The Temptation of Lila and Ethan ts-3

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Why would I ever want to do that?”

  “Because… I have no idea. You tell me.”

  He sits up and crosses his arms, his muscles flexing. “It’s just something to think about. You could practice on me.” He smirks. “I’m an excellent judge.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are.”

  He chuckles under his breath, totally pleased with himself, and then he stands up. “Are you sure you want me to leave? I mean, I’m assuming that’s why you’re standing by the door, looking all hot and bothered.”

  I open my mouth to say, “Get out please,” but nothing comes out. I never want him to leave, which is really bad. I could blame it on the fact that I like his company, but the fact of the matter is that I need him. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

  He smiles broadly. “A sappy, poetic one maybe?”

  I point a finger at him. “You know they don’t exist. We tried to find one on Netflix, remember?”

  He sits up, ruffling his hair into place. “I’m sure one exists, we just haven’t looked hard enough… but we can watch a movie.”

  “Which one?”

  “Whatever you want?”

  I raise my eyebrows to express my doubt. “And what if I say the girliest movie ever?”

  He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, showing off his rock-hard abs and the artful ink on his skin. “Then I guess I’ll finally get a nap. I’ve been wanting to take one all day.”

  I roll my eyes, but smile. “I secretly think you like girly movies,” I say as we head out into the living room.

  He shakes his head, but I hear him laugh under his breath. “Not the movie, just the company that comes along with it.”

  I don’t say anything, because I can’t. I’ve never been around guys before who have complimented me on anything besides my tits and my ass. I situate myself on the couch while Ethan boots up the Xbox so we can stream Netflix. Grabbing the remote, he sits down on the couch beside me. He sits closer than I anticipated, his knee resting against mine and it feels almost painfully good, to the point where my body feels like it’s going to explode from the tension and heat, and while I hate it, I also love it because I’ve never felt it before. It’s crazy and strange, like I’m a virgin again or something, and it alters my entire thought process. For the first time in my life, I picture myself sitting next to him, doing this exact same thing ten years down the road. We would be living in the same shitty apartment and Ethan would still be working his job in construction because he never graduated from college and I don’t think he cares enough to do anything more with his life. And I won’t be going anywhere, since I could barely get a job as a dancer at some skanky run-down bar. I would still be wearing an outfit I got off a clearance rack and we would have the same crappy furniture because Ethan hates fancy stuff and we couldn’t afford it between our crappy salaries. But despite poverty, everything would be okay. In fact, I can actually envision myself happy, even if I were poor. I’ve had everything before, material-wise at least, and look where it got me. Addicted to pills, struggling to take care of myself, and bearing all the emotional trauma I couldn’t deal with because I’d been taught it was wrong to show emotions that were anything but perfect and pretty. I feel so content right now and I want to keep feeling content. Genuinely content.

  Ethan drapes his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brush my hair away from my neck. He starts searching through the movies, asking me questions about them, and I answer with minimal responses because I’m too engulfed in what’s happening to my body and mind. There’s so much clearness in it and I’m hyperaware of everything, from the way his lip is slightly swollen from where he chews on it to the intoxicating scent of him. I can even feel the heat flowing off his body, enflaming my skin and he’s not even touching me. It’s amazing. Clear. Undiluted. Is this what I’ve been missing? All these years? Is this what things are supposed to feel like? Warm and heart pounding, instead of cold and silent. If it is, though, then what the heck am I supposed to do with it?

  A little bit into the movie Ethan falls asleep and he slumps over, putting his head onto my shoulder. I’m fairly sure he has no idea that he did it and I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up. I let him stay there, running my fingers through his hair, across his nose, his jawline, his lips, like a creeper touching someone in their sleep. I can’t help it though. He’s got such soft skin and amazing lips. I wonder what they’d taste like if our mouths finally came into contact with each other.

  I’m smiling at the thought when he starts muttering in his sleep. At first it’s really quiet and it almost sounds like he’s saying “Lila.” But then he starts to get louder and I realize he’s saying “London, don’t leave me… Please, stay… I need you…”

  London? Is it a person? If so, Ethan’s never mentioned a London before. Who could they be? A girlfriend? But if they are then why has he never introduced us? An endless list of things runs through my mind and I realize that even though he sleeps around, the idea of him having a girlfriend is like a knife to the heart. Sex is meaningless, but a girlfriend he could care about.

  Maybe even love.

  Ethan

  “Oh, Ethan,” London singsongs as she skips through a field. There’s a bonfire burning near the trees in the distance and the smoke rises to the starry sky. There’s a party going on and people are laughing, shouting, drinking, having sex and London is out in the field skipping like the strange girl that she is.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, drinking my beer as I walk slowly behind her, watching her move through the field of tall grass and weeds. “You’re going to get us lost.”

  She spins around and around, with her head tipped back, her dark hair blending with the night. “I’m having fun.” She spins again and then stops as I reach her. “How about you?” she asks, breathless.

  I knock back the rest of the beer and then crush the cup, throwing it into the dirt. “What about me?”

  She grins, walking toward me, swaying her hips. “Are you having fun?”

  “I’m having a blast,” I say flatly, placing my hands on her hips.

  She frowns. “Well, that sounds convincing.”

