His Darkest Obsession

Four{ Pre death symptoms?}

FRIDA

The weekend came and went in the usual way it always did.

Okay, that's a lie. It was different this time.

Before I found out I had only a few months to live, my weekends were spent reading novels, binge watching TV series until my eyes hurt, daydreaming of the perfect boyfriend that wasn't Jacob Harts, and studying for the regular chemistry and calculus tests I always had on Mondays.

But, none of these things seemed to matter anymore.

On Saturday, the atmosphere at home was tense. I didn't see much of my parents, but when my mother came up to my room to tell me lunch was served, she had developed a black eye on her right eye. It was a famous symbol of my father's prowess.

It had angered me to see her like that before. But that night, I didn't seem to care. I just wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

At dinner on Saturday, we had a talk. My mother wanted me to leave school and spend my last days on Earth at home.

"You might as well stab me with your fork right now, mother. I would rather die than spend the rest of my last days locked up in this house." I spat out.

Luckily, my father agreed with me. And it was only because he did not want to see my face and be reminded of all he had lost while training me.

Sunday passed as usual. We made an appearance in St Patrick's church. It was the biggest church in Everleigh. Both my parents were far from believers, but my father was an invited guest that Sunday. We sat at the front row, the three of us dressed in matching violet outfits.

As we walked into the church, my mother held on to my father's right arm while they smiled and waved at the congregation like the perfect couple - that they were absolutely not.

And I? Frida Adams posed for the camera. The perfect aristocratic daughter.

At the church, my father announced my engagement to Jacob Harts. The first and only son of Ford Harts.

The congregation went crazy. It was only then I noticed the presence of the Harts family.

They were seated beside us.

My eyes met with Jacob's distant blue ones and I turned away from him immediately. I wish, just like me, he hated this arrangement our parents had made. But, he seemed to be enjoying the charade our parents had started.

I wondered what he would do when he found out I was going to die. And we won't be married after all.

Which made me wonder why my father had not called off the engagement yet. Or why he didn't try to reduce the rate at which the news was spreading.

After the service, my mother and I returned home, while my father insisted on having lunch with the Harts. He had asked us to come, but my mother refused, saying she was tired and needed to be home.

When my father returned that evening, he hit her again.

When I went downstairs to grab a book from our library, I found her in the visitor's restroom, very close to the reception room where we welcomed visitors. It was the sound of her sobbing that drew my attention.

When I peeped from the small opening the door had created, I caught sight of the bruises on her face and cuts on her lower lip.

I swallowed my annoyance and turned away.

It was none of my business, she had made it clear a long time ago.

I picked up the novel and hurried back into my room. Later that night, I heard my father drag my mother up the stairs. I could hear the sound of his slaps, hear him call her all sorts of names, I could hear her plead and cry for mercy.

I didn't come out, I stayed in my room and made sure my door was locked.

I didn't touch my phone throughout the weekend. I made sure I kept it switched off. I stayed away from my laptop and any other means my friends could use to reach me. I had to think of what to do about them, what to do about the truth.

By Monday morning, when my alarm woke me up, I had made up my mind.

I was going to keep it a secret. I was going to live the rest of my days like I had nothing to lose. I was going to do everything I had ever wanted to do!

Oxford could go to hell! I was going to die before graduation anyway.

After I showered, I got dressed in my school uniform. My gray colored printed skirt, white long sleeve shirt and matching gray colored tie, were properly ironed - courtesy of my mother. I rolled my brown hair into a large bun above my hair and curled the loose strands that fell to the sides of my face.

My feet were adorned with the uniform black socks and black flat shoes.

I threw my white tote bag which contained my essential stationery, phone and notepad, over my right shoulder. By the time I stepped out of my room and locked my door behind me, my father and my mother were standing in front of their room.

My father placed a kiss on my mother's forehead while she stared down at the floor.

To say I understood their relationship would be a grave lie. They confused me a hundred percent of the time.

My father walked past me without saying a word. Immediately my mother saw me, she forced a bright smile.

"Okay, baby girl. Let's get you to school." When she walked to me, she tapped my back and ushered me down the stairs.

I turned to look at her face. If I didn't know better, I would have never known she had been beaten to stupor last night.

She managed to cover the bruises on her lips with a thick crimson red lipstick, while foundation and whatever sorcery she used made her face as smooth as porcelain.

Anger coursed through my veins, poisoning my blood, as I stole my gaze from her.

I was tired of watching her pretend to be happy.

My mother had been miserable for as long as I had known her, I never understood why she could not just leave my father.

"He gives me everything I need. There is no reason to leave him." She once told me.

We were ushered into the black Range Rover that often drove me to school. My mother sat in the backseat beside me, while the driver and the escort my father hired sat in the front.

I kept my eyes on the road. I did not want to look at my mother.

"Since you have decided to be in school, remember that you have to keep quiet about everything. You cannot tell a soul."

I heard her say.

I did not reply to her. I did not have anything to say.

"Frida, did you hear me?" Her voice took a harsher tone. I could tell she was expecting me to speak.

Slowly, I turned my gaze to her.

"You want me to pretend everything is great as always, don't you?" I bit back.

She blinked twice, visibly puzzled by my reply. She opened her mouth to speak, but I made sure my voice was faster.

"You do not have to worry, mother. I learned from the best."

With that, I returned my eyes to the road. I could see my school's tall building ahead of us. We would be there in less than five minutes.

"One day, you'll understand that everything I do, I do for you."

That was the statement I hated the most. It was the lie that made me go crazy.

All she ever did only helped to destroy me.

As we drove into the school premises, I caught sight of a very familiar car parked in the teachers parking lot.

Not only did the car look familiar, but the man in front of it did as well. He had dark shades on and a sanitary mask, so I could not see his face properly.

But, I could almost tell those shoulders anywhere.

Could he be…?

"Get down from the car, Frida. I do not have time to waste."

The spite in my mother's voice caused me to hiss and turn to her. I stole my tote bag from her side, pushed the car door open and jumped down. I slammed it shut without saying a word to her.

By the time I turned to look at the familiar car and man, the man was gone. I tried to search for his frame around the environment, but he was nowhere to be found. It was almost as though I had imagined his presence.

Great! Was hallucination part of my "pre death" symptoms?

I hissed and continued my journey into the school building, until a voice caused me to stop in my tracks.

"Frida."

I turned sharply. The anger in the voice made me curious, even scared.

But when I turned my back to see who it was, there was no one behind me.

I squinted my brows and stared at the empty road. I felt a warm liquid trickle down my nostrils.

I frowned and stretched my right hand to wipe it off.

When I looked at the liquid at the back of my palm, I saw my blood.