Page 46 of Lock Me Out

“Yeah, I could eat,” I reply, sitting down at the counter and watching him go through the freezer. He pulls out a pair of frozen containers of macaroni and cheese, and I know what’s coming as he slaps them onto the spinning glass plate in the microwave. His body language isn’t just speaking for him. It’s screaming.

He turns around, arms folded, and leans against the stove while staring at the gleaming wood floor. It’s not like I didn’t know he’d be concerned after what we just witnessed, but there’s something about the way his jaw ticks that tells me it goes beyond concern. I can almost hear his teeth grinding.

“She’ll be okay,” I offer. I mean, what else can I say? And I know it’s the truth—I’m not making shit up to help him feel better or anything like that. She will be okay. It might take a little time, but time heals everything... or so they say.

Though it won’t heal my face. But that’s something I need to get over. I touch a hand to my cheek without thinking, remembering when the skin was smooth. It’s amazing how much we take for granted every day. I’m a philosopher, all of a sudden.

“Will she? Because I don’t know.” He glances at me briefly before looking back at the floor. “Sometimes I wonder if we didn’t break her for good.”

“She’s strong. And we’re here to help her.”

I already know it was the wrong thing to say before he snorts. “Oh, yeah. We really helped her back there. You could tell by the way she was screaming. She’s processing things in a healthy way.”

“Okay, we didn’t know it was going to set her off like that.”

“That’s the thing.” He takes a slow, shaky breath. “I should have known.”

“What, are you a mind reader now? You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“You don’t get it.” He shakes his head, looking angry. “You haven’t been here all this time. We spent these months gettingto know each other better, learning to live together, building something. Or I thought we were, anyway.”

I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know how he feels. I don’t know what it’s like to build a relationship, to learn to trust each other—all that happy horseshit. “I know from all the things you emailed me that you’ve been trying really hard to learn how to give her what she needs. That’s worth something. Don’t forget how hard you’ve tried.”

“It’s not enough. Obviously. I don’t know if it ever will be.”

I’m starting to understand what he’s hinting at. “What are you saying? Do you want to break up with her?”

When he lifts a shoulder and looks away from me, something snaps in my head. It shouldn’t, but it does, and it takes patience I didn’t know I had to keep from climbing over the counter and shaking him until his neck snaps. “You fucking coward.”

“Very nice.” Smirking, he gives me a thumbs up. “Way to make me feel better.”

“You’re not the one who has to feel better right now. She is. This is supposed to be about her, right? But all you can do is stand there and feel sorry for yourself.”

“I really don’t need a lecture from you.”

“Did I ask? No, just hear me out,” I mutter when his mouth opens like he’s ready to argue. “You can tell yourself all you want that you’re trying to do the right thing by her, but we didn’t meet yesterday. You’re scared. You don’t think you have what it takes to make her happy, to make her feel safe and secure and all that. So you figure you should leave her alone, like that’s the best way to help her.”

“You’re wrong.” His eyes narrow, and a flush creeps up his neck as he lifts his lip in a snarl. “What the fuck would you know about it? You sail in here after hiding for months, and now you have all the answers? You give me shit about running away when that’s all you keep talking about. Running away.”

“It’s not the same thing, so don’t even try it.”

“Oh, please. It’s exactly the same thing.” If he raises his voice any louder, she’ll wake up.

I hold a finger in front of my mouth. “You know I had my own reasons for staying away.”

“Yeah. You ran away because you were scared, just like you’re accusing me of being.”

You’d think he would be more careful around somebody he watched commit murder a few days ago. “There’s a big difference between you being a pussy who’s afraid to try to help your girlfriend and staying away so you don’t attract attention and pull people you care about into your bullshit. Totally different.”

“I’m no good for her!” How can a whisper sound like a scream? It does, and I hear the agony in it, just like I see it on his face. I think I’m finally starting to understand. This is someplace neither of us has ever been before. Like landing on an alien planet without the first clue how to survive.

“Why is she still with you?” I ask. “Don’t you think she knows who’s good for her and who isn’t?”

“Right now? No, I don’t think she knows,” he admits. His hands flex—a sort of desperate gesture. “Because something happened in there that I don’t know what to think about.”

When he keeps me waiting, I have to ask, “Are you going to tell me what it was, or do I have to guess? There’s still another five minutes on the food, so I guess we have time.”

“You think this is a joke? Do you really?” I can’t remember the last time he looked at me with so much disgust. Maybe he never has before—not even after he watched me kill two people in that warehouse. “I’m trying to tell you something I don’t know how to say, and all you can do is bust my balls?”

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