OUR RELATIONSHIP IS DANGLING on thin strings that threaten to tear. I feel it. I’m sure he feels it as well. His biggest worry was being able to satisfy me, but that’s hardly a problem. Our selfishness wedges between us. Neither of us is willing to give up what we love for each other. Not yet. And I’m not sure what it’s going to take to let go of our addictions.
By Sunday, a thunderstorm confines us indoors, and Connor drops by unannounced—for no reason at all other than to share a beer with Lo. I’m starting to believe he likes hanging around us. After arguing who would win a game of chess, Lo and Connor crack out a board and play between chatter and sips of beer.
I flip through a Cosmo magazine on the chair, reading about new sex positions. I realize what’s important to me may not be important to other girls. And I’m okay with that. Sex is something I genuinely love. In my case, probably too much.
Rain patters against the windows, and I ignore texts from my sisters about missing the luncheon. I also find Ryke on Facebook and send him a quick message about the new lie. When I scroll through my phone, I see his response.
And he bought it? – Ryke
I type back. Yeah. I think so.
“You shouldn’t make that move,” Connor tells Lo, pointing to his rook. “There’s clearly a better one.”
Lo takes his fingers off the rook and scrutinizes the board set on the coffee table. A new message pops up.
Is he drinking right now? – Ryke
Beer.
Connor leans forward in the chair opposite the couch, hunching over the pieces. He points to the bishop. “That’s the better move.”
“How about you play your own game, and I’ll play mine?” Lo shifts the rook.
I glance down at Ryke’s word bubble.
I’m coming over. – Ryke
My stomach churns. Lo never really accepted the idea of Ryke following us around, but I burst into tears, so he hasn’t denied the idea either for my sake. Everything just feels strained and messy.
I send: Now?
See you in twenty. – Ryke
I internally groan.
Connor slides over a measly pawn. “Check.”
“What?” Lo gapes. “But that…Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “There’s no way for me to win, is there?”
Connor smiles as he picks up his beer. “I’d say you could win the next one, but you won’t.”
Lo forfeits by flicking over his king.
And then the buzzer chimes. I stiffen. Can he be here already? No. He said it would take twenty minutes, not twenty seconds. Right? I glance back at the messages and realize he never specified. Oh, I’m so not ready for this.
I shake off nervous jitters and go to the foyer. I feel Lo’s eyes on me all the way there.
“Want another beer?” Lo asks Connor.
“Sure.”
Lo stands and acts casual as he opens the fridge in the kitchen.
I press the button on the speaker box. “Hello?”
“Miss Calloway, Rose is here to see you.”
I relax and press the button. “You can send her up.”
“Rose?” Connor heard the security attendant’s voice.
My eyes widen. I forgot Rose dislikes Connor. “Uh…yeah.”
Amusement swims in Connor’s bright blue eyes. “She’s not going to be pleased to see me.”
Lo hands him a beer and finds his seat on the couch. “Join the fucking club. She hates me, and yet she keeps torturing herself by showing up here.”
“Don’t be rude,” I warn both of them. At the end of the day, she’s still my sister and I love her no matter what any boys say.
Lo mumbles something into his…whiskey. He must have just switched. I worry that I’m not trying hard enough like Ryke says, but the only way to stop him from drinking is to become a needy girlfriend and make him focus on my addiction. So far, it has only put tension in our relationship.
I’m afraid that he’s going to start resenting me for keeping him from something he enjoys.
So I let him drink his whiskey until an abrasive knock pounds on the door. With two deep, motivational breaths, I turn the knob. “Hey.”
Rose stands with a sopping umbrella. She shrugs off her fur coat, revealing a high-collared black and white dress that fits her slender frame. Her normally straight hair frizzes on the sides and sticks out in strange places.
“It’s hailing,” she says with scorn.
“Really? I thought it was just raining.”
“It was until I stepped out of the car.” She comes inside and places the umbrella in the corner and hangs her coat on a hook. I wonder how much longer I can stall her by the foyer to lengthen her inevitable view of Connor.
She runs her fingers through her hair. “Do you have coffee?”
“Yeah, I’ll get you a cup.” I lead her towards the kitchen, but she detaches halfway there, her head whipping over to the adjacent living room.
“What?!” she shrieks. “Lily Calloway, you did not invite him over here without telling me first.”
Lo interjects, “Last time I checked, Rose, your name wasn’t on the lease agreement. You don’t have a say in who comes over to our apartment.”
