Page 123 of Psychotic Obsession
"Tobias..."
"I won't do it to them." He dodges me when I try to grab him again, one final step from the edge of his demise. "I'm dangerous. I'm the bad guy. I'm fucking insatiable when it comes to pain, and I can't help it. But I do love you."
He freezes and drops his hands, tears falling down his cheeks. "I have no idea how to be normal for you. I lied before. I just wanted to hurt you. You weren't a good fuck gone wrong; you are...were...the best thing that ever happened to me."
The cops are right behind me now, shouting at us to raise our hands, to freeze, to get down, to step away from the cliffside while I stare at Tobias' blue eyes shining in the moonlight, his sadness making me falter and panic.
"I want you to be their dad," I say in a heart-breaking tone, watching him get a millimetre from the edge.I panic. "You've done horrific things, Tobias, you really have, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."
"What did you say?"
I step towards him, urging myself to say the three words that go against every sensible thought in my head."I love you."
"She just said she loves me," he says to himself. "She...loves me."
He smirks, but it falters, his expression changing to something serious as he steps towards me and grabs my face, pressing his lips to mine.
He pulls away from me, the corner of his mouth tugging up as his dimples dent in, his ocean blues dancing. "Thank you for loving me."
I gasp as he throws himself backwards just as an officer collides with my body and pins me to the snow-covered ground. My arm reaches to my front to protect myself.
"Tobias!" I release an ear-piercing scream. "Tobias!"
I manage to drag my head to the side, watching the scene unfold before me. I can't believe that after everything we've been through, all the sick, twisted games, the heartbreak, murder, the infatuation to own every part of me, this is it.
I sob, closing my eyes momentarily as relief floods through me, consuming every inch of my body as Tobias stops resisting the officers.
Aria
FIVE YEARS LATER
"Aria Miller, this year's medal recipient, is being recognized for her outstanding work and contributions to the fields of pediatric medicine and genetic science, and her exceptional research in collaboration with multiple organizations. Most recently, she founded a charity focused on mental health awareness. She worked extensively on the discovery of new genetic mutations that affect the mitochondria. By doing this in such a short number of years, she not only has generated more jobs for research but has saved thousands of lives around the world."
Clapping fills my ears. I straighten my pencil skirt, taking deep breaths while I stare at my fingers twisting in my lap. A hand curls around them, tightening, running his thumb over my skin in comfort.
"You've got this. I'm so proud of you," Ewan tells me, pressing his lips to my temple as Doctor Shique continues speaking to the hundreds of people in the dark theatre hall.
"She had been relentless with her research, month after month, year after year. She worked harder, harder than I had ever seen anyone work, only to be told no, over and over again. Did that stop her from going on to create the newGemgenetrials? No, of course it didn't."
Each time the crowd surrounding us breaks into applause, my heart beats faster. Perspiration forms along my forehead, the room growing far too hot as I listen to him praise me.
"I've had the pleasure of working alongside Aria for many years now, and when I tell you she is a fighter, incredibly determined, and an inspiration to survivors all over the world, I mean it."
The room grows silent, and I squeeze Ewan's hand, my nails digging into his palm, resisting the urge to get up and run for the hills. "I can't stand up in front of all these people."
Anxiety riddles me daily, to the point that I haven’t gotten up on a stage and spoken in years. Sure, I've sat in busy meeting rooms week after week, but only after hours of hyperventilating that usually resulted in me bringing my lunch up in the toilet once finished.
But at this moment, with hundreds of eyes on me, I don't think I can do it.
I go to therapy every single week since that horrific night, practising different methods to help me relax when my mind is on fire. I haven't touched alcohol in years. I don't need it, Kade and Luciella definitely don't need their mom drunk every night.
"I'll be proud of you either way," Ewan says, lacing his fingers in mine. "But as soon as we get home, I'm ripping that skirt off you." His mouth is close to my ear, and I clench my thighs. "That's a promise."
I smirk and slap his torso as my eyes flit to Jason, the sixteen-year-old with an attitude who, thankfully, doesn't hear his dad's crude statement. My hand momentarily trails the outline of thedeep scar on Ewan's chest, the one he kept hidden for years before finally letting me trace my fingertips along it, telling him he should embrace the fact that he survived that torturous night five years ago.
We both should.
We have only just become official. I wanted a break from any type of relationship to focus on myself, on the twins, on Jason and Ewan as we co-parented over the years. It didn't stop us from warming each other's beds often, and he basically lived with me for the first year so I could help him with his physio, both healing the other mentally, emotionally, and eventually...physically.
