Page 47 of The Sweetest Obsession

Then I’ll escape Redhaven’s dreary orbit a second time before it swallows me up the same way it did Ethan and so many others.

Before I start thinking of this place as home again and get way too attached to certain people when I should know better by now.

Especially big, gruff, emotionally stunted people.

By the time I’m done with a few halfhearted job apps, I hear the rumble of a garbage truck pulling away from the curb. Considering how stuffy the HOA is around here—especially since it’s run by Lucia Arrendell—it’s best to get the cans in from the curb ASAP. I wouldn’t put it past some busybody to report it if they’re out there for more than two hours.

The joys of small-town pettiness and boredom.

Just another reason to get out of here without looking back.

I unglue myself from the sofa and step outside, shivering in my jeans, t-shirt, and sandals as the chilly afternoon makes the sunny sky a lie.

Ugh, I really need to go shopping and buy a proper coat.

As soon as I get done lugging the garbage cans inside, I rake a few leaves.

I’m by the curb when I almost slam into a tall figure on a jog. He materializes out of nowhere, blocking my path.

My breaths stop cold as I peel back in shock.

I’ve never seen this man before in my life.

He’s tall, gaunt, older, with a deeply seamed face and hollow eyes burning with a crazed intensity. His grey hair looks deranged, twisted like a bird’s nest, and in his tailcoat he looks like an Addams Family extra, pale and shadow-eyed.

Gasping, I step back, bumping into the trash cans behind me.

“Who are y—”

“You’re next,” he hisses—and he lunges, grabbing at my arms.

“Hey—stop!”

Strange, bony fingers dig into me.

He’s nearly shaking me, making my teeth rattle as he drags me closer, staring at me wildly.

“You have to stay away.” His voice cracks. “You... you have to stay away oryou’re next!”

“Let me go!” I scream, shoving at him, but he won’t relent. He just keeps pulling. “Hey—hey! Get your hands off me right now.”

I summon my sternest nurse voice, the kind you only use when the rare disgruntled patient starts blaming you for everything wrong in their life, or the leering old men who think nothing of asking for a hand job.

But the creeper only holds on tighter, bruising pain grinding into my forearms, the meanest grip I’ve ever felt from another human being laying hands on me.

He jerks me in so close we’re almost nose to nose, staring into me like he’s trying to devour my soul.

One look at his eyes tells me he’s not well.

A storm of mental distress, already on the verge of breaking, if he isn’t broken already.

He might do anything.

And it’s a lot harder to defuse a mental health crisis when they’re grabbing and shaking you apart.

My heart snarls in fury and panic.

“Mister, please. Let go of me right now,” I grind out before my courage fails.

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