Page 22 of Lock Me Out

Oh, great. These guys. I wish I had pulled up my hood—maybe then they wouldn’t recognize me if they didn’t see my hair—but it’s too late for that now. All I can do is pretend not to hear them and keep walking with my head down. Is he out here somewhere? He’s taking his sweet damn time if he is.

“You’re a rude little bitch, you know that?” Oh, no. The voice is closer this time. They’re following me.

“For real. Whatever happened to girls being able to take a fucking compliment?” They laugh nastily as they fall in step behind me, muttering to each other about my body, whistling.

Aren’t there cops in this town? Why the hell can’t one drive by right now? Or just a good Samaritan, for God’s sake? But no, it’s just me and these two guys. Two guys who decide to take me by my arms and turn me in place.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!” I can’t use my keys on them with them holding my arms like this. I do everything I can—kicking my feet, making myself as heavy as I can, going dead weight in hopes they’ll stop—but they don’t. All they do is laugh, pulling me toward their car.

“We’re just gonna have some fun,” the shorter of the two tells me, snickering. “Relax, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Let’s see if that red hair is natural,” the other guy suggests, and sheer animal panic floods my system, making me fight harder than ever.

“Help me!” I scream, pulling and struggling, getting closer to the car with every step.

“Get the fuck off her!”

I know that voice. The sound of it is an arrow piercing my terror. Looking up, I find him standing in front of us, his hood pulled up over his ski mask to hide his face.

But he’s not hiding the switchblade in his hand, the streetlights making the metal gleam. “Get off of her,” he commands menacingly. “Or I will make you eat the ground before I slice both your dicks off. Got it?”

Cowards. Just like that, they let me go and hurry off, looking over their shoulders as they scurry to the car like a couple of scared rabbits. I would laugh if I wasn’t so busy trying to stay upright, swaying on my feet, panting for every breath.

“Are you okay?” That voice again. He’s not whispering this time. Maybe he forgot to—or maybe I called him by his real name, and he knows he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

At first, I can only nod until I catch my breath. “I’m all right. Thank you.”

It’s like thanking him flips a switch. Taking a step toward me, he asks, “What did I tell you?”

“I know what you told me.” I will not cower. I will not apologize. “But I needed to see you again. I needed to be sure it was you. I want to see your face.” I reach for his ski mask, but he takes a step away from me before I can reach him.

“Is that what this is about?” Putting away the switchblade, he shakes his head, his face still hidden. “I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Why would you care that I’m out here?” I counter. Every word makes me feel a little stronger because I know I’m right—it’s the only thing that makes sense. “Show me your face. Or else I’m never going to stop looking, and you’re just going to have to follow me around and threaten people with a switchblade every day.”

“Don’t be a fucking child.” To my surprise, he brushes past me and starts walking fast, like he can get away.

“Coward!” I have to almost jog to keep up with him, my eyes glued to his broad back. “You’re going to run away again? Are you only brave when you’re carrying the switchblade?”

“Enough.” He’s as quick as a cat, whirling around and grabbing hold of me, pushing me against the closest wall. Leaning in, his breath hot in my face, he asks, “Do you wanna play games? You think you’re brave enough? You’re so tough?”

“Who’s talking about being brave when you won’t even take off that mask?” I whisper. Am I ready to die from fear? Maybe. But I’m getting through to him. I feel it.

“Is that what you want? Is that really what you want, little girl?” He looms over me, blocking out everything around us, but I’m not afraid. I know who he is. I might’ve been afraid of him in the past, but not anymore. We’re past that now.

“Do you want to see? Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Holding my breath, I watch him lower the hood and rip off the ski mask. I’m somehow able to keep from gasping at what I see.

One side of his face is exactly the way I remember it.

The other?

“Oh,” I whisper with a sinking heart, staring in horror at the scar tissue covering the other half of his face. “What happened to you? Oh, my god…”

“And you wonder why I didn’t want you to see?” In a flash, he puts the hood in place again, snickering. “Aren’t you glad you know what happened?”

“But I don’t know what happened. What did this to you?”

---