Page 5 of Stuffing My Obsession
“Alright,” I grunt. “Thirty minutes.”
She nods, relief still written all over her face. “Okay. I’ll give you time to pack. I’ll wait outside in the car.”
“See you in a few.”
She flashes me one more smile before slipping out. I shut the door behind her, standing still for a moment to process theoverwhelming rush of emotions coursing through me. For the first time in years, I feel alive.
I start to grab my stuff. My duffel bag is already half-packed because I never stopped living like I might get called out at any moment. Clothes. A couple knives. My Glock. Extra ammo. Travel kit. Done. In ten minutes, I’m all packed and ready to go. I sling the bag over my shoulder, lock up and head out.
I meet her outside, perched on the hood of a beat-up old truck that looks one step away from the junkyard. She’s scrolling her phone, legs crossed at the ankles, one boot dangling.
Her clothes are nothing special, a baggy hoodie and loose jeans, but they still manage to cling in all the right places. Her curves show anyway, subtle but there, and it kills me how she has no idea what she does to me just by sitting there. With the hood pushed back, her silvery hair spills everywhere, catching the weak daylight. She’s badass and delicate all at once.
She looks up when she hears me, and her face lights like she’s been waiting for me.
“I’ll drive,” I say, keeping my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Her lips twitch like she wants to tease me, but she just nods. “Okay.” She slides off the hood, handing me the keys without a fight.
Good girl.
I toss my bag in the back and climb into the driver’s seat. She settles beside me, flashing me a smile as she fixes her seat belt. The truck smells like her—sweet, warm…too good for me.
I grip the wheel and start the truck. It groans as we hit the open road. She shifts in her seat, tucks one leg under the other, and starts fiddling with the radio until static fills the cab. She plays around with the buttons, but nothing seems to work.
After a while, she gives up with a sigh. “What did I expect? She never liked me,” she scoffs, glancing at me.
“Who?” I ask, slightly thrown off.
“The truck.” She smiles and returns her gaze to the road. “She used to belong to Tonia. My sister. She drove it everywhere. For her, it always worked like a charm. Me? I get behind the wheel and suddenly it’s stubborn.” She smiles faintly, but there’s a shadow behind it. “Guess it knows who its favorite was.”
“What happened?” I ask despite myself.
“She…she died a few years ago,” Paris says quietly, watching the blur of trees outside her window.
I glance at her, quick, then back to the road. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Thanks. It’s been a few years now. She struggled a lot with depression. It was…hard, watching her go through it and not being able to fix it.” She lets out a soft exhale. “That’s why I chose to study psychology, you know? I don’t ever want to feel helpless like I did with Tonia. I want to help people like her. People who feel stuck. Invisible. I want them to feel like someone sees them.”
I glance at her, just long enough to catch the way her eyes shine with determination. Then it hits me—this must be why she works so hard, making deliveries at night while juggling school and other petty part-time jobs. All of that just so she can help others…
The realization hits me harder than it should. She isn’t just light, she’s fire. Gentle enough to warm, strong enough to burn.
She shifts, glancing at me like she’s afraid she overshared. “Sorry. That was probably way too heavy for a road trip.”
“No,” I say. A little too quickly. “It wasn’t.” I clear my throat lightly.
She studies me for a second and her lips spread into a soft smile. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“I should probably stop talking then,” she says, her blush deepening slightly.
“You don’t have to,” I say quietly. I enjoy listening to her talk, but I don’t tell her that.
She’s looking at me, eyebrows lifted like she didn’t expect me to be so agreeable. Then she smiles bigger and leans back against her seat. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
I glance at her, unable to help a smile. “Do I make you nervous?”
