Page 77 of Locke

See, this was unhealthy, and the sun was telling me this with its bright rays of judgment. It was saying, “Get inside that firm and tell that fucker NO MORE. Tell him to leave you alone!”

Yes, yes, and that was what I was going to do.

I needed my life back, after all.

I needed it back in all its bland, boring, repetitive glory.

He may have made my body addicted to his vile touch, but not my mind! And my mind was itching for safety. For familiar grounds. For the way it used to be, before he had taken me.

Something told me if I devoted anymore time on that man, he was going to destroy whatever was left of me.

And I couldn’t have that happen.

With that thought in mind, I entered the law firm.

This place was posh. Everything Locke owned was posh. The front desk had a beautiful secretary in a pencil skirt and business blouse. There were offices behind her, and a waiting room to my left filled with equally polished looking people. I glanced down at my leggings and baggy babysitter shirt. Oh, fucking well.

The young woman immediately noticed me, and her smile was tight as I stopped in front of her. She seemed confused—I was confused also. Because I didn’t know why I was doing this again. What was wrong with me?

But then I remembered the murders, the ruthless fucking, the black car stalking me, the figure busting into Derek’s room to grill him about me, and when I knocked into said stalker who had returned my phone unbeknownst to me and pretty much half-blamed me for the mess I made by saying, “We both made this mess, didn’t we?”

On top of that, I was sure he rubbed me to near orgasm last night. Or maybe he had somehow made me do it myself—settle down, pussy! The betraying little bitch throbbed once more between my legs, begging me not to do this.

Yeah, fuck it.

Before she could ask me why I was here and not at a homeless shelter, I said, “I want to see Max Locke.”

She tilted her head to the side, giving me the same look Sylvia had been giving me lately. “Um, I’m sorry, is he expecting you?”

“No, maybe—I don’t know. At this rate, he probably knows I’m here already.”

Now her brows came together. “So, you don’t have an appointment with Mr Locke?”

I glanced down at her nametag. “Look, Kennedy, you know, you don’t understand some things, okay? He’s expecting me. I think he’s been pushing me to do this, so here I am.” As if to reiterate that point, I called out over her shoulder and in the general direction of the offices with their blinds down, “Here I am, Locke!”

She gave me a polite smile, like she was trying to pacify a nutter. “Okay, well, if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll make some calls—”

“Is he not here?”

She shook her head. “He hasn’t come in lately.”

“Can you call him and let him know that I’m here?”

“Who are you exactly?”

“Kali.”

“Kali who?”

“Kali Arden.”

“Are you a client?”

“No, but he’ll want to see me.”

“A lot of people come around trying to pencil a meeting with Mr Locke, but he’s a busy man—”

I shook my head, cutting in, “No, no, you don’t understand. He’ll want to see me, I know it. I want him to know I’m here—that I went out of my way to get here. Because I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get inside my head, and I want to tell him to stop. He needs to know, Kennedy.”

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