Page 47 of Lock Me Out

“Okay.” Folding my hands, I nod. “What is it? What do you want to say?”

“I liked it.” With his head hung and his eyes on the floor, he mutters, “I liked watching you hit her the way you did. When everything changed, you know? I liked it too much.”

“I hear you. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“And you don’t think that’s wrong?” When he lifts his gaze, the agony in his eyes knocks the breath out of my lungs. He really means it, and now I’m wondering if I should feel the way he does. Is there something wrong with me that I don’t?

But it’s not like I ever have. I can’t pretend. “Do you want to know why I stayed away as long as I did? That’s one of the reasons, and I’m not just saying it now to defend myself. I like it too much when I’m using her. When I’m hurting her. That’s why I came here and tied her up that night—I waited for days to get the chance to be alone up here with her. Because more than anything, I craved the feeling I used to get when we were using her and dominating her.”

Now I can’t look at him. Instead, I stare down at my folded hands, clenched on the countertop. “It’s like being an addict. It’s always there, no matter what I’m doing, no matter what’shappening around me. I want to have her under my control again. I never feel as alive as I do when she’s at my mercy. I don’t know if it’s something I was born with or something I was taught, but I can’t get it out of my head.”

Glancing up at him, I add, “Which is a big reason why I stayed away all this time. Believe me, don’t believe me, it doesn’t matter. It’s the truth. Staying away from her was the only way I could think to protect her from me. Because look what happens when I’m with her.”

I point down the hall, grinding my teeth when I remember the way she shrieked and sobbed. “That’s all I can give her. And you want me to stay? Really, think about it. You love her? Then you should keep me away from her.”

I’m almost surprised when he goes quiet, like he’s thinking about it. I would expect him to talk over me, to tell me how I’m feeling instead of listening and trying to understand. Being understanding isn’t exactly something either of us has a lot of practiced with.

“I feel that way too sometimes. I’ve told you that. In my emails?” Yes, he did, and I nod slowly. “I ask myself how I’m supposed to learn how to be good to her when our whole past was made up of how much we could hurt her. And I’ve doubted myself so many times, today included—maybe most of all,” he adds, frowning and clenching his fists again. For a second, I’m sure he’s going to hit something, but he swallows back the urge. “Because I love her. I should be trying to protect her from anything that would make her fall apart the way she did. But there I was, almost ready to blow my load when things got serious.”

Am I an asshole for feeling better about myself now that he said that? “What are you going to do about it? Do you think we could learn to be different?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Fuck, yeah, I do. I’m not some powerless loser, and neither are you. Unless that’s who you want to be.”

“You know I don’t.”

He squares his shoulders and tightens his jaw. I know that look. He’s making up his mind about something. “Okay. So what do you do? You take control of yourself. Both of us. That’s all we can do. It’ll be one day at a time, but we can both handle it, because otherwise, the only answer is leaving her, and I won’t do that. I’m not living without her.”

I know he means it, just like I know he’s right about taking control. I don’t know where to start. That’s the problem. One of many problems.

“Don’t forget, she was already stressed out about those bodies going missing.” He rubs his jaw, groaning. “I mean, no wonder she freaked out. She has so much on her mind, and I can’t convince her to relax.”

“Yeah, I guess we didn’t help things. You know her better than I do now. What should we do?”

“We have to be gentle with her.” I don’t mean to frown when he says it, but at least he chuckles. “I know. I’m not good at being gentle, either. But it’s what she needs.”

“But what about later, in the future? She’s seeing a therapist, right?”

“Yeah, that’s where she was leaving when those assholes took her.” The growl in his voice is nothing compared to the heat that explodes in my chest when I remember watching from across the street, feeling helpless and useless. “But there’s gotta be stuff we can do for her here, at home. Just so she’ll feel more secure.”

I have to say it. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

“What, did you think I was lying?”

“No, I’m just saying you’re obviously out for whatever is best for her. That’s good to see.”

“What about you?”

The microwave couldn’t beep at a better time. Talk about a loaded question. Where do I even start trying to answer? I have to search my feelings, not something I usually like to do. But I know him—if I try to shrug off the question, he’ll only double down until I have to answer him or kill him.

“I care about her,” I decide by the time he slides a plastic container of steaming mac and cheese in front of me. At least stirring it around to cool it off gives me something to do while I try not to choke on my words. “I mean, obviously. Why else would I stay away to protect her if I didn’t care?”

“Then you’ll help me try to get her through this?”

Shit. Dropping the fork, I hit him with a stare that makes him snicker. “So that’s how it is? You’re going to use her to get me to stay? When I just got done telling you, she’s a big part of the reason I was hiding?”

“You can handle it. You’re Nix fucking Alistair. And look what you already did. You escaped the fire, you snuck out of the hospital before anybody could figure out who you were, youfound a way to make yourself untraceable. So what, you can’t learn how to be a better person? I don’t believe that.”

But all he did was take me back to the question—the fear—at the center of everything. “What if there’s no way to control this? Would you ask a cancer patient to control their tumor with like, positive thinking?”

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