Page 47 of Locke

The man’s appetite was unmatched.

Sometimes I really did just want to plead for him to fuck right off because my body was utterly broken, and yet it had never felt so whole before.

A longing formed during that time.

This strange neediness in the pit of me that needed to know where he was the second I was awake. Because sometimes he wasn’t around, and save for a few dim lights, he kept the lights off. The rooms were bathed in darkness.

It made sense.

We felt bare in the dark.

My fight would come and go. Sometimes I could really deliver a blow, other times I relented, and just lay beneath him as he took me hard and fast, his cock never softening, his need never satiated. His dirty words and heavy breaths. His tight grips and sharp bites. Because he fucking bit. Shoulders or belly, tits and ass. I was covered in his bites like he was covered in my strikes.

Sometimes I felt frightened.

Like I was existing in a never-ending loop, and this might never end.

More troubling than that was did I want it to?

Had I ever felt this needed before?

No.

Was it addictive?

Yes.

In a very unhealthy way.

And then it finally happened—my fight stopped altogether.

My rage had run dry.

*

“Kali,” his whispers made me open my eyes, groggy and confused.

The room was totally bathed in darkness. The dim lights not even switched on. And I…I was in his arms. He had dragged me to him sometime in the night, or day, or whatever the fuck time of day this was. He had placed me over his chest, and he was stroking my back, up and down my spine, the same word coming out of his mouth.

“Kali.”

Like he was tasting my name.

“Kali.”

Like he knew I was too dead asleep to listen.

“Kali.”

Like he was revering it.

I didn’t let him know I was awake, or that I was frightened beyond belief that he was doing this. A pain unlike any other speared into my chest, reminding me of the last time someone dotingly said my name.

“Kali.”

Why was this monster worshipping my name to himself?

Why did I want to cry just hearing it?

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