Page 8 of Locke

Yeah, not really. “I didn’t want to ditch you—”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m about to go home with Warren. Don’t expect me for a couple days with this wild one. It’s gonna be fucking on steroids.”

I glanced over her shoulder at the douchebag who was ogling a few girls on the dance floor. “Don’t get attached to this one, Syl.”

She laughed, giving me a knowing look. “Unlikely. By the end, he’ll be attached to me.”

“You’re going to his place?”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

“Let me know when you leave, too.”

“For sure. Let go, yeah? Have fucking fun for once. I don’t want to see you for a few days at least.”

“We’ll see.” I gave her a quick hug. “Tell me everything.”

She winked. “Likewise, girl, and keep your damn piercing up. No one wants to see a fucking bull in a dress.”

Ouch.

I watched her leave with Warren, and then I glanced quickly back at the figure in the corner. He was still standing there, still watching me. My body tingled. Would he come to me if I stood there a little longer? The seconds dragged and he remained unmoving.

A shiver ran down my spine as I forced my body away and to the ladies’ room.

Eric. I tried to convince myself just then. I want Eric.

I had to wait in line, all the while looking over my shoulder periodically. It was stupid, but I felt like he was there, watching me still, even though I was out of view from the dance floor. The thought thrilled me. I was so fucking dumb, and insane, and what the hell was wrong with me? Was I so lonely in my life that I had to conjure up such crazy bullshit?

The answer was yes, I was.

It was also that deep inside me I was craving something.

A longing for a certain darkness that I was too scared to admit to myself.

By the time I made it inside, I didn’t know what to do. I’d used the ladies’ room as a means to prolong the inevitable. I stopped in front of a sink, mulling the night’s events in my head. I would be leaving with Eric, we would go on a drive, he would kiss me with his nice man lips and then we’d have sex, probably in his apartment or mine. Despite my birth control shot, he would put on a condom because he believed in safe sex. He might fuck me in missionary or put me in doggy. He was too shy to slap my ass. Too nice to bite my shoulder. Too proper to leave marks. But that was okay. I’d use my fingers to come, and he would feel like the man for getting me there, and I’d let him think so. We would be two responsible adults about this. He’d probably let me stay the night, too, and in the morning, he would offer to drop me off at home to avoid the walk of shame.

He liked me.

“He likes me,” I reiterated out loud before staring at myself in the mirror above the sink. My dark eyes stared back at me, and before I could stop myself, a crazed laughter bubbled up my throat and out of my lips. At the same time, my eyes stung, and I shook my head, gulping the emotion away, whispering, “You’re broken, Kali.”

I was.

Always had been.

Why did I feel it so much in that moment?

Because I kept thinking about the man in the corner. The man that watched me. The man I watched back despite my instincts screaming for me not to.

I was crazy—

It didn’t mean anything.

He could have been the club’s middle-aged janitor for all I knew. His name was probably Mr Norris, too.

God, I was whacko.

Still staring hard at myself, I went against Sylvia’s advice and flipped my septum piercing down so that it was completely visible. Sylvia’s words ran through my mind. Elegant bitches don’t have bull piercings.

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