Page 74 of Locke

I didn’t have to worry what the darkness heard. It swallowed my sounds and kept my secrets. Like the confession pouring out of my mouth as I stared into that dark corner, imagining the figure looking back at me. “Just take me. Fuck me. Use me. Fucking come all over me…I’m just a fucking thing to you. Treat me like I’m dirty. Chase me.”

My body rolled through the intense waves of another orgasm, and this time I felt the energy leech from my body. I panted into the night air, wondering why I didn’t feel dirty about my pleasure.

As I lay there, shivering through the aftermath of my release, a creak sounded.

I froze still, my heart jumping to my throat as the fear returned to me tenfold. I looked around the darkness, searching for his silhouette—for a sign he was really here, and I wasn’t losing my mind.

I should get up. I should turn on the lights. And if he was here, I should call the police and have this fucker arrested—

I wasn’t going to do any of that, though.

Not when my body enjoyed the thrill he gave me. Not when I might feel the crushing disappointment of turning on the light and discovering he wasn’t here, after all.

I closed my eyes, trying to cry because crying would be proof that I was helpless to this bizarre, unhealthy fixation I was having for this murderous man. It would imply I was fighting to stop it. It would be proof that I felt guilty for even desiring such a sick man.

But no tears came.

So, I lay still, trying to stay awake as the night stretched slowly. But then I thought of how wet I was, how good it felt to wake up only strokes away from an orgasm. God, the thought of him touching me—

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I fought the temptation to run my fingers between my legs again. This was not a habit I wanted to have. So, I fought my urges and shut my eyes, and willed myself to sleep and forget this night even happened.

And then the darkness claimed me just as a light touch fluttered between my legs.

Twenty-Three

Locke

“It’s okay, buddy,” he cooed. “You just gotta touch it is all. It’s not gonna bite.”

“Please, let me go.”

“I’ll let you go after you do what I tell you to do.”

The light burned his eyes. So, he shut them and cried. “Please, mister—”

“Not mister, my sweet boy. Ronaldo is my name. Call me Ronny for short because we’re buddies down here. You do what I say, and I’ll give you ice cream.”

“I want my mom.”

His voice changed, became less friendly. “First do as you’re told.”

When Max didn’t, he was shoved face first to the ground by another figure behind him. He forced him closer to the man awaiting him, urging him to cut the distance on his own.

He vomited and sank to the ground instead, shaking.

Ice cream, they told him. “We’ll give you ice cream.” Ice cream and a bed and some toys. And did he like race cars? How about pizza? What were his favourite toppings?

But Max told them he wanted to go home instead.

That was when they started to hurt him.

*

Money.

If you had enough of it, the world bent to your every whim.

More powerful than money was fear. Having both? That was tricky for Locke.

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