Rose turns her back on the guys. “What is Richard doing here?” she hisses.
“He just showed up.” I hand her a steaming mug and place my palm on her back, guiding her to the living room.
Lo flashes her a dry smile. “Does that remind you of someone?”
“Shut up,” Rose snaps. “Do not compare me to him.”
Connor rises like a good prep school boy, and Rose stands her ground while I grab my magazine and scoot in beside Lo. I’ve circled some of the positions I want to try with red magic marker like the Spank Me Maybe, Mission Control and Wild Ride. Lo points to the most submissive of the three, a picture of a guy pulling the girl’s ponytail as she straddles him backwards, and Lo whispers, “Later.”
If only Ryke would not show up today.
Lo sips his whiskey.
On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing he is.
I glance back at Connor and Rose and realize they’ve been pretty much silent. They just stare at each other for a really, really long time, as though talking through their eyes.
“Is this what smart people do?” I whisper to Lo.
“They must have some superhuman telepathic power that we don’t have.” He adjusts so my head rests against the hardness of his chest, the warmth enveloping me further. I kinda, sorta, really want them to leave so Lo can take me in surprise.
“Is this still about last year?” Connor asks with a growing smile. “Just because you didn’t know Williams wrote Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy and Problems of the Self doesn’t make you a stupid person. Lots of people don’t know him.”
Her chest puffs out, looking more ruffled than when Lo pushes her buttons. “I know Freud, Connor. I knew Williams influenced him. Had someone on my team not sneezed, I wouldn’t have been so distracted.”
“A sneeze? You’re going to blame your loss on an allergy problem?”
Rose holds up a hand to his face, as if pausing the argument, and sets her icy gaze on us. “You both really can’t be friends with this asshole. Actually”—she points at Lo—“I believe you can, but you, Lily, really?”
Lo smirks. “Keep it coming, Rose. You’re just making me love the guy more.” Oh jeez. And to make matters more complicated, Connor looks amused by the continuation of this madness. He sticks his hands in his pockets, at ease.
“What happened to Charlie and Stacey?” she questions. They never existed.
“They moved,” Lo lies easily. “Transferred to Brown a month ago. I’d let them know you said goodbye, but they wouldn’t care. They didn’t really like you.” And there goes our scapegoat with one new fib.
Rose glares. “That’s real cute, Loren, considering they didn’t even know me.”
“Wait, Charlie who?” Connor asks.
“You wouldn’t know them,” I say.
He looks offended. For real? “I know everyone.”
I open my mouth, at a loss of how to reply to that.
Rose snorts. “You’re always the same, Connor, raising yourself on some prodigious level. I bet your biggest dream is to kiss the ass of Bill Gates.”
Just when I think Rose’s comment has penetrated Connor’s cool, calm, know-it-all exterior, his thousand-dollar smile widens. He takes a step forward, threatening to breach Rose’s safe space.
Lo whispers under his breath, “Protect your balls, Connor.”
I’d agree, but Connor has proven to hold his own so far. He cocks his head at her. “Says the girl whose clothing line just got dropped by Saks.” He inspects her tailored dress. “Is that piece extinct yet? Or can your two customers go buy it at Plato’s Closet?”
Lo bursts into laughter, and I sink deeper into his arms. This is not good. At all. Rose has longer and sharper claws than me, able to defend herself quite effortlessly.
“Shut up, Loren,” she says first. Then she places a hand on her hip. “So you read the newspaper, Connor. Congratulations, a well-informed citizen of Pennsylvania. Let’s throw confetti and have a parade.”
“Or you could go out with me tonight.”
What?! Lo chokes on his alcohol. I gape, my jaw permanently unhinged. Rose. He just asked out Rose, my sister. I saw this coming, did I not? “Ha!” I say to Lo, poking him in the arm.
He bites my shoulder and murmurs, “She hasn’t said yes yet.”
Oh. I’d like Rose to give Connor a chance. If anyone can verbally keep up with her, he can. But she pushes men away as much as I used to lead them in.
Her body language stays closed off—her face as icy as before. “That’s really funny. Nice joke.” Oh no, Rose, he’s not joking. I want to tell her that this isn’t some cruel trick to make fun of her. She has guards up so she won’t get hurt. It’s easier to be cold than to feel the sting of disappointment.
“It isn’t one,” he tells her, taking another step. Her feet stay cemented to the floor, a good sign. “I have tickets to The Tempest.”
I chime in, “Rose, you love Shakespeare.”
