His Broken Obsession

Chapter 8

ALORA

I stumble into my apartment with ragged breaths after spending far too long trying to get my keys into the lock.

My hands won’t stay steady. My palms are sweaty, and everything around me feels too far away.

I barely remember the drive home.

I throw my things onto the bed. My phone bounces off the mattress and hits the floor with a loud thud, but I don’t care.

I can buy a new one. I can’t buy a new mind if this one breaks.

I hurry to the drawer beside my bed and unlock the compartment at the bottom. I pick up the bottle and the syringe, but I freeze.

I took some last night.

I can’t take more. It’s too risky.

I put them back and lock the drawer, fumbling with the key before it finally turns.

What am I supposed to do now?

My chest feels too tight. I can’t get enough air, and standing still is making it worse.

I kick off my sneakers, remove my jewelry, and hurry into the bathroom. I step into the shower without taking off the rest of my clothes.

The water hits me, and I slide down until I’m sitting on the cold tiles.

I messed up.

I let Brielle see how easily she could get to me. I let my new friends see me shaking. Then I sat there staring at Kian as though I hadn’t spent months promising myself that I wouldn’t need anyone’s attention.

There’s a crack now.

They’ll see her.

The person I’ve worked so hard to hide.

I told you, but you didn’t want to listen.

You are a weakling, Alora.

You will never be strong.

Get used to it.

I draw my knees to my chest.

“Stop,” I whisper, but the whispers only grow louder.

Pathetic

Weak

Attention w***e.

“Stop. Please just stop." My tears mix with the water running down my face.

Stop?

But I’m only getting started.

I press my hands over my ears, even though I know it won’t help.

You wanted a new beginning. Look how well that went.

The laughter that follows has me gripping my locs tightly, praying the burn in my scalp will swallow the voices.

“Shut up."

My voice breaks.

The voices laugh harder.

“It’s not real, it’s not real. I’m not weak." I rock myself back and forth with my eyes closed tightly, desperate to get away.

I don’t know how long I sit there.

At some point, my hands leave my hair. I don’t notice what I’m doing until I look down.

There’s blood beneath my nails from scratching my laps. I stare at it, unable to make myself move.

“Alora, s**t, Alora."

Someone touches my shoulder, and I flinch.

“Hey. Look at me,” the voice says softly. I try, but everything is blurry.

I don’t recognize the voice in my apartment. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this, but someone is here, seeing me at my lowest, and I hate it.

I want to tell him to leave. That I’m fine, but I can’t make the words come out.

The water stops.

“Hold on. I’m getting you out of here.”

That voice sounds familiar, but I can’t identify it.

Arms lift me, and I cling to him, willing this stranger to become my anchor.

He carries me into my room and lowers me onto the bed. I feel a towel settle over my head as he attempts to dry my hair.

He helps me change, keeping the towel around my shoulders, then pulls the covers over my body.

“Everything will be fine, princess. I’m here now.”

Tristan.

What is he doing here?

He’s supposed to be in Manchester.

“Tris?” I whisper.

“Shhh, I’m here, okay? Get some rest.” His voice sounds strained.

I want to look at him properly, to explain before he starts asking questions, but I’m so tired.

“Get some rest, princess. We’ll talk when you wake up.” I feel his lips on my forehead.

I catch his hand. “Stay?”

“Of course.”

He slides under the cover and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his chest.

