Girl Obsessed: A Dark Romance Page 5

  The greatest agony had latched onto me, burying its claws inside and tearing at me until I felt forced to admit defeat. My vision blurred and all I could think of was the joy that had been stolen from me. One last time. If I could gaze at him one last time, I would welcome death with open arms. He had been the one thing...the only thing that had kept me sane during my darkest storm. The only person who had made this purgatory worthwhile. If there was ever a reason to hold on in the midst of a thousand reasons to give up, he would be it.

  More tears streamed down my face once I finished reading that paragraph and I bit hard on my lip, feeling as though those words were meant especially for me. I knew how crazy that sounded but maybe my desperate mind was eager to believe that right now.

  "I don't want to give up either," I said softly as I stared at the book.

  I lay there for a long time and then finally, a strange sense of calm descended upon me. A tranquility that made no sense given my situation. Maybe I was going in shock.

  When I had woken up the next morning, no police had banged open the chapel door and dragged me away. Nobody had bothered me at all. Not sure whether to feel relieved or not, I'd checked the news again. Joshua hadn't died but they were still looking for me and the porn video was still being shared and made fun of in group chats.

  I decided to get of there before my luck ran out. I went into a store, bought some black dye and coloured my hair in a public toilet before changing my clothes and taking the first bus out of town, praying hard that I wouldn't get caught.

  I hadn't. Two days later, I had checked into this motel in Atlanta and had managed to survive against all odds. Those two days had hardened me as well. The internet had been my friend. I'd looked for and made use of all black market procedures to get my IDs changed and documents forged. If I was going to live like an outlaw, I might as well gather all the resources I would need.

  Next step had been to get a job because my money would run out soon. But at least I was Riley Benson now instead of Wynter Cassidy the fugitive.

  On the third night, I had been stuffing my face with some chow mein as I surfed the net in my room, looking for vacancies. I'd blocked each and every person I knew on social media. All contacts. Even anyone who knew me remotely.

  The only notifications I had were those from J.R.Knight’s social media or Google alerts about him.

  One of it popped up right in that instant and I stopped chewing my food to check it out. I'd finished The Darkest Storm and also another book called A Token of Faith just that morning and I needed my fix. Unfortunately, he had only published four books so far and there was still no news on his next release. I'd combed the entire internet trying to figure out what he was working on, if he was indeed working on something but all the results said the same thing. It will be advised soon.

  I felt miserable, like I was having withdrawal symptoms and it sucked. But the Google alert drew my attention.

  Word on the street is, our favourite best-selling author needs an assistant. I wish I was that lucky.

  I blinked at that piece of information, my breath jamming in my throat for a moment. Logging on to Twitter, I searched hashtags and author news until I was sure that this wasn't just gossip circulating within the bookish community but credible facts. J.R.Knight was hiring an assistant.

  I put my chow mien aside then.

  "Well, fuck me," I whispered, my fingers maniacally flying over the keyboard.

  There was this site I had found in the rabbit hole of my stalking which was sort of like an author grapevine. News and speculations about literary figures could be found there and sometimes, the content could be obscure and outrageous whereas other times, it made complete sense.

  There were threads upon threads regarding J.R.Knight’s books and his personal life. Hundreds of them. I had scrolled through as many as possible to absorb all the information I could about him. I already knew his favourite drink, the name of his girlfriend, his best friend, his address, his family’s address, what events he would be showing up at, where he mostly went for dinner, what books he claimed inspired him. My head was filled with knowledge about this guy and yet, I still felt like I didn’t know who he really was.

  I’d posted my speculation as a conversation starter hoping that maybe someone would shed some light on it. At first, nobody had replied to the post but when I checked a day later, I saw that someone had commented with having the same thought and he had posted a long list of twitter usernames which he felt was the author’s real, legit account instead of just a public platform. He said he had messaged about five of them and then given up because they all led to a dead end and he felt stupid since most of the accounts had less than twenty followers.

  There were about two hundred usernames on that list. I clicked on each and every one of them, reading the posts and using my instincts to guide me. Some of them blatantly used J.R.Knight while some used handles that were a little more mysterious. One in particular caught my eye.

  It had all these random and cryptic posts, about ten in total, many of them completely unrelated to writing but…

  It was the way those words were structured. When you read an author’s books long enough, you tend to recognise patterns. This twitter user wrote using the same pattern I had noticed in all of J.R.Knight’s books. The same speculative tone bordering on philosophical with all these emotional undertones. Except this was not fictional. This was a real person.

  This was him.

  I could feel it in my bones. It had to be him. No one else’s words affected me that way. No other writer’s delivery and execution held that kind of power for me.

  @judethenovelist

  I had smiled a little to myself.

  “Here’s to more craziness,” I had mumbled and sent him a message after creating a new account on Twitter because I was no longer active on any other social media platform. My post notifications were turned on and around midnight, I heard the beep on my laptop.

