Page 2 of Hidden Obsession

A tiny, old-as-hell TV was propped up on a small beat-up wooden nightstand, the kind that had a VCR attached to it. The thing had to be at least thirty years old. There was no way it could still be working, could it? Another small pile of books sat on the small ledge of the windowsill, the spines worn, obviously well-loved, as if they were some of her favorites. A quick alarm chirped on my phone, and my teeth ground with annoyance.

I’d wasted too much time sitting like a fucking bump on a log in her living room. I swallowed and snoozed it to get five more minutes. Keeping my phone in my hand, I snapped a picture of the books to buy copies of my own to know what she liked to read. I moved to her dresser, and my eyes feverishly scanned the few things on top. A perfume. A bottle of lotion. Lipstick. I snapped a picture and slipped my cell into my back pocket.

I turned, and that’s when I saw it.

The old wicker hamper stood where I’d seen it the last time I’d slipped in here. I ran my fingers through my long wavy strands, tugging at the roots. Temptation simmered in my veins. My hands fisted into a white-knuckled grip at my sides.

Her laundry basket was just a step away. My chest rose and fell harshly. My heart rate ricocheted up a notch. I tried to keep cool. Calm. But I snapped. I’d been thinking about what was in there for the last week. After seeing her yesterday at my gym with my brothers’ girls through the security cameras, I’d known I’d be back right where I was now standing.

I took the couple of steps and lifted the lid of the hamper, and my tongue was too fucking big for my mouth. Right on top was the cute little bright pink workout outfit that had been painted on her body yesterday. I picked up the sports bra, brought it up to my nose, and inhaled deeply. The scent that clung to the air of the trailer was stronger on the fabric. Its sweet sugar and vanilla swirled with clean sweat and something I knew was uniquely Maryanne—innocent sweetness wrapped up in the most beautiful feminine package I wanted to nab for myself. Breathing in one more time, I went to set the sports bra back down when I saw it.

A tiny, cotton, virginal white thong with a fucking rosebud in the front.

My phone chirped again, and without thinking, I grabbed the panties and shoved them into my front pocket before quickly sneaking back out of her trailer, glad as hell she didn’t have a Ring camera but fucking furious there was nothing around to keep her safe from creeps like me.

ONE

MARYANNE ALDER

I got off the bus and paid attention to the still busy streets. It might be a little after seven, but the sun was still shining brightly thanks to the summertime. I wiped the sweat coating the nape of my neck.

It was hot. Stifling hot. The kind of heat that made you feel like all your clothes were suddenly a size too tight, compressing every inch of your skin, keeping you hostage in your own outfit. I couldn’t wait to get home and shower and change into an airy night shirt.

My eyes skidded to the corner liquor store, and I chewed on my bottom lip. I glanced at the old small watch my grandmother left me before she passed away to see just how much time I had left. I could spare an extra five, ten bucks to get a popsicle for the girls and me, a little cool treat to help take the edge off the high summer temps. If our neighbor Creepy Kyle was gone for the night, we could even eat them outside on the patio and stare at the stars. I knew they would love that.

Ten minutes. All I had was ten minutes to spare before my mom would start blowing up my phone to see where the hell I was. Without thinking, I crossed the street and hurried to the store. A bell chimed over my head as a muffled half-hearted ‘Hello, how are ya?’ sounded from the register coming from old Mr. Miller. I smiled and waved at his dark weathered face before I headed to the back where all the frozen goods were. I stood in front of the old freezer with the glass top and stared at what was available.

Just my luck, they had three of the mango-shaped ice creams Jen and Gem had told me about their friends having. Some kind of treat that had gone viral on social media. I grabbed the last three and headed straight to the cash register.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you been?” Mr. Miller’s voice sounded scratchier than usual.

“Good, and you?” He coughed and shrugged.

“You know. Same shit, different day.” He smiled kindly. “Heard you’re not at the gas station anymore.”

“No. I found, umm…” I swallowed. I hated lying. I was seriously terrible at it. “I found a waitressing gig in town,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes, but I could feel him watching me.

“Girl, whatever makes you enough money to get out of here, you do it and get out. You deserve more. You and your sisters do,” he said, right before the bells over the door announced someone else coming in.

“Right. Well, I’m just… saving.”

“To get back to school?” he inquired. My eyes met his.

“One day.” I wasn’t not sure if I meant it. I’d love to go back even if it was just community college courses I’d do online. But some dreams felt more unreachable than others on certain days. Today was one of them. “But right now, it’s just to get us a better place. Maybe out of the park,” I shared in a whisper, because you never knew who was overhearing you.

“Good. That’s good. Goals are important.” I smiled tightly and blinked away the tears his short precise words brought to life.

I might not know much about Mr. Miller and his life, but he had always been in the background of mine. I still remembered how he put an extra tub of peanut butter into the bag of jelly and bread I’d come in to buy when I was fourteen. My mom was too busy drinking and partying with her new boyfriend of the month to worry about how empty the pantry had gotten.

I could still remember the way I’d gone around the neighborhood with a trash bag, picking up trash to find just enough cans and bottles to recycle for a whole six dollars. It had been enough for bread and jelly, but not enough to afford the peanut butter.

But he’d put it in my bag and hadn’t said a word.

“You know, nothing is impossible,” he quietly added. “Goals are just a destination. Doesn’t matter how you get there, as long as you keep fighting to make them a reality.” His words sparked the hope that had been dim for longer than I wanted to admit.

“Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Go before it gets dark out. Nice girl like you shouldn’t be out on the streets in the dark.” I smiled, left the change behind on the counter, and headed out.