She shoots me a look to stay out of it. I press my lips together, but I see her mind reeling at his proposition. Rose scrutinizes Connor. “So you have two tickets for tonight? This is obviously a pity invite.”
“How could you think that?” he rebuts. “I don’t pity you in the least. I’m inviting you because I happen to have two tickets that will go unused if you don’t accompany me. I bought them for my mother, but work came up, and she can’t go.”
“Why take me?” she asks. “You know everyone. I’m sure you can manage to find some rich man to schmooze.”
“True, but that’s not the company I feel like sharing tonight. I’d rather take you, a beautiful, intelligent girl from Princeton.”
Rose peruses Connor with beady eyes. “And this isn’t a pity invite?”
“I already said it wasn’t. Maybe you should get your hearing looked at. I wouldn’t want to beat you unfairly in the next Bowl tournament.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, you wouldn’t be able to beat Princeton even with a cheat sheet.”
“Says the girl who got distracted by someone’s nasal sensitivities.”
“You’re so weird,” she says. Her arm drops off her hip and her stance finally loosens. Yes! He takes one more step, officially inches from her, the closest I’ve seen her to a man—or child—in a long, long time.
Lo whispers to me, “Are we in an alternate universe?”
I nod. “Yep, we’ve definitely left Earth 616.” And I love it.
“So here I am,” Connor continues, “about to waste front row seats—”
“Wait, you can’t see anything in the first row. The stage blocks your view. Everyone knows that.”
“Did I say first row? I don’t think I did.” He tilts his head. “You really need to get those ears checked, Miss Calloway.” Oh, that was sexy. I will be the first to admit that. He takes out his wallet and hands her the tickets, which I presume are labeled for the third or fourth row, not the first.
Rose barely glances at them since Connor has infiltrated her safe space. She breathes all heavily and her cheeks start to flush. Aw, my sister is actually affected by the guy. It’s like two asexual people bonding together—a once in a lifetime happening.
She hands one ticket back to him. “Pick me up at seven. Don’t be late.”
“I never am.”
Rose rolls her eyes and then turns to me. “I have to make a stop at Poppy’s house, but I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” I tell her. “I haven’t gotten my econ test back, so I’m not sure how well I’m doing in class yet.”
She sips her coffee and sets it on the table. “With my help, you’ll do better on the next one.”
“I’m still her tutor,” Connor says.
“No you’re not,” Rose tells him. “I have familial rights to this one.” She points at Lo. “You can take that rodent.”
Lo flips her off.
“Very mature,” she says flatly and glances at her pearl-colored watch. “I need to go. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you miss them, but it’d be better if you attended next Sunday’s luncheon. They’re starting to ask questions that I can’t answer.” She kisses my cheek and surprisingly meets Lo’s gaze. “You too, be there.” With that, she struts out in a dignified, Rose manner.
Gotta love her.
“You’re crazy,” Lo tells Connor. “I thought you were just a little insane for wanting to hang out with Lily and me, but now, you’re certifiable.”
The buzzer rings.
The silence afterwards sits heavy and unbearable. If Rose left, only one other person could be waiting in the lobby.
“Did she forget something here?” Connor asks.
Doubtful. I go to the door and buzz in Ryke. I also unlock the door and send him a quick message to just walk in. When I plop back beside Lo, something separates us. Unidentifiable and intangible. Lo senses my openness towards the situation, towards accepting Ryke and the article. For the first time, we stand on two different pages.
I know letting Ryke into our lives will complicate things. It’ll be harder for me to disappear without questions. It’ll be harder for Lo to drink without being chastised like a child. But it’s too late to go back now, and I wouldn’t want to.
“Who is it?” Connor asks.
“Ryke.” I explain the article with the fewest details, and when the door clicks open, I shut up about it. Ryke enters, eyes pinging to each of us. He has sealed the comics in a Ziploc bag to avoid rain splatter, but he needed protection from the thunderstorm. He drips on the carpet like a wet dog, his white shirt glued to the ridges in his chest. His jeans stick to his thighs, and he runs a hand through his soaked hair, pushing back the brown strands.
“Can I use your dryer?” he asks, already pulling off his shirt.
Oh my God. I look away, and Lo closes the Cosmo magazine and tosses it at my face so I’ll stop gawking. He stands. “I’ll show you to the machine.”
As Lo passes to the laundry room, Ryke lifts his eyebrows at me like see, he was nice, making progress. Yeah, I’m not so optimistic. Ryke nods to Connor. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going,” he says.