  Can’t find inspiration, he had tweeted. #this never happens

  My heart had raced as I’d checked my messages and realized he had read what I’d sent him. I commented on his post then, just to throw him off a little and grinned. I doubted he would reply. If I was in his place, I’d be freaking out.

  Afterwards, I had closed my eyes, thinking about him, up in the middle of the night somewhere looking at the moon and feeling uninspired.

  “Jude,” I said dreamily as my mind began to hatch up a plan to get on that shortlist for J. R. Knight’s assistant position even if it meant spending all of my savings and forging my way through it. He wouldn’t even know what had hit him.

  …

  And now that I had managed it, now that I had gotten a single taste of his presence, I was looking for ways to find my next fix.

  It came in the form of a phone call early the next morning.

  “Miss. Bens…um…Riley? You got the job. Please show up at the office around nine tomorrow and I’ll fill you in. Thank you.”

  Chapter 6

  Jude

  My new assistant seemed to take the phrase ‘highly efficient’ to another level. Within a week, she had become well versed with my routine and schedule and handled everything book-related for me so all I had to concentrate on was my writing, which frankly was going nowhere. I stayed up late at nights and even broke my morning routine of sleeping-in so I could get some work done but it became almost impossible. It worried me that this should happen to me in my thirties when I thought I still had a dozen more novels to write. I started to become stressed out and irritated because of it and Jennifer had to give me a warning to behave or else she would move out temporarily and go live in the city. Yeah. It was that bad.

  One afternoon, after trying to type at least one paragraph of my new novel, I gave up and buried my fingers in my hair before muttering, “Fuck this.” I was going to go insane soon if I kept torturing myself this way. My words weren’t coming to me. Why?

  “Like literally or…?”

>   I looked up and glanced over towards the bookshelves at the back where Riley was standing, shelving some non-fiction books I used for research. Her eyes were fixed on me as she regarded me expectantly, her question hanging in the air.

  I felt myself wanting to smile in amusement at her response to my cursing and turned back around before she saw my lips curving. She was a strange one but somehow, I didn’t mind it at all. Her dry sense of humour was becoming easier for me to understand the longer I spent time with her.

  I rubbed my face again and dropped my chin in my palm while staring out the window with my elbow braced on the desk. It was around four on a Monday afternoon and sunlight streamed in through the office window while I gazed at it morosely.

  “May I ask…what exactly is it that you’re trying to write?” Riley questioned me again in a quiet manner.

  I didn’t answer her at first. I didn’t like sharing my work in progress with anyone, not even Phillipa. It just felt like I needed to savor that personal connection with my writing and my characters before I shared them with anyone else. But it was an innocent question from someone who wasn’t aware of that rule of mine and in this case, it didn’t feel invasive because technically, I didn’t really have anything to share yet.

  “It’s a…a suspense thriller,” I answered as she appeared in my peripheral vision.

  “Oh. Okay. So what about that isn’t working out exactly?” she probed and again, I kept quiet.

  Admitting things like this felt like I was admitting failure. The great J. R. Knight, celebrated novelist, couldn’t even write ten pages worth of content after trying for over two weeks. It was insulting. It messed with my confidence and made me as bitter as the coffee I liked to drink.

  “I’m sorry,” Riley said when I didn’t speak for over a minute and she moved back towards the shelves. “I didn’t mean to annoy you. I just…well, you’re just so…I mean, I thought I could…” I heard her let out a sigh and then continue to shelve books.

  I rubbed my eyes before getting up to walk over to the window.

  “I had this idea,” I spoke up after musing for a few more seconds while staring outside. “It seemed great at first and I was going to write this one with a little bit of adventure thrown in and a survival story in the protagonist’s background. I don’t know what’s wrong. I haven’t been able to focus lately.”

  She kept on shelving the books and we stood in silence with only the chirping of birds outside for company along with the chilly Atlanta wind.

  “Maybe you should try something different,” she suggested and I looked over at her. She didn’t meet my eyes as she added, “Maybe your muse is telling you to work on something you haven’t tried before. If this story isn’t doing it for you, it might be a good idea to dive into another project.”

  I almost snorted. I couldn’t believe I was taking writing advice from a twenty-two year old. And she made it sound so simple. What else was I supposed to be working on? This was my genre. I either did sci-fi, suspense thrillers or religious fiction and philosophy. I loved writing those kinds of books. What other project was I supposed to be doing exactly? She didn’t get it. I felt stupid thinking that she would, given her inexperience with this sort of thing.

  “Do I have any appointments for tomorrow?” I asked her suddenly, wanting to change the topic.

  Riley gave me a strange look and said, “No. Just the one for tonight and then the dinner with your parents on Wednesday and the interview on Friday.”

  I frowned at her then. “What’s the one for tonight? Why am I just hearing about this?”

  She frowned back at me, appearing confused. “I told you twice this morning and then again after lunch today,” she pointed out. “Guest speaker at St. Philips church. Seven p.m.”

  “Fuck,” I cursed strongly at that and she raised her eyebrows at me.

