obsessed over you

chapter 2

The bass from the speakers pulsed through the floor of the bar as I weaved my way between tables, balancing a tray full of drinks. The place was packed, as usual. Laughter and chatter mixed with the music, creating a constant hum of energy. It was exhausting, but after two months, I had gotten used to the rhythm.

Rachel had been the one to help me get this job. She’d already been working here as a dancer, and when I finally agreed to try living again, she convinced the manager to give me a shot as a waitress. I wasn’t sure I’d last a week, but now it felt like second nature.

“Hey, Kyra, table three needs refills,” Rachel called out as she walked by in her glittering costume, her face flushed from her last performance.

“I got it!” I yelled back, grabbing a pitcher and heading toward the table.

The guys at table three were rowdy but harmless. One of them tried to flirt as I refilled their drinks, but I brushed it off with a polite smile. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

By the time my shift was winding down, the crowd had thinned, and the energy in the bar had mellowed. I wiped down the counter, my muscles aching but my mind surprisingly clear. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had some semblance of control over my life.

“Heading out early tonight?” Rachel asked as she joined me by the bar, sipping on a bottle of water.

I nodded, pulling off my apron. “Yeah, I think I need to. There’s somewhere I want to go.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, but her expression softened as understanding dawned. “Your dad’s grave?”

I nodded again, my throat tightening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time.”

Rachel smiled gently and gave my hand a squeeze. “You’re doing good, Kyra. He’d be proud of you.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just smiled back and grabbed my bag. After saying my goodbyes to the staff, I stepped out into the cool night air.

---

The cemetery was quiet, the moonlight casting soft shadows over the rows of headstones. I walked slowly, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I made my way to his grave. My heart was heavy, but there was a strange sense of peace in the air.

When I reached his headstone, I knelt down, running my fingers over the engraved letters of his name. “Hi, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.

The tears came before I could stop them, sliding silently down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here sooner,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s been... hard. I miss you so much.”

........

The city lights twinkled against the inky black sky as the sleek black car pulled up in front of the luxurious hotel. Ethan stepped out, adjusting his leather jacket, his sharp features etched with weariness. Five years abroad had given him a new perspective on life, but as he stood there, breathing in the familiar air of the city, a wave of dread threatened to swallow him whole.

He had no intention of going back to his family’s house—not tonight, maybe not ever. The mere thought of his mother’s probing questions and his father’s critical gaze made his stomach twist. The drama, the expectations, the endless cycle of disappointment—it was all waiting for him there, and he wasn’t ready to face it.

The doorman greeted him with a polite nod, opening the glass doors to the grand lobby. Ethan stepped inside, the quiet elegance of the space wrapping around him like a shield. Marble floors gleamed under the soft lighting, and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air.

“Mr. Ethan Carter?” the receptionist asked, her voice professional yet warm.

He nodded, offering a faint smile. “That’s me.”

“We’ve prepared the suite as requested,” she said, sliding a key card across the counter. “Welcome back, sir.”

“Thanks,” he replied, taking the card and heading toward the elevator.

The ride up was silent, the hum of the elevator the only sound. As the doors opened to his floor, Ethan stepped out, his polished shoes clicking softly against the carpet.

Inside the suite, he dropped his bag by the door and let out a heavy sigh. The room was immaculate—plush furniture, a king-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Yet, it all felt hollow, like everything else in his life.

He walked over to the mini-bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid burned as it slid down his throat, but it wasn’t enough to drown the unease clawing at him.

For five years, he had managed to keep his distance, to carve out a life for himself far away from the tangled web of his family. But now, being back in the city, the memories came rushing in. His mother’s relentless need for control, his father’s cold indifference—it was all still there, lingering in the shadows.

Ethan sank into the armchair by the window, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. He had returned, but not for them. He had his reasons—unfinished business, loose ends to tie up—but none of it involved rekindling old ties.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Home sweet home,” he muttered under his breath, the words laced with irony.

Ethan leaned back in the plush armchair of his hotel suite, the half-empty glass of whiskey resting on the table beside him. The city lights outside blurred as his thoughts drifted to the past—an unshakable memory that haunted him no matter how much time passed.

It had been five years, yet he could still hear Albert's laugh, loud and infectious, as if it were yesterday. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images came rushing in like a flood: the screech of tires, the deafening crash, and Albert's lifeless body being pulled from the wreckage.

Ethan rubbed his temples, as if trying to erase the guilt that gnawed at him. He’d spent a year in bed after the accident, both legs shattered and his spirit crushed. He had lost all hope of walking again, each day a painful reminder of his mistake. The doctors said he was lucky to survive, but Ethan couldn’t see it that way. Survival felt more like a punishment.

He blamed himself for everything. If only he hadn’t agreed to that stupid race. If only he had been the one driving Albert’s car instead of letting his best friend handle it. Albert had trusted him, and Ethan had failed him.

And then there was his family. They had refused to bury Albert in the family plot, claiming it wasn’t their responsibility. "He’s not one of us," his mother had said, her voice as cold as ice. Instead, Albert was laid to rest in a commoners’ cemetery—an insult Ethan could never forgive.