I curl further into his arms, afraid that he’ll leave if I let go, until exhaustion finally pulls me under.

~~~~~~

I feel fuzzy when I wake up. My head is a mess, and I can barely remember what happened earlier.

I don’t know how long I’ve slept. My clothes are gone, replaced by an oversized shirt, and there’s a towel spread on my pillow.

The bedroom door opens.

I gasp and pull the covers towards me before I recognize Tristan.

“Tris?”

He stops in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes scan my face. “How are you feeling?”

The question brings it all back. Images I wished would have stayed forgotten memories between us.

The shower. His voice. The look on his face when he helped me into bed.

He saw me.

After all my promises, he found me like that again.

My eyes flick towards the drawer.

Did he see?

No. I locked it.

But what if he looked for the key?

Tristan isn’t Mama. He doesn’t go through my things without permission. He knows how much I hate it.

“Alora?”

“I didn’t take anything.” The words slip out anxiously before I can stop them.

Tristan goes still.

Fuck.

“I promise,” I add quickly, climbing out of bed. “I just had an anxiety attack. That’s all.”

“I asked how you were feeling. I didn’t say anything else.” He says slowly.

“I know, but you were giving me that look.”

He frowns. “What look?”

I don’t have an answer for him. He steps further into the room, and I grip his arm. “You believe me, right?”

His gaze drops to my hand before returning to my face. “Did you take something?”

“No.”

Not today.

The words sit heavily at the back of my throat.

“I’m worried about you, Ali.” He says softly. “I found you sitting in the shower. You could barely answer me.”

I look away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m fine now.”

“You keep saying that. You said that yesterday, and look what happened today.”

“I’m really okay.” I insist.

His jaw tightens. “If this is happening again, I don’t think you should be staying here alone.”

My heart drops to my stomach. “No, Tris.”

“Alora…”

“I’m not going home," I say defiantly. “And don’t tell Mama and Dad.”

He looks away, but I can see him contemplating.

I grip his hand tighter. “Please, Tristan.”

He looks at me. “What happened today?”

It’s my turn to look away. “Nothing.”

“Try again.”

I let go of his arm and take a few steps backwards. “I was just nervous. First days and all.” I try to smile, but he doesn’t return it.

I fold my arms across my chest. “I saw some people from high school.”

His eyes narrow. “Who?”

I shrug. “Does it matter?”

“After what I saw earlier? Yes.”

“I handled it. I’m fine now. I was just taken off guard.”

His eyes move towards the bathroom, and humiliation burns through me. “Don’t do that,” I whisper.

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m lying about everything.”

“I’m just trying to understand, Alora. You say you are fine, but we can all tell you aren’t. Mama’s losing her mind because she doesn’t think you are fine enough to live alone, but Dad’s making her respect your choices.”

“I just had a bad first day, Tris. I’m not the only one in the world who gets them.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

I hate this.

I hate that he came here and found me like that. I hate how relieved I was to hear his voice.

Most of all, I hate that he has a reason to worry.

I turn around and walk back to my bed to sit on the edge. “What are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Manchester?”

“We missed our flight yesterday. We’re leaving later, so I decided to check up on you first. Ronan wanted to come but he had to run a quick errand.” He explains.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I did, but you weren’t answering.”

Tris insisted on having a spare key when Dad gave me this apartment. We argued about it until I gave up.

I’m grateful he had it.

I’m also desperate for him to leave.

“Well, you’ve checked, and I’m okay.”

He raises a brow. “Are you throwing me out?”

“I don’t want you to miss your flight. I assume you already booked it.”

“How considerate," he teases.

I try to drag him towards the door. The key word being tried because being freakishly tall apparently comes with the ability to become a wall whenever it suits him.

“Tristan.” I whine when he won’t budge.

He chuckles and lets me pull him towards the living room but stops when we reach the front door.

“Look at me.”

I sigh.

“Princess,”

I look up.

“Call me tonight."

“I will.”

“I’m going to expect a call from you every day.”

“Tris.”

“If I can’t reach you, I’m calling Mama.”

My eyes grow wide. “That’s blackmail,” I exclaim.

“Yes.” He says smugly.

I glare at him, but he doesn’t look remotely sorry. “Do we have a deal?”

“Fine. I’ll call you fifty times a day."

He studies me for another second before pulling me into a hug. “Being here alone doesn’t mean you have to deal with everything alone.” He says quietly, and my throat tightens.

“I know.” I pull away and shove him playfully. “Now go before you suffocate me with your overwhelming presence, superstar,” I tease.

“I love you,” I tell him and reach on my tippy toes to kiss his cheeks. It amuses him every single time I do it.

He presses his lips together to hide his laughter but fails. “Love you too, shortcake."

I raise my hand to hit him, but he’s already stepping through the door.

“Call me," he yells over his shoulder.

“You’ve said that a million times already."

I shut the door and wait for his footsteps to fade.

The smile falls from my face, and I slide to the floor. My hands are shaking again.

That was so close.