  I clamped my mouth shut before going over to my desk and shutting down the laptop. “I need to go take a shower. Maybe read the Bible or something. God, why did I agree to this? Riley, you can leave when you finish up here.”

  I left the office without glancing at her but I got the weird sense that she was inwardly laughing at me when she didn’t reply.

  Chapter 7

  Wynter

  God, why was he so cute? So fucking adorable and distracted and complicated and...sexy?

  I'd told him about the church meeting three times and each time, he had hummed a response so I'd assumed he was prepared for it. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at his reaction when it finally dawned on him what he had to do this evening.

  My routine with him each day had become a source of comfort for me and every evening, I went back to my motel and took all these memories with me. The things he had said, what he had worn, the way he had looked at me. I'd schooled myself on how to be an efficient P.A and spent hours in the evening looking up more and more ways I could become the perfect writer's assistant. So perfect that Jude would never want to replace me.

  Read the Bible. It was just so funny. He didn't seem like a religious person at all and neither was he hypocritical so I felt that he was only doing this to please those people out of courtesy or respect. I already knew his Christian reader base was quite large. I was happy for him. Maybe the evening out would do him some good because he was so stressed all the time.

  Jude’s girlfriend was hardly around because she had a bunch of other things to do. She happened to be the senator’s youngest daughter, wrote articles for a top-notch magazine in the city and was an Instagram influencer so that kept her busy. By the time she came home in the evenings, I was on my way out.

  It was just as well. I didn't want to see her anyway. I was actually waiting for the day they broke up. Given the fact that they obviously weren't in love, it could be any day now. And if it wasn't...well, I might have to do something about that myself.

  I'd learned to take joy in my situation, this new life of close proximity to the guy I was crazy about but that didn't mean I had stopped looking over my shoulder. Just because I'd changed my name, dyed my hair, wore contacts and glasses and had an entirely new identity in real life and online, it didn't mean I was in the clear. As long as they looked for me, I would have to keep my guard up. I couldn't simply forget the fact that in the eyes of the law, I was still a fugitive. The law was crazy like that.

  I wasn’t the one who should be pursued and convicted. I didn't do anything wrong except try to protect myself. This cruel world was not meant for girls like Wynnie unless they turned into Rileys.

  I didn't even realize how much time had passed as I sorted out his research books (there were so many) and then did some filing, answered several emails on his behalf and tidied up his office. It felt calming, touching his things and taking care of him in this way, even if he did pay me generously. I didn't care about the money as long as I got to keep him close.

  When I heard laughter upstairs, I realised that Jennifer must have come home early. With a frown, I picked up my bag and walked out of the office, intending to get out of there before I had to see that unfairly gorgeous face of hers and the model-thin figure. Ella, Jude's best friend who clearly had a thing for him, was the same body-type. Maybe that's why Jude enjoyed their company so much. Me with my chubbiness and plain Jane looks simply weren't exciting enough.

  "Riley," I heard his voice call out to me from the top of the stairs as I descended them and turned to look up at him.

  The sight of him caused me to stumble slightly and I almost lost my footing before grabbing hold of the banister with a little gasp.

  "Riley." Jude’s voice was concerned now and he took the stairs two at a time with Jennifer trailing him. "Jesus. Are you okay?"

  I didn't think I was. Because he was dressed in a suit, had combed his hair neatly and had a clean, spicy scent clinging to him and all of that combined sent this strong surge of desire coursing through me.

  "Yes," I replied. "I'm okay. But you probably should put a hold on taking the Lord’s name in vain.
At least after this evening is over."

  Jude looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time and nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

  I couldn't look away. He wore a crisp, white shirt and blazer with black trousers and just looked so handsome and sophisticated, it left me breathless.

  "I've been meaning to ask you," Jude said thoughtfully. "Do you not own a car?"

  I wasn't sure how to reply because it was embarrassing that I worked for one of the most famous literary figures in the world and didn't own a car. I mean, lots of working class people didn't but I still felt bad about it, especially when Jennifer gave me a surprised and slightly condescending look.

  Jude put his head to the side to catch my eye so that I wouldn't have to look at his girlfriend.

  "Hey. I was just asking because we're both going the same way so I thought I would drop you," he told me. "You don't have to call an Uber."

  I nodded at his offer and Jennifer spoke up from behind him. "Well, you guys better get a move on then. It'll start snowing soon.”

  We descended the stairs together and I was aware of him every second, the attraction I felt plaguing me until I wanted to corner this man and kiss him without worrying about the outcome.

  "Did you manage to read the Bible?" I side-whispered to him to break the silence.

  I meant it as a joke but Jude nodded swiftly as he grabbed his coat and solemnly replied, "Yes."

  I found that knowledge endearing for some reason.

  "I still think you shouldn't get mixed up with this," Jennifer stated firmly. "I mean, they love you now but just wait till you screw up once in their eyes-"

  She stopped when Jude turned to give her a look.

  "What? I'm just saying.” With a shrug, she walked towards the kitchen. "See you later, babe."