OBSESSED

LEAH

I tossed back the rest of my whiskey coke and winced as the liquor scorched its way to the center of my chest.

Unsurprisingly, the burn didn't at all mollify the steady ache that had swallowed my heart up after its tumble down the Stairway of Love. Even in my semi-drunken stupor, I knew alcohol wasn't the solution.

But I also knew calling up my ex to lament over our shattered relationship wasn't the solution either—which was exactly what I'd be doing now if not for Ryan.

"I think I want another," I muttered.

Ryan cocked his head up from where he remained posted at my side like a sentinel. His focus lifted from his phone screen to me.

As set his phone aside on the varnished bar top, the blue light cast an appreciable glow over his sharp and angled features.

His full dark lips quirked in a frown. "Another is the last thing you need, Loca. No offense."

He grabbed my empty glass and set it beside his half-full pint of Bud Light.

My lips pulled down in a pout as I protested, "Offense taken. I thought we came out tonight to nurse my wounds of love. I'm only, like, halfway to where I need to be."

Somewhere behind us, a drunk guy started singing very off-key to a Beyonce song and I failed to filter my horror in this state of intoxication.

"Jesus, he's terrible."

Indulging me with a chuckle, Ryan rolled his eyes. "I've heard you sing karaoke drunk and you're no Celine Dion, Loca."

"I mean, that's fair. Singing has never been my forte," I admitted with a sigh. "Apparently, I'm not so good at relationships either."

I knew I was getting annoying blabbering on about my failed strike at commitment, but I was only trying to relieve that damn ache in my chest that wouldn't go away.

I previously believed a good shot of fun would do the trick, but Ryan was being a party pooper tonight.

"Don't beat yourself up about it," he told me, all joking aside. "Danny was a selfish prick. He obviously doesn't know what he's lost."

Ryan wasn't one to compliment so I understood that was his best shot at making me feel better. I smiled and leaned my head on his shoulder.

"But for real," he muttered, his deep voice sending vibrations through my body, "don't let him reel you in again. You deserve better."

I just nodded.

Isabelle would have done much better at partying with me and making me forget what I was going through, but this was good too.

"Thanks," I said. "So, who were you so busy texting over there, mister?"

"My mom," he said. He spoke just a little too quickly and his dark eyes darted away.

"That's an awfully lot of emojis for your mother."

His jaw dropped as he looked back at me. "You snoop!"

I laughed. "I just glanced over! You've been very preoccupied is all. I got bored."

"Someone slid into my DMs," he tutted. "I was just explaining how I felt equally attracted to his assets."

"Oooo, he must be a hunk if he's caught the attention of the hot and steamy Ryan Alvarez," I teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

I meant it as a playful jab but his hiss indicated more force than intended.

"Shit, sorry!" I yelped. "Are you okay?"

He just chuckled, massaging his injury. "It's okay, Loca. You about ready to head out?"

Sighing again, I turned away from him to survey the rest of the bar.

The room was rather empty for a Friday night, but I had to remember it was the day after Thanksgiving. Most people were probably still with their families.

Fortunately for me, Ryan didn't get along with his ultra-religious family and chose not to celebrate most holidays with them.

If he was with them, I would've been left alone to agonize over my breakup. God knew that would end in disaster.

I knew it was selfish of me, but Ryan always succeeded in making me feel better. He was like the brother I never had.

He and Isabelle were the first people I wanted to call after Danny punched a hole through my heart.

In truth, I could've just stayed with my parents and continued to cry like the world was ending.

My mother would undoubtedly have tried to make me feel better with ice cream and wine. 9/10 times, that trick actually worked.

This was that 1/10th time, though.

Not even my favorite things or people appealed to me right now.

I didn't want to acknowledge the most painful and embarrassing piece of the entire situation.

My mother heard Danny's words herself.

She was only in the room over when he told me, "I just can't do this, Leah. You're great, but I'm just not interested in being with you anymore. We've lost our spice."

God, I wanted to die all over again just thinking about it.

The bastard had the audacity to break up with me at my parents' house on Thanksgiving Day, after we just shared a meal with my family.

All day we acted like everything was fine and dandy. I thought things were fine and dandy.

What kind of asshole did that to someone?

We were together for two years. While it was my first serious relationship as an adult, I thought we really had been alright. I loved him.

How stupid of me to fall in love with the first man who wanted me. He left me just because he could.

Danny drove himself back to Atlanta last night in his ridiculous, over-the-top Mercedes-Benz GT-Class.

