OBSESSED

70

LEAH

The weeks following the trial felt like blurry memories from someone else's life. Like I was watching from a disparate, bleary camera lens.

I didn't believe that my life had turned into this—whatever this was.

I returned to work immediately after the trial, grateful that Seasons' corporate team still wanted me after my unexpected absence. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in my house to reflect on the things that happened before and in that courtroom.

When I wasn't working, I was at the gym or volunteering at the animal shelter, a hobby I had taken up to distract me from my friends. Although my parents had demanded I come home to gather myself after the hearing, I refused.

I wanted to be alone. Truly, alone.

Isabelle and Ryan still pestered me at least once a week, dropping by to make sure I was still alive. I appreciated their efforts, especially since I was in no mental headspace to maintain my friendships.

Every time we spoke, Isabelle expressed how mortified she was that she'd believed those texts Jarrod had sent. It was in no way her fault and I would never blame her. How could she have known?

Each day seemed the same. I knew I was getting sucked into a rut, a pit of apathy, but I didn't know how to stop.

It felt like all the joy in my world had been slammed behind bars with my tormentor.

I wasn't sure why I felt so guilty about Jarrod's sentencing. He had done unthinkable things to me—things that made me nauseous to remember.

Yet I knew that I understood him better than anyone else, maybe on this entire planet. I knew he didn't do those things to hurt me.

His emotions and compulsive tendencies overpowered even the logic of a powerful, brilliant physician. The sentiment was almost as moving as it was terrifying.

I knew one thing for sure: no one would ever make me feel the way I did when I was with him. I would never be loved by someone as fiercely as he had loved me.

Yes, his love was manipulative and possessive. But it was still love. To him, anyway.

That was certainly the part I couldn't get over. Some part of me still cared about him. I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't help it, though.

Our trauma and emotional attachment bonded us like some sick glue.

Then there was the fact that his sentence wasn't even that long. In five years, Jarrod would be trotting out of the jail and back on the loose.

He lost his medical license as well as both of his jobs. When he emerged, he would have to start all over. This time, with a criminal record.

Who would want to hire a felon? A felon who had seemingly preyed on innocent female patients?

I hated that part the most. The world would forever scrutinize him as a predator, a doctor who abused his power to harm patients.

That's not at all what he'd done, though. We had fallen mutually into a state of infatuation—of love, if I allowed myself to admit it.