At this, Ryke follows Lo out of view.
Connor scrolls on his iPhone, my mind drifting to what happened with my sister. “About Rose…”
“Yes?”
“I like you, Connor. I do, but I also know you’re a social climber. I may look small and not put up much of a fight when it comes to words, but I’d find a way to hurt you if you hurt her. She should mean more to a guy than a paycheck and a last name.”
Connor pockets his cell. “Lily,” he says. “If I wanted to date for a last name, I’d have a girl on my arm every single day. I would never be single.” He leans forward. “I promise you, that my intentions are pure. And I think it’s sweet you’re looking out for Rose, but she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, which is one of the many reasons why I want to pursue her.”
“What’s another reason?” I test him.
He smiles. “I won’t have to taxingly explain to her menu items in a real French restaurant.” He knows she’s fluent? “I won’t have to explain financial statements or dividends. I’ll be able to discuss anything and everything in the world, and she’ll have an answer.”
“What about your philosophy on wealthy girls? Aren’t we all the same? We want to find some Ivy League guy and do nothing with our lives?”
Connor’s lip twitches, suppressing a smile. “I also said something about probably marrying that type.”
I don’t see where he’s headed with this. “Rose is not that kind of girl. She’s talented and driven and determined—”
“I said I would probably marry the type, not that I wanted to.”
Oh. I realize that Connor Cobalt will ace any test I give him—the downside to quizzing an honor student.
Ryke and Lo return, and surprisingly, one of Lo’s black T-shirts fits Ryke perfectly. And he wears a pair of Lo’s jeans, the thighs a little tight but other than that, they fit as well. Neither guy says a word, the tension eking from their stiff postures. Lo settles back beside me while Connor offers up his chair to Ryke.
Ryke nods in thanks and takes a seat. Connor drags the red recliner closer to our little group, and the rumble of the dryer fills the short-lived void.
Connor turns his attention on Ryke and says, “So you’re writing an article about children of tycoons. I assume you forgot to ask me.”
Ryke teeters back on two legs of his chair. “Must have slipped my mind.” He flashes a dry smile, avoiding my gaze.
“Then I accept.”
Ryke’s eyebrows shoot up. “You accept?”
Lo interjects, “That sounds perfect. You should just write about Connor. He’s a willing participant, and your story will have a happy ending. Everyone wins.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I stiffen, not sure how Ryke’s going to cover this one.
“No, I don’t like it.” That’s his lie? I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t have expected something better.
Lo rubs his lips. “Then you’re not going to follow Connor too?”
Ryke briefly looks at Connor who sits with his ankle on his knee, so preppy that you could snap a picture and put him in a J.Crew catalogue. “No offense, Connor, but I’d rather not hang around ass-kissers all fucking day. If you’re with Lo and Lily, I’ll write about you. That’s all I have.”
“I already accepted,” Connor tells him.
Lo hasn’t. He laces his fingers in mine. “Are you going to ask me questions?”
“Do you have something against them?” Ryke wonders. “Question-phobic?”
Lo glares. “I just don’t have a warm spot in my heart for people who pry.”
“Yeah? Well that kind of goes against my profession.” He points to his chest. “Journalism major. Asking uncomfortable questions is my forte.” I can believe that.
Lo glowers at the ceiling. “Then I have full discretion to ask you anything personal. How’s that for a stipulation?”
“Sounds fair.”
Lo doesn’t need to tell me that he hates the situation. His icy posture says it all. I understand his hesitation. There’s an underlying judgment that comes with surrounding ourselves with other people. We’ve been cut off from snide glances and hateful words like “slut, drunkard, loser” for so long that he fears going back to that place. The one where his father smacks the back of his head, wondering why his kid just fucked up by staying out all night drinking. The one where a prep school girl slanders me as diseased, dumb and dimwitted.
I can’t gauge my strength. I just hope I’m resilient enough to stand against ridicule in order to help Lo.
“It’ll only be for a couple of months,” I tell Lo. “The semester is almost over.”
“It’s fine.” He finishes off his glass of whiskey and stands to go make another.
Ryke gives me a hard look that I can’t respond to since Connor sits one chair over. At least Connor busily texts on his phone. Suddenly, he stands, slipping his cell in his coat pocket. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Where are you going?” Lo asks from the kitchen.
“I have to figure out what I’m going to wear tonight.”
