Obsessive

05

Molly

He drags his jaw down my neck, kissing softly. His fingers are gripping my hair tightly and it hurts. Everything Xavier does is so aggressive.

I slide my hand down his chest, making him moan. He attacks my collarbone, kissing and sucking. I sigh, feeling pent up and frustrated.

I grind on him, hoping to feel something. But I never do.

Suddenly his hands dip up under my skirt. I break apart from him and put my hand on his chest.

"Xavier, what the fuck?" I ask, my frustration growing. "What?" He asks, rubbing his eye and yawning. "Stop touching me there. I told you I don't want to have sex." I snap. Xavier rolls his eyes at me and huffs.

"I don't understand, Molls-"

"Don't call me that."

He rolls his eyes again before continuing. "Molly. It's been months. Why won't you let it happen?" I sit there, staring into his boring brown eyes.

Xavier has brought up sex multiple times. But I don't trust him enough to give myself up. I've told him I'm not ready. But continually he pushes and pushes.

"I'm not doing it in the car. There are people around us!" I pivot. "Relax, babe. Besides it just makes it more exciting. Feel how hard I am for you, Molly" he slurs. Xavier reaches for my hand, trying to get me to touch him.

"No!" I hiss, shifting off his lap and towards the door. "I'm so tired of your shit. All you do is want to have sex and then when I don't you play this pity party victim and run off for a month. You don't want me you just want sex!"

Before he can respond, I open the car door and step out. "Molly!" Xavier cries but he doesn't move. I storm away from his car and unfortunately burst into tears. I hate feeling this way.

I begin the walk home, trying to calm my tears. Cars drive past me but I trek on. I hate him. I hate myself.

When I get home, I shower quickly and then crawl into bed. After an hour of thunder and lightning, rain picks up and pounds on the roof. I sit there and listen to it, my mind wandering.

I think about my mother. She's never home and half of the time, I don't even know where she is. I wonder if the absence of parents is the reason I'm still "hanging out" with Xavier. Then I get angry at myself for finding something to blame. After a few minutes of thinking about my recent actions, my thoughts wander to the killer.

I remember first hearing about him.

"Mom," I call, walking into the kitchen. "Yes, sweetie?" She asks, her tone tight and tired. She's standing in front of the sink, staring off into space. I toss the newspaper down on the counter and point at the article.

"Cole Fargo was found mutilated by the bridge across town from his home. It took them weeks to identify him because his face was smashed in"

My mother's eyes flicker up to mine and she sucks in a deep breath before standing straighter.

"And?" She questions. "And this is scary. This was an angry murder, mom!" I cry, my stomach tightening. She huffs and walks around the counter, grabbing her bag. Then she faces me and puts her perfectly manicured hands on my shoulders.

"Honey. I think you should stop watching those murder shows. This is probably just a one time kill. The authorities will catch whoever this is in no time. Now get to school before you're late."

Her nonchalance brought me little comfort. I went to school and soon forgot about the boy my age across town. But then not even two weeks later another murder shows up in the news and paper.

A girl three years older than me. She was visiting home for the Holidays. She hadn't been identified yet because her face looked as though it had been smashed in with a brick.

I remember that Christmas was a sad one. My mom was home more often and on Christmas Day we barely talked. Both of our minds where filled with the murders.

Murders kept piling up as the months passed. Soon it was the summer before my senior year and a curfew had been out in place. My friends and I were worried and my mother had become suddenly stricter about certain things that she could not have cared about weeks before.

The killings hadn't stopped. Whoever is out there hasn't been caught and they're still killing.

I rub my face, feeling spooked. I sit up in bed and run my hands through my hair. Then I realize that I haven't found the usual letter yet.

Sliding out of bed, I click on my lamp and look around the bedroom. I see the familiar white cardstock on my dresser. I walk over and pick it up, unfolding it.

You never quite know
who people really are
But I want you to know me
Because I want to know you Molly
I want us to bare our souls
Because I promise to understand your naked soul
Even if you would never understand mine

I fold the letter back into place slowly. I think about the words, how poetic they are. But also how honest. No one is really ever truly honest with me. So I always admire it.

I crawl back into my bed, keeping the note on my chest and listening to the rain. I try to picture a person in my head. I try to think of a voice. Nothing comes of it.

The sentence, I promise to understand your naked soul sticks to my brain all night. I fall into a peaceful sleep and dream about a man with a blank face holding my naked body and whispering to me that he'd protect me.