Page 15 of Lock Me Out

“I was only trying to do something nice for you.”

But was I, really? Maybe I’m pissed off because she saw through me so easily. Because yeah, I do have another reason for going out of my way to buy her this car.

There is so much I have to make up for, so much we did to her, so many ways we hurt her and broke her down. This is the least I can do. This is nothing compared to what she suffered thanks to Nix and me—and Dad, always Dad, the one pulling the strings and calling the shots.

There’s a large part of me that feels like I have to repay that debt, and I don’t have the first clue how to do it.

What’s worse is, she doesn’t expect me to. How is that even possible?

“Well, if that’s all it really is, thank you, but it’s too much. I don’t even think I feel comfortable with the idea of driving it, to be honest with you. You didn’t have to spend all this money.”

“Would you stop worrying about the fucking money?” I snap, and God help me, it feels good to watch her head snap back while fear darkens her eyes. I’m a weak, pathetic shit, taking strength from her fear, feeling gratified because of it. I’m basically a slug crawling on the ground, leaving slime wherever I go.

“You know what? I don’t need to be here right now. This is not a conversation we need to have when we’re both feeling tense.”

Before I know it, she’s on her way inside again, and I have no choice but to follow her, my feet pounding on the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“I’m not walking away from you,” she calls back over her shoulder. “I’m walking away from a fight. That’s what grown-ups do.”

“Oh, don’t start that shit with me.”

“Well then, maybe don’t be so immature just because I didn’t fall all over the place thanking you for something I didn’t ask for.” She’s already in the apartment with me right behind her, grabbing her keys and shoving them in the pocket of her hoodie. “Thank you for the gesture, seriously, but I can’t spend our entire relationship trying to convince you I’m with you because I want to be. You don’t have to buy my love. There’s no score to settle.”

I can’t even tell her she’s wrong, or that I wasn’t coming from exactly the place she just described. Because that’s exactly why I bought the car. A wild shot at making it up to her. Telling her how sorry I am for hurting her. How grateful I am that she would ever even look at me, much less say she loves me.

I mean, how can I possibly deserve it?

“I’m going for a walk. I need to clear my head.” She barely looks at me as she’s leaving, her gaze grazing the floor as she makes her way back to the door.

Should I stop her? Would it be selfish if I did?

Who am I kidding? I would only end up saying something stupid again and making things worse. It’s easier and better for both of us if I let her go, so I do, standing aside while she walks out with her hands jammed in her pockets.

Once the door is closed, I pick up the closest thing—a throw pillow on the sofa—and hurl it at the wall. Right, like that’sgoing to do anything to make me feel calmer, less… wrong. Less broken and fucked up and completely undeserving of love and understanding.

Standing in the middle of the living room, fists clenched at my sides, I spend a long time breathing heavily, my chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling. There’s a ringing in my ears, and the world is red, and I really want to hurt something—or someone.

I want them to feel the way I feel now: helpless, useless, out of control.

But after a minute or two, that surge of rage starts to lessen, and I can breathe without feeling like my lungs are going to explode. Normal people don’t solve problems by trashing an apartment or beating the shit out of someone. If I want to be different, I need to act differently, so my mind turns to the only other option I can find.

Dropping to the sofa, I pull out my phone and open my email app. My thumbs fly over the screen as I type out a message to the only person I feel comfortable sharing all of my thoughts with. Whether he reads them or not.

Brother,

How the fuck am I supposed to live anything close to a real, normal life after what Dad did to fuck us up? Do you ever feel that way? Do you ever ask yourself what it would be like if we had a normal father who wasn’t such a twisted, sick bastard? He put all these things in our heads, and we accepted them because we didn’t feel like we had a choice. But after a while, it all became a habit. Was it that way for you? I wish we could’ve talked like this before. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of my mind now.

I can’t do anything right for Leni. It’s like I have good intentions, but I’m always wrong. I want her to trust me. I want her to know she’s safe with me, but I can’t find the words to tell her. And it doesn’t matter how many times she tells me she understands, she forgives me, whatever. It never feels like enough. I can’t imagine how she could be telling the truth. Who could find it in themselves to forgive after what we did?

I just want a life. A real life. A normal life. But I’m worried there’s so much darkness in me, it’s impossible. How do I care for her like a normal person does when I am anything but normal? Sometimes I wonder if I should let her go so she could have a real chance at happiness someday… Then I remember there’s no way I could ever let her go. It’s not possible. I can’t win.

And that’s it, summed up in three words: I can’t win. Tossing the phone beside me after sending the message, I lean my head back and cover my face with my hands, groaning in frustration.

8

LENI

I just don’t understandhim. I don’t think I ever will.

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