Obsession
Thank you to everyone who helped us, everyone who believed in us, and most importantly, thank you, the reader, for supporting us.
Sara L.J.
Obsession
bocki UF
© 2019 Sara L.J. Omslag: Veera Lampinen Förlag: BoD – Books on Demand, Stockholm, Sverige Tryck: BoD – Books on Demand GmbH, Norderstedt, Tyskland ISBN: 978-91-7569-060-5
Prologue It was right before the snow melted off the ground. I was playing with my father in the kitchen. He would make a shape with his hands, and we would look at the shadow formed onto the wall opposite to the window. Somehow, magically, the weird positions he’d put his fingers in would turn into animals on that wall. I would laugh, scream, “Another one! Another one!” and he’d make another shape. Then, we heard the telephone ringing. My father ruffled my hair, as he walked past me, a smile on his face. I sat still, beaming as I waited. A minute passed by, and Father didn’t say much. Then two minutes… Then three… After maybe ten more minutes of almost complete silence, Father finally said, “Goodbye,” and put the phone down. But he didn’t return to the kitchen. I waited for a bit longer, before finally getting up, and walking into the hallway. That was the first time I saw my father cry. I hugged his leg, and asked, “Daddy, what’s wrong?” He kneeled in front of me and pulled me into a tight hug. “Stella, dear, there’s been an accident.” Accidents happen all the time. The news show nothing but accidents. “What accident? When’s Mommy going to come back home from work?” 5
Father looked at me with pained eyes. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, tears burning his eyes and leaving red trails behind them, as they flowed down his rugged cheeks. Then, he took a deep breath, and said,
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“Mommy isn’t coming back.”
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Chapter 1 Angels at a Rundown Pub Happy, romantic waltz music was playing in the background, as old couples swayed on the dance floor at The Port. I leaned onto a bar table, bored out of my mind, waiting anxiously to get out of my workplace, that had a horrible cigar and tobacco stench to it. Next to me, my co-worker, Willow, dried beer glasses. She was younger than me by a year, a short and petite girl with an aloof but explosive personality. Her dark hair was in a braid, that hung over her right shoulder, and her dark eyes seemed particularly clouded tonight. “You seem rather quiet,” I said to her, trying to be nonchalant about my prying. “I’m tired,” she answered me, not taking her eyes off the glass she was drying. I nodded. There was no point in asking her to be more specific, she would only find it bothersome. From the other side of the room, I saw one of my favourite customers make his way towards us. He did his best to avoid the dancers, and once he reached us, he had to sit down for a moment and take a few breaths. “Could you turn the telly on, Stella? The game is about to start.” He smiled kindly. “Of course!” I went into the back room to get the remote control. I turned the TV on and grinned, as the man thanked me and left. His two friends were waiting for him at the other end of the room. They had a tendency to gather at The Port every Sunday to watch hockey or soccer together. They were nice customers, who always tipped the youngest employees with great amounts of money. 8
Then there were the annoying customers. Specifically, Old-Marc, who would slap any young female ass that walked past him. Right now, he was seated on the far-left side of the room, chatting with some other hard-to-handle customers. I watched, as he raised a hand, and glanced at me and Willow. Subconsciously, I let out an annoyed snort and turned away from the man, as if I hadn’t seen him waving for another glass of beer. But Willow was different. She took a glass that she had just dried, filled it with the liquid that looked, smelled and tasted like warm piss, and started to make her way over to Old-Marc. She leaned over slightly, and at that moment, Marc grabbed her thigh, and let out a burst of mean laughter. It angered me, but before I could do much, Willow had taken a glass from a nearby table and emptied its contents onto his head. I stared in awe. As she returned to the bar, she gave me the glass and said, “My shift ends now,” before walking into the changing room. “Uh-huh,” I muttered to myself, as I rinsed the glass before putting it into the dishwasher.
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Chapter 2 Suicide A blue-grey, plaid, pleated skirt. A white dress shirt, with a black vest on top. A black coat. Grey, knee-high socks. Black shoes with five-centimetre heels. I pulled on my coat sleeves, made sure not a single strand of cat hair was on my uniform and left the dark, empty house in which I lived with my deadbeat father and my lazy cat, Mia. “What’s up, slut.” Narcissa Coldwaters greeted me with a menacing grin. “Nothing much, slut.” I chuckled to my self, thinking that our usual morning exchange would bring horrors to those most sensitive of kind. I hated overly sensitive people. I closed the door to Narcissa’s new, matte black BMW. Her pale, small hand squeezed the gearstick, and for a moment I was amazed by how long her fingernails were. Then I remembered that she went to a salon yesterday. To this day, it amazed me, that I was friends with her. If there was a queen bee at our school, it was her. Certainly, all reason would die out and anarchy would take over once and for all, if she was to disappear from Corewood High. Or, at least that’s what Narcissa liked to believe.
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