My poor father had to drive me home this morning, since I'd been left by my driver and it was too far for Uber.

The humiliation still grated at me. I never felt like a fool until that moment, when I realized he never loved me the way I loved him.

I grimaced. The wounds were all too fresh to bear.

I shuddered and forced the memories away.

With no one but the drunk guy butchering Beyonce, there wasn't much entertainment in the bar.

I also knew Ryan was probably ready to be home and not listen to me lament about the irony of being broken up with on Thanksgiving.

"Yeah," I huffed, "I guess I'm ready to go home."

As I reached under the bar to grab my purse off the bar hook, a dizzy spell crashed into my brain. My ass began backsliding on the stool.

I felt the world go sideways and the urge to vomit seized me. Steady hands captured me and set me on my feet. Blinking through the brain fog, I caught Ryan arching a concerned brow at me.

"Maybe you're drunker than I thought," he said softly. "You okay?"

I cleared my throat and brushed off my dress, glancing around to be sure no one noticed. No such luck. Several pairs of judging eyes were locked on me.

Jesus. Can't go anywhere without making a fool of myself.

"Thank you, kind sir," I replied theatrically, "but I think just my ego is a bit bruised."

He rolled his eyes, far more acquainted with my antics than he'd probably prefer to be.

I finished freeing my purse from the hook and dug around in its cavernous pockets for my wallet.

"I already paid, Loca."

My face snapped up. Beaming at Ryan, who I was realizing may be the only shining knight I really needed, I fished out the leather Brahmin.

"I appreciate that, you know," I said, "but I would've gladly paid for my liquid therapy. Anywho, I'm still going to compensate the kind bartender for putting up with me."

I slapped a twenty on the counter and winked at the pretty gray-haired woman, Sarah.

She flashed me a grin. "You're a peach, Leah! Come back and see me."

Ryan delicately took my elbow and guided me towards the exit. "Flirting with women now?" he chuckled.

"Was that what that was? Hey! Maybe I should try to switch things up," I contemplated thoughtfully. "Since men aren't interested, maybe I should try swinging the other way for once."

"I think you've tried enough things for one night." He laughed softly. "And just because that asshat didn't appreciate you doesn't mean all men are like that."

Ryan was right. I was lamenting again. I hated that I couldn't shut off my pessimist valve.

Locking my jaws shut, I leaned into his strong frame. Ryan guided me through the parking lot to his car. His arm wrapped around my shoulders felt like a weighted blanket anchoring me down to earth.

A chilly wind whipped over us, nipping at my exposed skin.

Cuddling closer into his side, I said, "I wish Isabelle could have joined us."

He stole a glance at me. "Oh, so I'm not enough entertainment for you then?"

Panicked, my eyes flew up to his face in fear I offended him. His teasingly quirked lips brought me instant comfort.

"You know what I mean," I scoffed. "Of course you're enough."

"Better be. I'm the one who's always here for you, Loca."

"I know. Thank you very much."

He snorted and elbowed me back. "Come on. I'm just giving you a hard time. I'm just pissed with Iz. She's been such a flake lately."

"Yeah . . ." I sighed. "I really think she would have come if she could. She's still celebrating the holiday with Simon's family."

"Sebastian."

"Huh?"

"The mongrel she's with—his name is Sebastian. You said Simon."

"Yeah, Simon. That's what I said," I tutted.

I tried to shoot him a scolding look but my heel misstepped into a crack in the asphalt. Shrieking, I flung my hands out to stop myself from face planting.

The jolt to my arms never came. A pair of hands stood me straight and steadied me. Yet again, Ryan saved me without complaint.

"Whatever his name is," I said, hoping to play off my near-fall.

He snorted again and shook his head. "I am never taking you drinking again. You're a liability to my insurance, Loca."

"They've been together a long time and they still like each other," I kept on, ignoring him. "That's what's important. It doesn't matter if he's a mongrel or not."

"Well, if they liked each other consistently for a long time, then it would be a good thing. But they're in love one second and hate each other the next. It's stupid. And exhausting."

He did have a point. "Still, what's so bad about Simon?" I insisted.

"Sebastian," he corrected.

I flushed and looked away.

"Falling, tripping, calling people the wrong name," Ryan teased. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Take me home, I hope."

His deep chuckle reverberated through me, warming me again. We finally reached his sleek black BMW M4. Some of my worries wavered as I plopped into the luxurious tan leather seat.

