Obsession

She knew people thought she was obsessed with him. That she was sick and twisted for how she felt about him. He was her stepbrother not her real brother. And he had made her feel beautiful once.

Her mom and dad had split up when she had told her teacher what her daddy had been doing to her for years. The late night bedroom visits, the terrifying creak of her door before it opened up. Even now she slept with a nightlight.

Oh the irony she supposed.

She still didn't believe that her mother didn't know what was happening - where did she think her husband was at night when he wasn't with her. Getting the world's longest drink? But once it had been made public her mother left him and moved away - ever the consummate professional her mother, somehow she was able to turn herself into the victim, when it was her own daughter who had been getting raped every night not her.

Then her mother had met Toby's dad at some bullshit therapy group for parents, and like that she had a new father now. Her mother was a peach- lets lump my terrified of men daughter with a new daddy just as long as I don't have to be alone it will be a-okay. Her mother was a bitch and She just couldn't feel sympathy for anything to do with her.

But then she had met Toby. The one bright spot in this marriage of convenience. Which is what it was, Mr Cavanaugh wanted a wife and a mother for her son, and her mom just NEEDED a man the way that most people needed oxygen. It was convenient for both of them not love. But Toby was nice to her, kind even and not that much older than her. She thought maybe they could be friends - band together in this mockery of a happy family.

She wasn't expecting it to be The Brady Bunch - as far as she could remember Marsha had been hit by a football not brutally raped since she was 6. But then she wasn't exactly tall stunning and blonde like Marsha either so maybe that was why? Her mother looked like Mrs Brady, acted like her too at least in public. In private she despaired over her dark haired short plain daughter who only wanted to sit in her room and play music. She had wanted a daughter like herself - a girl who would do pageants and more importantly reflect well on her.

Mr Cavanaugh was nice to her though, he seemed to be a genuinely nice person, too good for her mom that was for sure. And when he had discovered how much she liked music he had brought an old piano in from the shed and unpacked a load of sheet music and let her go wild. She figured they were his late wife's things, every time she played Toby would come to the doorway and watch not saying anything but he tended to look both peaceful and wrecked all at the same time. He was nice to her but stand offish too. She just assumed his father had told him about the abuse she had suffered and he was keeping his distance to be polite.

Then the summer came and her mother had come up with the idea of weekly camp nights in their backyard. How fun it would be and how bonding! Her mother was clearly on drugs. But she complied and every week sat at a stone ringed campfire and ate smores. It was boring and pointless and she would rather be inside writing music.

It was like Toby heard her psychically some how and brought his guitar out and played. Their parents wandered back inside as usual to watch TV and drink but for once they remained outside listening to the guitar music while the sun went down.

He played 'Hey Jude' - it was her favourite song and the only thing from her childhood not tainted. She remembered an old babysitter playing it on repeat when she looked after her and she knew the words well. And though she didn't mean too she started singing along. Then at the end of the song Toby had leaned over and kissed her.

It was her first real kiss. He was soft and gentle and though his lips were dry, it had felt wonderful. When he pulled back he started playing another Beatles tune on the guitar and she returned to singing along.

That's where it had started, that simple kiss, that beautiful song. They had never really discussed it but they started getting closer, going out more, and talking more. He had told her all about his mom - how loved she was and how hurt he had been at her suicide. She had shared how she felt about her mom and he hadn't been disgusted with her. She was happy for the first time. And when their relationship got more physical she hadn't been scared, she felt safe with Toby.

Well she had until the letter arrived. She knew who had wrote it and why but couldn't tell Toby it had been her mother. Her mother who knew if their relationship continued it could destroy the life she had made for herself, damn the fact that her daughter was happy. She knew exactly what to say to destroy Toby's love for her and she had. Her mother was a bitch.

She knew the first time she tried to persuade Toby to be with her again that he had been disgusted with her. Her skin felt all crawly now and she knew when her looked at her all he could see was the abuse. He thought she was vile, and tainted and gross. When only weeks before he had called her beautiful and written her poetry. Poems that she had kept in a box under her bed so that his sweet words invaded her dark dreams. Nightmares returned to her that had been gone for so long she woke up crying in the night, and no-one came to comfort her. Not Toby and not her mother. She was always alone.

When the true darkness came and she could no longer see that is when she truly felt terror. Terror she hadn't felt since living with her father.

She couldn't see those who wanted to hurt her, every door opening could be her father, every creak. Every heated breath against her face.

She knew it wasn't Toby who had blinded her; he hated her now but not enough to take away her sight. She just assumed it was her mother. This way she got herself a docile daughter reliant on her and more importantly she would receive the recognition she craved as the 'wonderful mother who looked after her blind daughter what a saint she must be' from the local townspeople.

Her obsession wasn't Toby as such; it was to feel the way she had when he loved her, to feel beautiful and worthy again. Sometimes she felt he still loved her deep inside, the way he would take her hand to guide her, or the way he had rearranged her room to make it easier to navigate. But the biggest indication is that he still had her ringtone on his phone as 'Hey Jude'. Maybe she wasn't the only one with a small obsession.