my recommendation. The superficial scars couldn’t compare to recovering from surgery. Rose chose practicality over vanity by covering them up instead of putting herself through unnecessary pain. I didn’t know any other girl who would have selected this route if another option were readily available to them.

The girl stunned me at every turn, and I hated it.

It was too soon to meddle in her affairs, but I did it anyway. “Ask your family whether the doctors assigned you a care plan and bring it to me tomorrow.”

She nodded tentatively and took that as her permission to flee.