“Are you serious?” Lo snaps. “You’re going on a date with the devil. All you need is some pepper spray and a fire extinguisher.”
Ryke nods to me. “Who’s he talking about?”
“My sister, Rose.”
“Huh.” He watches Connor go to the foyer.
“She’s a fashion designer,” Connor tells us. “She’s going to judge me on what I wear.” With this, he waves us goodbye and heads out the door.
I hear the clink of bottles, not sure the steps to take. Ryke whispers to me, “So you’ve been distracting him with sex?”
I blush. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he admits, “but it’s not entirely working considering he’s making”—he leans farther back on the chair legs to peek at the kitchen—“whiskey straight.” I kind of hope Ryke falls.
And just like that, the wooden legs slip beneath Ryke and his back slams on the rug.
I laugh so hard my chest hurts.
“It’s not fucking funny,” he tells me, picking himself up and stretching out his arms.
“Yes it is.”
Lo comes back with a full glass of whiskey. “What is?” He sits on the other side of the couch, an entire cushion separating us.
“He fell off the chair,” I say.
Ryke switches to the recliner, a much safer choice. And then he nods to Lo. “What’s with the whiskey?”
I can tell Lo wants to glare at me for putting him in this position, but he resists. “I don’t see how that question relates to your article.” He sips the dark amber liquid.
“Background,” Ryke says evasively. “You didn’t answer me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He takes another huge swig, not even grimacing as the sharp alcohol slides down his throat.
Ryke rubs his lips. “What’s your father like?”
“Are we really starting this now?” Lo snaps.
“No time like the present.”
He downs the rest of his drink way too quickly and stands. “Do you want a beer or something?”
“I’ll take a beer,” I say as Lo disappears into the kitchen.
Ryke shakes his head at me like that’s a bad move.
“Cancel my order,” I call to Lo.
“Ryke?” Lo asks. “Last chance.”
“I’m fine.”
I whisper very softly to Ryke, “You’re annoying him so much that he’s drinking more.”
“I see that. Let me handle it.”
I try to trust him, but he’s doing a poor job at breaking through Lo’s tough exterior. When Lo returns to the living room, we both glance at the newly filled glass in his hand, the liquid nearly black.
Lo takes his seat. Far away from me. I dislike it immensely.
He watches Ryke as he sips the liquor. He licks his lips and says, “You seem awfully interested in my whiskey. Are you sure you don’t want a glass?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
The muscles in Lo’s jaw twitch. “You don’t drink? Not even beer?”
“No. I had a rough patch in high school. I drank and drove, which ended in a totaled car, a broken mailbox, and angry neighbors. I haven’t tasted alcohol since.”
“Driving was your first mistake,” Lo tells him.
“I disagree.” Ryke nods to the liquor in Lo’s hand. “That was.”
“Well I’m not you, am I?” Lo says with bite. “If you’re expecting some sort of story where I turn into you, then you’re going to be disappointed. What you believe about me is probably right. I’m a rich asshole who has everything. And I like it.” I hear his father in his voice, and it scares me. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Ryke’s face hardens to stone. And his eyes narrow in empathy, which I’m sure Lo does not appreciate. “Let’s start with an easier question then. How’d you two meet?”
“Childhood friends,” Lo tells him. “You want to know if I took her virginity too? I didn’t. Some prick beat me to it.”
“Lo!” I grab a pillow, about to hide behind it.
Ryke keeps his challenging gaze on Lo. “That’s interesting.” He finds the loss of my virginity interesting—that’s just great. “Did you lose your virginity to her?”
Lo drinks at this.
Ryke rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. Is she the only girl you’ve ever been with?”
I interject, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“No,” Lo ignores me. “I’ve slept with other girls.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex.”
Lo holds Ryke’s stare. “Long term, yeah. Same for her.”
I wonder if Ryke is adding up all the years that I’ve enabled Lo, helping facilitate his addiction. When his eyes flicker to me with a sliver of contempt, I know he probably is. I can change things now. It may hurt our relationship, but I’ve found a way.
I crawl over to Lo and press my shoulder against his. He finishes his drink, and before he stands, I wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him here.
His cold eyes cut me, and he whispers lowly, “I’m not in the mood.” He disentangles my hands from him and steps over my feet to go to the kitchen. I sit back like he socked me in the gut.
“You okay?” Ryke whispers.
Tears build. “I don’t know what to do,” I mutter.
“If I come over there, will he strangle me?”
My eyes burn. “I’m not even sure anymore.”