I couldn't help myself when it came to nice cars. Some people were addicted to drugs. I was addicted to the smell of clean leather and the sound of a turbo engine.

After tucking me and my absurd heels into the car, Ryan rounded the hood and took his place behind the wheel. My hands wandered over the various buttons and nozzles until I found a station on the radio I could tolerate. Then I blasted the AC to cool my flushed cheeks.

Damn alcohol.

As we pulled away from the bar, I jolted and bounced along to the cracks and bumps in the road.

All the commotion of my bouncing began to upset my stomach. The headlights whipping by on the road didn't help.

I couldn't seem to make myself stop looking at the lights or bouncing, even though I was starting to feel car sick.

Oh, god.

I pressed a hand to my mouth and turned away to hide it from Ryan. He would murder me if I tossed my cookies in his car.

"Are you trying not to throw up?" Ryan demanded.

I looked away from the window and caught him glancing between me and the road. His brows were bent in irritation.

Lowering my hand slowly, I shook my head.

He narrowed his eyes. "I swear, if you throw up in my car—"

"I won’t!" I cried.

As if it heard my denial, hot bile gushed into my mouth.

I pressed the window button and hung the top half of my body out of the car. Everything I'd consumed in the last month dumped uncontrollably from me.

"Ah, fuck!" he yelled. "Leah!"

Ryan went on yelling as I spewed my guts out of the car window.

A headache grabbed my brain and squeezed. Then I felt an unpleasant pressure near my bum.

Even after I had dispelled all the contents of my stomach, I continued to cling to the car door, hanging my top half out of the window, until we reached my house.

"Jesus Christ, Loca," muttered Ryan. "I don't know to be more pissed about the vomit in my car or the fact that you could've fallen out the window."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't feel good."

"You don't say?"

I could hear his car door and then he was suddenly right in front of me. My stomach felt like a bag of marbles after taking a ride in a race car, all jumbled and shaken up. I was pretty sure I would vomit again if I moved even an inch.

Ryan pushed on my head, aggravating my throbbing headache. "Sit down so I can open the door," he commanded.

Some inhuman noise of protest garbled out of my throat, but I slowly lowered myself back into the seat.

I blinked and suddenly Ryan was carrying me through the living room of my house. All the furniture and things were blurry.

Squinting, I tried to focus on the familiar objects until we reached the dark master bedroom.

The light switch clicked on. I groaned loudly as the burst of color stabbed my retinas.

I really didn't think I drank that much tonight, but this felt like a killer premature hangover.

Probably didn't help that I hadn't gotten this sloshed in ages.

Yet again, thanks to Danny who never overindulged in anything but the gym.

That asshole.

Ryan carried me all the way to the bathroom before depositing me on the cold tile floor by the toilet.

I immediately placed my head on the wall to reconcile the disagreeable pressure in my digestive tract with the hammering in my skull.

"You need to shower," he ordered. "I think I smelled throw-up in your hair and it's making me nauseous."

"Sorry," I grumbled again. "Thanks for getting me home, babe."

Through my bleary vision, I could barely make out his tall, dark figure looming over me.

I blinked lazily and found him now crouched in front of me. I jerked back, startled.

Was only my brain operating at half-speed or was the whole experience a lag?

Ryan's big, coffee-brown eyes searched mine. "Can I get you anything before I leave?"

"My dignity?" I asked. "But tell my sobriety to kick the bucket. I don't want that shit back."

His gruff chuckle made me smile. "Like it or not, sobriety is coming for you, Loca. Clean up and get some rest. Call me tomorrow if you're still feeling bad and I'll baby you some more."

"Thanks, Ryan. You're the best."

"Anytime, Loca. I mean it. I'm sorry you're so sad . . . but I think you should look at this as a good thing. You're better off without him. He was keeping you back from your full potential."

"If you're trying to make a joke about how thankful I should be now that he's gone, I'm going to hurt you."

"I would never. The timing is ironic, though."

"Yeah, he's just a stupid asshole who ended a committed relationship on Thanksgiving. I should be so thankful."

That stupid asshole had been my stupid asshole up until a few days ago.

My heart clenched.

After hours of drinking away my sorrows and trying to make myself be interested in other men at the bars, Danny fucking Mercer still haunted me.

I could imagine his thick, chocolate brown hair all gelled back. My fingers itched as if they longed to stroke the memory of his soft tresses.

A few tears slipped down my cheeks. "I don't know if I can believe that, Ryan."