Setting the glass down, Ethan stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. He couldn’t stay cooped up here any longer. The weight of the memories was suffocating.

---

The drive to the cemetery was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound in the still night. The streets grew darker as he left the city behind, heading toward the outskirts where the cemetery was nestled. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he approached the wrought iron gates, the sight of them sending a familiar ache through his chest.

Ethan parked outside and stepped into the crisp night air. The cemetery was silent, the headstones lined up in neat rows under the pale light of the moon. He walked slowly, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he made his way to Albert’s grave.

When he reached it, he stopped, his breath hitching as he gazed at the simple headstone. The name "Albert Hayes" was etched into the stone, along with the dates that marked his short life. No elaborate memorial, no grandeur—just cold stone in a quiet corner of the world.

Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

As he stood there, the memories of their last conversation flooded back with brutal clarity.

---

It had been a warm summer evening, the scent of fresh-cut grass in the air. They had been in Albert’s garage, working on their cars, as they often did. Albert had grinned at Ethan, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag.

“You’re going down tonight,” Albert had teased, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Ethan had laughed, shaking his head. “You wish. You can’t even handle my turns, Al.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. We’ll see who eats dust,” Albert had shot back, his tone playful but confident.

But then Albert’s face had softened, his grin fading. “You know, Ethan, no matter what happens, you’re my brother. You always have been.”

Ethan had frowned at the sudden shift in tone. “What’s with the sentimentality? You scared I’ll beat you that bad?”

Albert had chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. Just saying. It’s important, you know?”

Ethan had rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

---

The memory hit Ethan like a punch to the gut. “I should’ve stopped you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I should’ve known better.”

He crouched down, tracing the name on the headstone with his fingers. “You’d still be here if it weren’t for me. And instead of standing up for you, I let them put you here. You deserved better, Al. You deserved so much better.”

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. The weight of guilt, anger, and loss pressed heavily on his chest. “If I could trade places with you, I would,” he whispered.

The wind rustled through the trees, the only sound in the stillness. Ethan stayed there for what felt like hours, lost in the memories of a life that had been taken too soon. He didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself, but he knew one thing: Albert’s grave would never be forgotten.

“I’ll make it right,” he said softly, the words a promise. “I don’t know how, but I will.”

Ethan adjusted his jacket as he walked away from Albert’s grave, his heart still heavy with guilt and grief. The cemetery was silent except for the soft rustle of the wind, but then, a faint sound reached his ears—a woman’s voice, raw with emotion.

He froze, his steps faltering as he turned his head toward the sound. It came from a few rows away, near a cluster of modest graves. Intrigued and slightly uneasy, he moved closer, keeping his distance but just close enough to hear her words.

The woman knelt by a grave, her shoulders trembling as she clutched a bouquet of wilted flowers. Her voice was thick with tears, the kind of pain that cut deep and left scars that never healed.

Daddy,” she whispered, her words carrying through the still night. “I don’t even know where to start. Things are so hard without you. Every day, it’s like I’m pretending to be okay, but I’m not. I’m so tired, Daddy. So tired of acting like I’m strong when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Her cries grew louder, and Ethan felt his chest tighten. The rawness in her voice was something he recognized, a mirror of his own pain. He leaned against a tree, out of sight, but unable to tear himself away.

“I had that nightmare again,” the woman continued, her voice shaking. “The one where Mom’s screaming at me, blaming me for what happened. Telling me it’s my fault you’re gone.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her sobs echoing in the quiet. “And you know what? Maybe she’s right. Maybe it would’ve been better if it was me who died that day. Then maybe she wouldn’t hate me so much. Maybe you’d still be here.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. The anguish in her words struck a chord deep within him, stirring memories of his own self-loathing and guilt.

The woman straightened, her tears still falling as she stared at the grave. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Daddy,” she said, her tone hardening. “I’ll find them—the man and the woman who ran away that night. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll make them pay for what they did to you. That’s a promise.”

She wiped her face with determination, her grief momentarily replaced by a simmering anger. Ethan watched her from the shadows, his mind racing. He didn’t know this woman, but he understood her pain all too well. It was the same grief that had consumed him for years, the same helplessness and burning need for justice.

Suddenly, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head and saw him. Her tear-streaked face betrayed a mix of surprise and wariness, but Ethan didn’t say a word. He met her gaze briefly, his expression unreadable, before brushing past her.

The moment hung heavy in the air as he walked toward his car. He could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Ethan gripped the wheel tightly, his thoughts tangled.

As he drove off, the image of the stranger’s grief-stricken face stayed with him, her words echoing in his mind. For the first time in years, he realized he wasn’t alone in his pain. There were others like him, carrying the weight of loss and guilt, searching for answers in a world that had taken everything from them.

But even so, Ethan pushed the thought aside. Pain had taught him one thing: survival meant keeping your distance. And that’s exactly what he intended to do.