Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

I was going to puke. And it wasn't going to be a pretty puke like when you're a baby and even farting can be considered cute.

You had no idea what desperation was until there was less than a hundred bucks left in your bank account and no job prospects.

It left you too educated for minimum wage and not educated enough for a high paying job, unless you were lucky. And lucky, I was not.

getting places late was a huge pet peeve of mine,

Now, I wasn’t expecting anything amazing, and really, I didn’t need anything great from a job.

A very long time ago, I'd told myself that I wouldn't complain about inconsequential things, and I wasn't planning on starting now.

So as long as I wasn’t prostituting or having to make collection calls, I’d pretty much take whatever I could get.

Dex—a man that I'd heard enough of in ten minutes to know that I wasn't exactly going to be working for the Pope. Notorious, yes. Bad, yes. Reformed like they made it seem? I doubted it.

"Cajones, Iris," Yia-Yia would have said in terrible Greek-accented Spanish.

It was a blessing she wasn't around to strangle me with her bare hands, smiling throughout the process of her choking the life out of me.

I was pretty sure—only about 99 percent sure—smoking was illegal inside, but I definitely wasn't going to complain to the abundance of tattooed and leather-vested men that mobbed the floor.

"Somebody's on his damn rag."

I should have been glad the cap had hidden his facial features at the bar, so I had time to take in the magnificence that was his tattooed upper body without the added distraction of a face that made my ovaries scream “glory hallelujah.”

"You got legal ID?" There were illegal IDs? Yeah, I wasn't going to ask for clarification.

So, so ignorant to the fact that you can't fight a person's instincts, even if they were awful, even if they caused bad and painful things to those they should have cared about.

“Good afternoon.” The words had barely left my mouth, and I was cringing. Had I really just said good afternoon? Awkward, so friggin’ awkward,

So I swallowed hard and hoped he'd get explosive diarrhea at some point in the near future.

Was this what I'd sunk to? I mean, the universe couldn't be that cruel.

Life was hard sometimes, and there was no book or movie that could prepare you for how harsh it could be.

In reality, I wanted to ask him if he’d sold his soul or if he’d never had one to begin with.

I didn't normally hold grudges. If something upset me, I'd get over it quickly. Being pissed off took way too much effort and stressed me out, and I had no business stressing if I could avoid it. Plus, there weren’t that many things in life really worth being mad about.

Oh my God. The first person in my life who I had the urge to punch in the face was a six-foot-three-ish biker that I assumed beat the living crap out of someone and went to jail for it.

Stuff was replaceable, so I didn't bother holding on to my frustrations.

I blamed my period. It was coming, and it made my hormones get all out of whack.

“That's what she said.”

Mortified because I was A) an idiot, B) an idiot, and C) an idiot.

Under normal circumstances, I would have thought that was cute, but this was Dex The Dick, so it automatically defaulted to douchebag language.

Sure, because it was that friggin’ easy. He had a shitty day, so he could call me names behind my back. Right. Made total sense. Not. Dick.

“It’s not everyday someone I don’t know calls me a fucking idiot, then insults my clothes and my time management.” I looked him right in the eye, not caring that he winced.

shit-titude.

Sometimes strings of letters were meaningless in comparison to actions. Actions held the power of a choir versus the strength of a solitary singer.

Amen

That was life, wasn't it? Losing and regaining?

“You know damn well you don’t come into my shop demandin' shit, callin' my girl a bitch.”

“I’m fine.” Being freaked out fell into the same category as being fine. As long as I hadn't peed on myself, then I could still be fine.

God, grant me strength.

“A book from the library.” It was a historical romance novel, so I’d rather tell him that detail in, oh, a million years.

Right then, in that moment, Dex The Dick grinned. Grinned. And sweet mother of God, it was devastating.

“Like picture books if the ones with words don’t work for you.”

Most people made it seem like there was something wrong with me for not liking the taste of alcohol or beer and especially disliking the one and only time I got drunk.

Mortality is a delicate subject. Most people didn’t like to get reminded of how fragile and unstable life is.

But like the few other times when the pity party started without my permission, I reined the thoughts in with a restrained mental lasso. I rarely went down that path of what-ifs. They were pointless and painful, and I’d come to accept that my life was the way it was because… it just was. It was the brew of a million decisions and possibly fate, if you believed in it.

The inability of a person to let go of things that harmed or bothered them. Everyone was guilty of it.

He started tugging his shirt up and over his head, and I had to mentally tell myself not to say anything stupid, because I’d gone brain dead.

This shit was straight out of an action movie. Only, this time, I couldn’t be certain it would have a happy ending, because life wasn’t always like that, unfortunately.

He scowled. I hit the battleship!

"My ma used to tell me you have to fight through some shitty-ass days to get to the best days of your life.

I was so tired it could have been those masked serial killers I’d been stressing about forever, and I would have stayed in bed regardless.

From graffiti to assault. I couldn't have been attracted to a man who had gone to jail for unpaid traffic fines—and once I thought about it, that seemed really lame. Who would want to have feelings for a guy like that?

“Baby, there’s nothing wrong with my judgment. I know exactly what I’m doin’, and I know damn well that if I ever see you smile at somebody like you did at Trey today, I’ll kill the poor bastard.”

"You are, but I'm not your pa, and you gotta remember that. I told you when you tried to quit that I keep what's mine, and I meant that."