"Oh, Loca," he said with a sigh.

He disappeared for a moment and I nearly cried at the sudden rush of aloneness.

Ryan returned a moment later, though. My anxiety fell away again. Wiping a washcloth along my wet cheeks and soured mouth, he met my eyes.

"Believe me, please," he said. "You can do better than Danny. Even if that means just choosing yourself for a while."

I pulled my knees to my chest, not caring in the slightest that Ryan could probably see right up my dress.

He had zero interest in my goods, and I was enormously comforted to have him here.

He patted my head and then stood up. "Now, I have to take myself home and go to bed. Are you okay? Can you make it to the shower or should I run the bath?"

My thoughts were elsewhere but I managed to say, "I'll be fine to shower."

He squeezed my shoulder before heading for the door.

"Bye, bitch," I mumbled. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight."

"Mhmm. Bye, Loca."

The front door slammed a few moments later.

Now, I was all alone. Once again.

The tears returned with more force now. I cried until my hands were soaked, my insides wringing in the hollowness.

Even worse than losing the man I thought might someday be my husband, was the realization that my life no longer looked like it did yesterday.

I would never wake up beside those beautiful eyes again. I'd never again feel soft his lips over mine.

This felt like a special brand of grief.

Why do I love him still?

After the way he treated me and what he put me through, I should have been happily dancing into singledom.

Why can't I just let it go? Why can't I let anything go? What's wrong with me?

The anger helped burn away some of the sadness, so I clung to it, needing to feel something other than the gaping crater in my heart.

Another horrific thought struck me: if Danny had been with me for a year and still couldn't find enough to like about me to stay, how would I ever find another person?

Dating was so fake these days. Men my age weren't looking for life-term partners. They wanted a reliable fuck for awhile, until they grew bored.

My chances were only more harrowing when I considered that few men were attracted to my kind of body.

Unlike Isabelle, with her long legs and dainty fingers, I was petite in height and curvy in width.

My thighs touched. My ass jiggled. My breasts flopped.

Most days, I didn't mind my looser bits. I appreciated how tough and resilient it was, how it always came through for me. I was grateful for my health. Overall, I did love my body.

The challenge in dating was just convincing someone else to love it also.

A low meow in the doorway chased off my grim thoughts.

Bending at the knees, I lowered and turned my body towards Foxy. She meowed again as she ran herself alongside me.

I rubbed a hand through her silky fur, patting her little fuzzy head.

She was quite creepy with her pitch black eyes and matching fur. The lone white dot that marked her left brow was the only splash of color on her.

We usually hated each other.

She liked to destroy my underwear and claw the shit out of me. I swatted her off the counters and called her bad words.

It was times like this, when she offered snuggles instead of claws, I was glad I remembered to feed her every day.

"A bad thing has happened to me, Fox," I told her. "Remember that hot jackass I used to bring over? The one whose leather shoes you destroyed? Well, never again. He's gone. He dumped me. And now you'll never have more men's shoes to rip apart."

She leaned into my hand and purred, closing her eyes. She rubbed her face around my palm until she worked herself into a serotonin overdose.

Oh, to be a cat.

After spending a few more minutes stroking her, I summoned the strength to stand up.

My head spun right away and that damn headache came slamming back into my skull. I fought the nausea as I hobbled over to the sink. I peeled off my dress first, followed by my bra and lace thong.

I wasn't exactly sure what I expected to do after going out with Ryan tonight, but it was laughable that I thought a thong would be needed.

My gaze strayed from the mirror and I hobbled over to the shower to crank it on. While I waited for it to heat, I found myself wandering out to the kitchen. I opened the half-empty bottle of red on the counter and poured the rest of it into one glass.

Even though I was still a little drunk, I could feel the effects leaving me. I wasn’t ready to be alone with my mind and be sober. I took a giant gulp from the glass and meandered back to the bathroom.

I grabbed a fresh towel, set it on the hook where I could reach it, and forced myself into the plume of steam. My lungs guzzled down the moist air as I slid into the hot spray. Taking another draw from my glass, I relished the feel of hot water running over my skin.

The steam hit my brain and an unpleasant flush set in across my skin. I felt a bit dizzy. Hiccuping, I tipped foreward and caught myself on the shower wall. A heat wave scorched up my body and my vision narrowed.

Shaking my head, I tried to fix my brain and vision. I only threw myself off balance again, though. Between the heat, the alcohol, and my diminshing vision, I felt myself fall.