Page 28 of Lock Me Out

“He cornered me in an alley and forced me to suck him off. I didn’t know who he was at first, but when it was over, I realized it was him.” I’m still processing this when she adds, “When I said his name, he ran off. But I knew.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“He—”

I cut her off with a wave of my hand, slashing it through the air. “I don’t care what he wanted from you,” I snarl, making her eyes go wide with fear before she tries to creep backward on the bed. Away from me. “You lied to me. What do you owe him that you don’t owe me? We’re supposed to be together, right? A couple? But you kept his secret. He used you, and you let him get away with it because… why?”

My fists tighten a little more with every word, the anger and betrayal growing. “How could you do that? How could you fucking lie to me that way?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I was… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s pretty fucking obvious,” I growl, ignoring the sob she lets out, ignoring everything. How could she?

How could he?

I can’t even be glad he’s alive—that I was right all along. I hate him for that. He’s taken away my ability to feel any satisfaction in being right, in knowing that he didn’t die, that I still have a brother out there in the world.

He took what’s mine. He hurt her.

“I was only trying to give him time or whatever he needs,” she says weakly.

“Why the fuck does he need time?” I snap.

“He… he was injured,” she murmurs. “He didn’t explain exactly what happened, and I don’t know if he would even if I asked, but the side of his face…” She covers her cheek with her hand. “It’s all scarred up. That’s why I didn’t know for sure it was him in that alley until he spoke—until I saw his eyes. He hides his face. I think that might be part of the reason why. He was there that day, with the explosion and everything. That’s what he’s been hiding, I think. That might be why he didn’t want you or anybody else to know. He’s probably afraid.”

Funny how I don’t care all that much right now. He still didn’t trust me enough to reply to a fucking email. Does he think I would turn him over to the police because of some scars on his face? Doesn’t he know me better than that?

My head feels like it’s in a vise, my skull ready to crack open. My brother is alive, and he fucked my girlfriend. Not that he hasn’t before, but that was different. We were forced to do it back then.

Weren’t we? Am I just telling myself that?

Now I know one thing for sure, at least. That text came from him, telling me to take better care of her. Like he knows anything about it. I’m the one who loves her.

“What are you doing?” Her tearful question doesn’t stop me as I throw the bedroom door open and grab the phone I left on the kitchen counter.

So this is how he wants it? He wants to play games? He wants to hide from me, like there’s anything we couldn’t get through together? He’d rather sneak around and take what’s mine than be a man about it.

Pulling up the anonymous text he sent the night he forced Leni to suck him off in an alley—the thought alone is enough to make my stomach turn—I type out a response.

You fucking coward. You can’t tell me where you are, but you can sneak in here while I’m gone? Why don’t you show yourself?

That’s not even half of what’s on my mind, and by the time I send the message, I already know there’s more to say. Thinking of the way Leni described him, I add:

You hurt Leni. You made her cry, but I’m still open to hearing you out. Whatever happened, whatever you did, we’ll figure out what to do next. Together. But I need you to tell me where you are.

And then I wait, staring down at the phone, willing him to respond. He has to. He can’t ignore me. I’m his fucking brother. I’m the only person who will understand. He has to know that. We’ve been through too much for him to forget it.

But either he has forgotten, or he doesn’t care. Whatever the reason, he leaves me hanging—one minute passing after another with no response.

I’m going to explode. I’m going to hurt somebody. He can’t do this. Not to me.

But he is, and the feeling of helplessness that comes with it makes my hand curl into a fist, which I slam against the closest wall hard enough to leave a dent. The pain in my knuckles is almost welcome. It gives me something else to focus on instead of imagining all the ways I want to make my brother pay for keeping this secret.

And for touching what isn’t his to touch. For seven months, she’s been mine alone.

Knowing I’ve shared her with him puts everything in a different light. An uncomfortable and ugly light that shines on things I would rather leave in the dark.

14

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