Ryke tests the waters and plants his butt on the cushion next to me. “You’re doing a decent job, Lily. I just don’t understand why you haven’t tried sooner.” Because we have a system that cannot be disrupted.
“He’s not hurting anyone,” I try to defend in a small whisper. “He’s never hurt anyone, Ryke.”
“Seems to me he’s hurting you.”
I shake my head. “Me? No, I’m fine.”
“Then why are you crying, Lily?”
I wipe the traitorous tears, and Lo enters without a drink but carries Ryke’s bundle of dry clothes. He throws them on his lap.
“It’s time for you to leave.” Lo won’t even look at me.
Ryke stands tensely, holding the clothes. He edges towards Lo and whispers to him, “Your girlfriend is upset, Lo. Can’t you see that?” He’s trying to guilt him into sobriety. I doubt that’ll work.
“Don’t act like you know her.”
“I know her enough.”
“You don’t know shit. You’d be fucking spinning if you did.” He motions to the shirt that Ryke wears. “Keep my clothes. I don’t need them.”
“Fine. I’ll see you soon.” With this, he makes his exit, the door slamming shut.
Lo wipes his mouth and says, “I’ll be in my room.”
My chest caves. We should talk, but what do I say? Lo, I wish you would stop drinking. And he’d say, Lily, I wish you’d stop having so much sex. And then we’d look at each other and wait for the other to say okay, I’ll change for you. But there’d be silence so deep and cutting that I’d feel ripped open and bare. There’s no coming back from that.
I respond in the only way that makes sense to me. “I’m sorry for putting you in that situation. I’m really, really sorry, Lo.”
His muscles tense and he runs a hand through his hair. “I want to be alone right now. We can have sex in the morning, okay?” He leaves me. And I sink into the couch and listen to the ticking of an old, expensive clock on the bookshelf.
I curl up in a blanket, so hollow inside.
Minutes pass before I actually start crying, the messy tears that scrunch up your face and cause snot to run.
At least no one can see me, but I know I’m not alone in my misery.
Morning sex is hard and rough and so emotional that my head starts whirling. I’m so dizzy by the end of it that I rush to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet.
“Lily,” Lo calls, pulling up his boxer-briefs as he hurriedly enters the bathroom. He kneels behind me and rubs my back. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.
I dry heave for a full minute before I calm down, my trembling hands gripping the toilet bowl.
“What happened?”
I keep my back to him. “I was dizzy.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, my voice raw and scratchy. I stand to brush my teeth. I shakily find my toothbrush and some paste.
“Lily, talk to me,” he says from behind me. He sets a gentle hand on my hip while I spit into the sink.
When I finish, I turn around and lean my backside against the counter. “Do you want to break up?” I say bluntly.
His breathing shallows. “No. I love you, Lil.” He holds my hand. “Look, I’ll try harder. We both will.” I’m not surprised by the sudden proclamation. We fight one minute and then try to make up the next. It’s why we’ve lasted so long. And I suppose, the fear of losing each other is always stronger than the pain we cause.
“Try harder to do what?” I want clarification of where we stand.
“I’ll drink more beer. Ryke was pissing me off yesterday, so I chose hard liquor.” He pauses and eyes me hesitantly, about to turn the tables. “Lily…I love having sex with you, but the past two weeks, you’ve been crazy. I can barely even think.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” But I’ve been like that to stop him from drinking. I guess we need to work on fulfilling our compromises, which means I need to stop trying to force him to be sober by diverting his attention elsewhere.
Ryke will be disappointed, but this is the best I have without shoving Lo away. I need him more than he needs me. His vice is a bottle of whiskey. Mine is his body. So when we fight, I’m the one who loses out in the end.
“Do you want to break up?” he offers me the same out.
It’d be easier to let him go, to return to our regular rituals, but now that I’ve had him, I can’t imagine not being swept in his arms and being fulfilled to the highest degree. He’s my drug that I gladly consume, and I think that’s what he fears most. He enables my addiction. Always has. And the longer we’re together, he always will.
“No,” I whisper. “No, I want to be with you.”
He draws me close and kisses me on the forehead. “We’ll do better.” His lips brush my ear. “Next time you feel sick, please tell me.”
“I will.”
He tilts my chin up and kisses me on the lips, urging my mouth open. His tongue slips in for a second and then he breathes, “Let’s do it right this time.” He scoops me up in his arms, and I hold him around the neck, gladly about to erase all the bad moments and replace them with good.
