Page 77 of Unapologetic Obsession
He jumped to his feet like he had just spotted a long-lost friend. “Dude, you won’t believe it, Mom got us a Nexora Viba. The store forgot to include the second controller but we can take turns until it ships.”
Mom got us a Nexora Viba? He spoke as if it had been her plan all along. As if he hadn’t just begged her to share theconsole with me out of pity. Or perhaps because it would be too awkward to play in front of me. It wasn’t enough to be the perfect son, he also had to be the hero.
“Do you want to go first?”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m good,” I muttered, turning on my heel.
“Dude, it’sDoom of the Dead—” Damon’s hand clamped down on my shoulder to make me listen to his pitch about the dumb game.
Fuck him.
I turned around and shoved him. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
He stumbled back, crashing right into our mother.
“Caden!” she exploded, grabbing Damon by the arms to steady him.
Damon’s eyes flicked to mine, rubbing his shoulder. There was something there—hurt, maybe—not from the shove but from my rejection. Honestly, I hadn’t meant to shove him that hard. I didn’t want him touching me, that was all. I had no idea why he bothered with me when I had made it clear that he shouldn’t.
The glimpse of regret left my thoughts as soon as my mother’s shrill voice filled the room. “What is wrong with you?!”
I shrugged. “He shouldn’t have touched me.”
“You do not put your hands on your brother!” Her eyes burned holes through me. “Do you understand? Apologize.”
I sneered just as Damon stepped between us. “It’s fine, Mom. I surprised him, that’s all. He didn’t mean it.”
For fuck’s sake. Could he give the savior complex a break for once in his goddamn life?
“No, Damon. This is not okay. This is exactly the behavior I’m talking about.” Her seething eyes raked over me. “You’regrounded. No dinner tonight. No electronics. Don’t show your face until you’re ready to apologize.”
“Sure, I’ll apologize. When hell freezes over.”
She pointed at the stairs. “March to your room. Now!”
I leisurely took the stairs to the second floor, which further pissed her off. When I reached the landing, I could hear Damon trying to calm her down.
“Why does he have to be so cruel?” she wept while he consoled her.
“It’s okay, Mom. Don’t cry.”
If I had to guess, she wasn’t hurt by my actions. She was upset Damon refused to see me for what I truly was—the uncouth leftover child who had become the bane of their existence. I didn’t meet her standards as a child—not like her perfect Damon. She was horrified to discover that a little boy could break rules and sabotage opponents without remorse. When Damon and I playedMonopoly, I’d slip hotels onto my properties while he was in the bathroom. My mother called it ‘cheating,’ I called it ‘strategic asset management.’ I convinced Damon that washing dishes built character, so he did mine for three years. At ten, I persuaded Amy Berger, some lovestruck fool who used to follow me around, to take the fall for setting fire to the science lab after my experiment went wrong. At eleven, I forged Mother's signature on detention slips. By twelve, I realized I was more intelligent than my teachers and regularly cut class if the subject matter didn’t interest me. In algebra, I used to correct Mr. Peterson's equations, then walk out when he fumbled through explanations.
Each incident, each note sent home about my ‘disruptive behavior’ or ‘antisocial tendencies,’ was confirmation of her long-held suspicion that I was the devil’s embodiment. My childhood was rife with the texture of her disappointment, the clipped tone she reserved for me, the way her lips thinnedwhen I entered a room, and her involuntary recoil when I brushed too close. My existence presented her with a riddle she could neither solve nor ignore, a constant reminder of the one variable in her life that refused to be brought to heel. The time-outs, punishments, and protracted lectures had no effect except to train me in the art of sullen resistance. Then came the therapists. A circuit of women in soft cardigans who all, after a few months, issued the same verdict: “He was gifted and acted out because he was bored.”
They parroted those words because I had conditioned them into believing it. My mother suspected it but couldn’t find a therapist that I couldn’t outsmart. None of them would sign off on shipping me off to some mandatory school for dysfunctional and troubled children. I did everything to gain the upper hand and to manipulate meager humans to bend to my will. Rules might as well be written in private codes where I was concerned.
But Damon, he was golden and luminous, with the blueprint for human decency. In my mother’s eyes, I was the genetic miscalculation that threatened to corrupt her perfect firstborn. It made sense to focus on the child she had a shot at molding into a decent human being. The only thorn in her side was me. Our parents feared that I would corrupt Damon and wanted me out of the house before that could happen. Unfortunately, Damon had this disillusion of a perfect family that included all four of us. My mother couldn’t risk Damon hating her by shattering his fantasy, and ultimately, stopped trying to send me away.
She had always bent over backward to make Damon happy. It puzzled me. Why did humans humble themselves in exchange for a connection? They clung to each other as if forming lifelong bonds would make their pathetic lives somehow matter. Humans were weak, and I couldn’t relate to this incessant need for attachments. Even to my twin, I was a lousy brotherthroughout our childhood. It wasn’t until our mother passed away that I started tolerating Damon. Her death gutted him, and unlike me, he didn’t do well in solitude. I wouldn’t win anyBrother of the Yearawards for my efforts, but ever since our mother died, I stopped pushing him away.
Still, it wasn’t a connection I necessarily needed.
But Rose… Rose was different. For the first time in my life, I craved a connection with another human being.
My feelings didn’t fit societal constructs, nor would anyone write flowery songs about it. Rather, it was something savage that had sunk its teeth into my flesh. It was a tether I didn’t know I wanted until it was wrapped around my throat.
She was my purpose, and I had never had one of those before. The only thing I knew was my work because I had a mind for it. But a purpose…it was different.
