Page 55 of Lock Me Out

“Let me worry about that. I’m pretty good at sneaking around in hospitals.”

When she makes a worried noise, I have to add, “You need to stop worrying so much about whether I can handle my shit. I’ll be there soon.”

Really, I should just be glad she cares. Yet another reason why I don’t deserve for her to care, because it annoys the hell out of me to have somebody hovering and asking questions. I take it personally, even though I know I probably shouldn’t. Maybe it’sall those years I spent without a mom—maybe I would be used to it if I had her in my life instead of a dad who wasn’t an example of good parenting in any way.

He’s the last thing I need to think about when I’m in a mood like this. He’s the last thing to think about ever, but his fingerprints are all over my life. He’s in everything I do—everything I think. He’s even in my scar tissue, since I wouldn’t have it if I didn’t want to punish him somehow for everything he did. I need to find a way to let go, but now is not the time. I have other shit on my mind.

Like locating my car, which I left around halfway between my apartment and Colt’s. It would’ve been a risk to park in his garage, where you’re supposed to have a pass if you’re staying for longer than a short visit. I couldn’t leave it down by the warehouse, of course, so this was the next best thing: finding a spot on the street with no meter, which wasn’t so hard to do early in the morning, after we discovered the bodies were missing.

Is it crazy to think whoever moved them might be the one who sent that message to Leni? It only makes sense. Just like it makes sense that they were the ones who fucked with the car. Even if Leni hadn’t been in it, she would’ve suffered over what happened to Colt. I’m sure they had that in mind, whoever they are.

At least I know there’s next to no chance anybody tampered with my brakes once I’m behind the wheel. I’m pretty much moving on autopilot as I make the drive Colt was trying to make earlier, taking me to the hospital where now he and Mom both have a bed. As I drive, I’m always looking around, wondering if random people on the street are responsible for the cut on the side of my head. They’re out here somewhere, whoever they are, andthey had better hope they never meet me because I’ll be the last person they ever meet.

It takes no time for me to reach Colt’s room once I’ve parked and entered through the cafeteria door. All it takes is moving with purpose. Still, Leni manages to look surprised when I duck into the room as soon as the hallway is clear, and no one is watching.

I hold a finger to my lips when her mouth falls open. It snaps shut in response, but she still scrambles out of the chair she was in and throws her arms around me.

Don’t do it. Don’t feel it.I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t. She’s too good for me, and she isn’t mine. She’s Colt’s. She loves him. But I can’t pretend there isn’t a part of me that craves more than her submission and humiliation. Now that she’s in my arms, trusting me, happy to see me, I know there’s a part of me that wants this, too.

“How is he?” I whisper, since that seems a lot safer than admitting she brings me peace in the middle of so much chaos.

“I think he’ll be all right. But you probably can’t stay for long,” she whispers, clutching my hoodie in her fists. “They come in every hour to make sure he’s all right with the concussion and everything.”

“Did they give him a scan or anything like that?”

“Yes, and they said everything seemed fine.”

“Except for that egg on his forehead,” I mutter, wincing at the sight of the swollen bruise. I mean, compared to what I’ve got going on with my face, it’s nothing. But it’s a symbol of what might’ve happened if he had hit the wheel a little harder.

I need to do something about this. That bruise is a symbol of what’s at stake, a reminder of what could’ve been lost tonight. “Can I see your phone?” I ask Leni.

Her head snaps back, confusion touching her features and drawing them together in a frown. “What for?”

“I just want to see the messages, that’s all. There has to be a way we can find out who’s behind this.”

“Sure, maybe you can think of something I haven’t.” She takes it from her bag and hands it over after unlocking it and opening her messages. “Pretty much every app you can send a direct message on, somebody has sent them to me. I don’t have anything to hide. Look around.”

She’s not kidding. “Why don’t you delete them?” I have to ask, scrolling through one evil, threatening message after another. I wouldn’t want these reminders sitting around for me to see anytime I opened an app.

“Most of the time, I do. That’s just from the end of last week.” So, before our meetup at the warehouse, in other words. “I didn’t think to go back in and delete them. I thought…”

She doesn’t need to tell me what she thought, because we all thought it was over.

Of course, when I tap on the accounts sending the messages through social media, they are all nameless, faceless accounts created for the sake of bullying. There’s not much I’m going to get out of sending a message to one of them. “Have you ever tried calling one of the numbers that sends the texts?”

I knew the answer before I asked. “No way. I figured nobody would answer if I tried.” And that’s not how she thinks, either. She wouldn’t call to bitch somebody out. That’s not Leni.

However, it’s me.

“Hey, it can’t hurt,” I mutter, placing a call to the number the last text message was sent from earlier tonight. I doubt anyone will answer, but they might. Either way, they’ll see we’re not afraid to tell them to fuck off.

It rings once. Again.

Then, someone answers.

Leni watches, eyes wide, hands folded under her chin. At first, all I hear is breathing on the other end—heavy, raspy. “Who is this?” I ask, watching her, listening hard.

Again, they keep me waiting until finally, they speak. “Someone who’s gonna make you pay for what you did.”

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