Page 16 of Lock Me Out

What does he think he’s doing, spending all that money on a car for me? Like I’m even the kind of girl who drives a car like that. Sure, it’s beautiful, but so what? Does he think he can buy my affection that way? Because that’s exactly what this is, whether he wants to admit it or not. He’s trying to buy my love because he doesn’t believe he deserves it. I’m not stupid, and he’s not that hard to see through now that I know him better than I did before. He’s not a mystery anymore.

Well, maybe in one way. I still don’t understand how he can’t accept Nix being dead, but otherwise, I can read him like a book.

Maybe I’m the one with the problem. My feet slap the sidewalk a little harder with every angry step. When I think about it that way, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed in myself for my reaction. Maybe I should just learn to accept a gesture and be grateful. He wanted to make me happy, and I basically threw his gesture in his face. It must’ve hurt.

Is this what it means to be part of a relationship? How would I know? This is my first try. My entire life was about gymnastics before I got hurt; there was nothing else. I didn’t have the same experiences as other girls do—boys and dating and all that. And it’s not like I ever had an example of a happy, stable relationship to draw from.

The thought makes me chuckle darkly. The night is cool, almost crisp, which makes me hunch my shoulders further up than I already have. Where am I going? I have no idea. I went out because if I didn’t, things were only going to get worse, and I didn’t want to be the reason for that. I’m heartsick, I’m tired, and all I want to do is go home and throw my arms around Colt and apologize for not being gracious enough to accept his gift. That was his way of reaching out to me, and I basically threw it back in his face and told him it wasn’t good enough.

Dammit, how long will it take before we get past this stage? I have to believe the time will come. Things will get easier once we’re used to being together. Maybe, with enough time, Colt will actually believe I mean it when I say I love him and that he doesn’t owe me anything. I am ready and willing to forgive what happened in the past. I would rather put it behind me and pretend it never happened, even if I know that’s impossible. It’s always going to be there, like a ghost hovering over my shoulder, reaching out to tap me at the most random times. It doesn’t like to be ignored for long.

“Hey, baby! Who let you out all by yourself tonight?”

There’s a difference between being catcalled and being taunted, and what’s happening right now is the former. Most girls get used to it by the time they’ve hit puberty, if not earlier—men can really be pigs. It’s not hard to ignore them as I walk on, barelycatching sight of a trio of men hanging out next to a car like they’re working on it.

“What, you can’t say hi? You know you should smile more,” another of the guys calls out, and I almost stop in my tracks and roll my eyes for all of them to see. Can’t they come up with something a little more original?

They might not be a real threat, but they remind me of something I forgot when I was angry and looking for a way out of the situation: I’m all alone, and there is somebody in the world who has made it their mission to threaten me. Maybe being out here alone at night isn’t the best idea. Our apartment is in a nice neighborhood, pretty safe, but all it takes is ten or fifteen minutes on foot in any direction, and things get a little sketchier.

Right now, I’m in a sort of business district. Only a lot of the shops are closed for the night—the grates pulled. It’s a bleak atmosphere, almost a little sad. I’m sure during the day the street is thriving, bustling, but now it’s dark and empty enough to send a chill down my spine. Still, it’s not completely abandoned. A few people pass on the sidewalk, and I shift to one side to give them more room, keeping my distance.

Behind me, something breaks, shattering on the ground. The sound makes my head snap around—reflex, that’s all—and when I’m not looking where I’m going, I bump into a wall.

No, not a wall. A chest. Just as firm and unforgiving as any wall, though.

“Oh, sorry,” I mumble, ready to step aside and keep going.

But he stops me, matching my movement, a barrier of unyielding flesh.

When I get up the courage to look into his face, the ski mask that covers it makes me fall back a step while a gasp lodges in my throat.

Without saying another word, he grabs my arm—rough, unforgiving—and shoves me into a narrow alley between two buildings. It’s completely dark, deep in shadow, the brick wall behind me icy cold. He shoves me against it hard enough to rattle my bones.

With one arm on either side of me, he’s holding me in place while I pant for air. The only thing I can make out in the darkness is his hard, cruel eyes. They glimmer down at me, and I have to look away, my heart pounding in my chest, my head spinning. I’m going to faint if I don’t breathe, but I can’t breathe. Not when he’s so close to me, close enough that I can barely take a sip of air.

“Please… Please, don’t hurt me,” I whisper, and the words sound ridiculous even through my panic. How pathetic and unoriginal.

And when he laughs, I know how pointless they were, too. Leaning in closer, his breath heating my skin and making me shudder in revulsion at the sensation.

“Just let me go,” I say, as if that would help. I doubt it will. People don’t walk around at night wearing ski masks because they’re feeling friendly. He wants something from me. “I don’t have any money.”

His short, sharp breath sounds surprised before he releases a soft laugh.

A scream shoots into my throat and is about to come out before his hand clamps over my mouth, stifling the sound. I wish I could see more of his face, as much as I don’t want to look into it.It would be easier if he looked more human, I think, but what do I know? My brain is looking for a way through this.

“Stop,” I beg when his other hand slides down my side, but it only comes out as a muffled whine. Now I’m afraid I’m going to throw up. Or maybe my heart will give out and I’ll die here and now in this dark, narrow alley where it’s so cold and the smell of garbage and urine are almost strong enough to overcome the smell of his breath in my face. Sort of minty, like he just chewed gum. It’s the one tiny mercy out of all of this.

He shakes his head, his fingers crawling down my hip, around to my ass. Tears roll down my cheeks and onto his hand while he laughs softly at my fear and disgust.

Suddenly, his touch is hard, unforgiving, almost brutal as he grabs my throat in one hand. Trying to protect myself, my arms fly up, and I dig my fingers into his arm. I try to push him away with all my strength, but he is too strong. With his free hand he pulls something from his jeans.

My eyes go wide as I stare at the blade in his hand. He lets go of my throat and replaces it with the knife. I suck in a quick breath before holding it, scared to move.

His other hand finds my shoulder, and he starts to push me down.

No. Not this. I go stiff, locked in place by horror, but he’s not going to take no for an answer. Soon his fingers are digging into my shoulder painfully, and he’s shoving down hard until my knees buckle. Somehow, I’m able to keep myself from slamming against the ground, but only barely, and the cracked concrete is rough through my jeans.

He’s breathing harder now, faster, one hand holding the knife against my throat while he unbuckles his belt with the other.

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