The Obsession

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

I knew the sort of loss she’d had, the hole it gouged in your entire being, so big and gaping you didn’t think you could possibly continue, while everybody else kept on living and expecting you to limp along like you didn’t just have a part of you ripped out.

I’m doing this because of you, I wanted to yell until my voice stripped the flesh off her bones. Also,

You know the amount of shit I take every single day from men who think I don’t deserve to be there just because I happen to have a vagina?”

scrambled my brains for something to say. Something that wouldn’t get me in trouble.

I forced a halfway sincere-looking smile onto my face, my insides shriveling up with hatred. It was, ironically, mostly hatred toward myself. I still hadn’t forgiven myself for not being the badass I’d always thought I would be. The past year or so, he had broken me down, softened me until I was nothing more than this useless, simpering lump with a quavering smile. Keeping my head down and my shoulders hunched had stopped being a survival trait and started becoming an actual habit that I did everywhere, even when Brandon wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity. I was becoming less me, less present, less alive. And I deserved it for being so pathetic, for not fighting back.

I closed my eyes and thought of last night. I saved all those moments, to replay over and over in my head like some sick movie. I added scenes of my own, where I didn’t freeze up like a fucking hamster,

celebrate the fact that you survived. You deserve to live your best life, especially after everything you’ve been through.”

I realized part of me had expected something that showed death looming over her. Muted pictures with a vintage filter of Sophie looking depressed. But these images showed that, if anything, death had come as a surprise for her.

The rat was me. Or rather, it used to be me. But not anymore. I wasn’t going to let Logan corner me and swallow me whole like I was some helpless prey. Step Three: be the snake.

And, as I stood there, feeling increasingly cold, I realized that I also felt fearful. That maybe I wasn’t the snake after all, that maybe I was always doomed to be the rat. Always the prey, always one step behind.