Free The Hunger by Lincoln Townley Page B

just want to know where you are. I want to be with you.
    —Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
    —We are made for each other.
    —Please fuck me.
    —Don’t you think we are made for each other?
    —You will.
    —If you won’t tell me where you are, I’ll find you.
    —I’ll find you.
    —Bastard.
    Esurio is looking over my shoulder and reading the texts with me.
    —Got ourselves in a bit of a pickle, haven’t we?
    —What should I do?
    —How am I supposed to know?
    —You seem to know most things.
    —Lincoln, I know how to make things
worse
. I’m afraid I’m not so good at making them better. Why don’t you meet her and have some more fun? She’s obviously a
lady in need of more entertainment.
    I think:
    That’s crazy!
    Then I think:
    Maybe he’s right. Some ‘Lincy Love’ will sort her out. I can bang some sense into her.
    Esurio says:
    —You need to make sure you’re fuelled when she comes round, Lincoln. Really fuelled.
    After five hundred press-ups, two hundred crunches and a round of ridiculous weights, I leave the gym and I think:
    My heart must be really strong. I can take anything!
    When she arrives at my flat, she says:
    —I need you. I want you. I love you. You can do anything you want to me.
    So I do. I go mental on her. After three hours of pounding like a sewing machine, I have
marked
her. She will never forget me now. When I’m done she can’t walk for a while, so
I take the opportunity to say:
    —Now we can both move on.
    —What do you mean ‘move on’?
    —Well, you know, move on.
    —But Lincoln, we’re made for each other. You love me.
    —Look . . .
    I can’t finish my sentence. I know I have just fuelled her madness with mine. I’m worried. And with good reason. Over the next couple of weeks this is what happens:
    •  She sends me shit-loads of texts every day. One of the nicer ones says she wants to cut off my cock and feed it to her pet dog.
    •  She follows me. I lose count of the amount of times I turn around and she’s walking a short distance behind me. Sometimes she smiles. Not a nice smile.
     A snarly, haunted one. Other times she waves, like we’re best friends meeting after a long absence.
    Esurio says:
    —At least you know what a stalker is now, Lincoln, and that was something you didn’t know before you met Sharon. Like Tony Robbins says: it’s what you
learn
that matters.
    •  When I go to The Club for business meetings, she waits outside. Sometimes she presses her face against the one-way glass, trying to look into The Club.
     Violet, the receptionist, gets a bit freaked out so she shouts through the glass:
    —What do you want?
    —I’m Lincoln’s girlfriend and I’m waiting for him.
    Violet tells her to go and sit in Pret across the road and wait for me there. When Sharon bangs on the glass a few times, Violet calls Security, and when I leave The Club after meeting The Boss
and George, Sharon is sitting in Pret smiling and waving at me to join her. I want to throw the stupid bitch under a bus but she is talking to a blonde barista called Marcia who I like. A lot.
    Marcia: How’s things, Lincoln? I like your new girlfriend. She says you’re moving in together.
    Lincoln:What are you talking about?
    Sharon:
(touching my arm)
It’s all right, love. No need to be shy. I told Marcia all about us and the wonderful places you’ve taken me.
    Lincoln: What places? Old Compton Street? Just fuck off out of here!
    Marcia: That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend.
    Lincoln: She’s not my fucking girlfriend! She’s a nutter!
    Sharon: (
to Marcia
) He always says that. (
to me
) Not used to being in love yet, are you, sweetie?
    Lincoln: We’re not fucking in love! You’re a loon!
    Marcia: Come on, Lincoln, she’s shown me the brochures.
    Lincoln: What brochures?
    Sharon: These darling.
    Sharon pulls out a handful of property details. Flats in and around Soho.
    Lincoln: That’s not real! (
to Sharon
) And if you don’t fuck off I’ll