Page 65 of Locke

This took on a whole new meaning.

And he…

He was behaving erratically, impulsively, chaotically. His mind was singularly pulled in one direction, and it was to this girl.

This maddeningly, beautiful, fucking unafraid but afraid girl.

Obsession smiled. “She’s perfect.”

Yes, she was.

But, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Obsession’s response was swift. “We’re just playing. We’re not actually fucking taking her. Harmless, Max.”

Yes, harmless.

And suddenly he needed to satiate his newfound obsession. He needed to binge on her, find out what he could so that he could finally get her out of his system.

Except that’s not how it went.

So many times he wanted to turn to Jem. Instead, he fed Obsession his pain and his pleasure and his innermost thoughts he dare not say aloud.

He dug into her life like she was a storybook, and he ate every fucking page of it. And there she was inside of him, her misery pumping through his veins like a fucking drug.

This girl was unlike the rest. She was spat out from darkness itself, and suddenly when he followed her, he saw her in a different light. He saw her hiding inside herself. He saw the smile hiding the pain. The sweetness hiding the rage. This girl walked out of hell of her own volition, born from her own strength. And the obsession re-ignited, burning hotter than before, engulfing his insides like a wildfire in his very bloodstream.

There was nothing vapid about her.

There was nothing ordinary about her.

He’d known that about her already when he had fucked her and had her for that brief time.

Kali just pretended she was like the rest, but he knew—he fucking knew everything.

“Take her,” Obsession urged. “Mark her.”

But he needed to do it right.

Like Jem had said.

And even though Jem had not meant for Locke to spiral out of control like this, Locke was free to interpret his advice anyway he liked.

And, look, he did keep away.

For a whole month, he kept away.

And did life slow right down for those thirty fucking days? Yes, it fucking did, but he kept his distance for a while. He honestly tried his best to forget about her.

It just wasn’t possible, and instead of resisting the new addiction he had formed for her, he decided he might embrace it instead. Maybe along the way the fixation would fade away.

It did not.

When he broke into her apartment, when he leafed through her things like a fucking creep, inhaling her scent, reading her darkest thoughts, he realized that not only was her fate sealed, but so was his.

And now here he was: his brain still shackled to her written words, his being begging to take what he felt belonged to him. And she did belong to me. Her jagged journey in life had intersected with his own. This curious little prey fell into his lap, unbeknownst to her.

But he read her thoughts.

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