Taming The Lockwood

Fifteen

I run a comb through my hair and apply a layer of burgundy lipstick in the mirror, smacking my lips together before flashing myself an easy smile. Glancing down at my halter neck burgundy jumpsuit, I press the material down with my hand and cringe as the scene from the printer room replays in my head automatically. I'd gone through everything that had happened so many times, my brain was practically replaying it like a broken record, every chance it could take.

I let out an exasperated huff and close my eyes, attempting to extract and dispose of the memory from my head somehow. The human mind is truly the scariest thing of all. Little aspects of our interaction like the drum of my heartbeat in my chest to the unspeakable words we had shared would prop up and ruin whatever I would be doing.

Hmm. Is there a way you can actually alter memories?

I'm disturbed from my thought process by the sound of my front door creaking open noisily and I perk up.

The only person that came to mind was my mother. But she hadn't called me and given me an early notice. Unless it was a surprise visit, though she was never one for surprises.

"Mum?" I ask out, heading to my bedroom door.

A deep manly voice fills the silence that follows my words, "Fuck!" Then the sound of a loud, crash ricochets off the wall and travels to my room.

That was definitely not my mother. And that could only be my plant pot.

Panicking, I look around for a long, sharp weapon. The first thing I do find, is an old golf stick in the corner of my room, made for these circumstances. I grab it, clutching it with both of my hands and slowly push open my bedroom door, emitting a small sigh of relief as the normal creaky noise is disabled.

There's a large man heading blindly towards my entrance, his intimidating frame towers over my small apartment and the muscles in his arms bulge out in an unnatural manner. I gulp as he nears and with one steady swing, land a hit directly across his groin, rendering him senseless.

"Oof." He grunts out and clutches onto his crotch. The giant falls down onto his knees dramatically, grimacing in a twisted demonstration.

I swing the stick over my shoulder proudly, sticking my chest out, feeling an immense surge of pride. "Talk about David and Goliath." I guffaw, grinning mischievously.

Golden brown locks of hair are piled on his head in a messy arrangement and his olive skin has a thick sheen of sweat glazing it.

He ignores my comment and whimpers in pain, grasping onto the wounded area.

"Wow, you must be hiding something big down there." I comment, impressed.

"What?" The giant replies and his voice is matched with a new one, or Gabriel's for that matter, who appears in the entrance.

"I told you to retrieve her, not try to fuck her." Gabriel scowls, anger seeping into his expression.

"Uhh, I promise I was only doing my job, sir." The giant speaks uneasily, his hands still protectively cupping his crotch. He looks startled at the accusation and there is a distinct tone of fear that laces his voice. I watch their interaction with interest, and then realise what Gabriel had insinuated.

"Retrieve?" I repeat. "Am I am object to you, hm?" I counter.

Gabriel's eyes snap back to me and he lets out a stressed sigh, all traces of his prior anger dissolve. "You know what I mean."

"No. In fact, I don't." I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the wall to assert my point.

He runs a hand down his face and shoots me an unimpressed look. I give him an equal expression back and narrow my eyes. His eyes cut through me for a hot moment and I'm taken back to the printer room. I feel a hot flush begin to grow in my chest and try to conjure up the thought of something else to distract my overexcited imagination.