  I sigh, letting my head fall forward so it’s pressed against hers. “Sorry, I’m just tired. And there are too many people over at the party for my taste.”

  “You can be such a party pooper,” she says. “But only half the time. And then sometimes you’re totally into it.”

  “I’m totally into it when I’m either drunk or stoned,” I admit. “But when I’m sober, it drives me crazy.”

  She pauses, hooking her finger through my belt loop. “Sometimes I think you’re going to just pack up and leave and go wandering off on your own.”

  I don’t answer right away, moving my forehead away from hers so I can look her in the eye. “I sometimes think about it. Just packing up and hitting the road.”

  “Would you take me with you if you do?”

  “Would you want to go with me?”

  “Maybe… I don’t know.” She doesn’t look like she wants to. “Would you want me to go with you?”

  “Maybe,” I say, but honestly I’m not sure. I really like her, more than any other girl out there, but there are times when I do think about leaving not just my life behind, but everyone in it.

  “You’re such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take me with you.”

  “I never said that,” I tell her.

  “But you didn’t completely deny it,” she retorts.

  Silence grows around us and she holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Okay, I take my ‘maybe’ back. I want to go with you but only so you can take me away from this place—my life.” Her voice is flat, saddened, devoid of any emotion. She gets this way sometimes when she’s talking about her life.

  I kiss the top of her head. “What’s so bad about your life?”

  “What’s so bad about yours?” she says, dodging the que
stion like she always does whenever I try to dig deep into her psyche.

  “Nothing, except that I don’t want it,” I reply, pulling her against my chest. “London, if you want me to take you with me then I will.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll need notice before we go,” she jokes, the sadness leaving her voice. “And I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m really busy this summer.”

  I pinch her ass hard and she squeals, backing away from me. She takes off running through the field and I chase after her, but somewhere along the line I lose track of her and the darkness swallows her whole.

  “London,” I call out, but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laugh from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. “London…”

  Someone is shaking my shoulder and I’m snapped out of my dream. I feel hot, burning up, like I have a fever and my heart is racing erratically.

  “You’re totally a lightweight,” Lila says when I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, my head resting in her lap, my feet kicked up on the armrest.

  I’m very aware how comfortable I am on the outside, but on the inside I’m a mess as memories of London float around in my head. Once again, I’m stuck somewhere between Lila and London and I don’t know how to get over London completely so I can just be just with Lila.

  Lila hovers over me with a hurt look in her blue eyes, like she’s upset about something. “You passed out, like, ten minutes after it started.”

  “I made it ten minutes?” I instantly crank up my humor, trying to shut down my thoughts of London as I blink up at Lila. “I should get a medal for that or something.”

  She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch so that I can sit up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “No, it was terrible.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn as I lower my feet to the floor.

  She watches me with this strange look on her face, like she’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “Who’s… who’s London?”

  My heart just about drops into my stomach as a shock pulsates through me. “What?”

  “London.” She repeats, relaxing back in the sofa, with an intent look on her face. “You were muttering it in your sleep.” The corners of her lips quirk, but it looks forced. “At first I thought you were saying my name and I thought, ew, gross, he’s having sex dreams about me. But then I realized you were saying London and I’m starting to wonder if you have a secret girlfriend or something.”

  “She’s no one,” I snap, not meaning for my voice to sound so clipped, but I’ve never talked to anyone about London because talking about her makes everything real. “So don’t worry about it.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t get all snippy with me. You know a lot about me—things I’d rather you not know—and I think it’s only fair that I know a few things about you.”

  “You already know things about me,” I say, trying not to snap, because it’d be bad, both for her and me. “Now drop it.”

  She considers this and then her expression darkens in a very un-Lila-like manner. “No, it’s bullshit.” She inches closer to me on the sofa. “You’ve gotten into my head so much over the last few weeks and it’s not fair that I don’t know a lot about you.”

  “You know enough.” My voice is tight and packed with a warning for her to not go down this road.

  “Apparently not, since I’ve never heard of this London, yet she seems to be important to you.”

  “Lila, drop it,” I warn, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head. “You don’t want to go there.”

  “Yes, I do.” I’m not sure why, but she seems like she’s looking for a fight.

  Anger crashes through me, a ripple of fire, ready to burn anything in its path. I’m a very controlled person, except for that one time, right after I heard about London—the one time I lost it. The one time I turned into my father and shouted at everyone, broke stuff, showed my rage. “Shut the fuck up.” My voice is low, but the deep, heavy tone is worse than me yelling.

  Her eyes water over, like she’s about to cry. “You shut the fuck up. I just asked you a God damn question.”

  I take a few deep breaths, and then I stand up. “I’m going to my room.” As I walk toward the hall, she watches me, looking enraged, irritated, and the slightest bit hurt, just like how London looked the last time I saw her, the last time I walked away from her.

  But I can’t bring myself to turn back to her. I’m too worked up over London, and the emotions surfacing inside me make me want to run out and find someone to fuck. But I can’t. God, I haven’t been able to since the incident on the strip, and honestly I’ve been pretty content about it until now.

  My head is in such a weird place right now over the dream. I try not to think about London, but she always catches up with me, whether I’m awake or asleep. Plus, Rae won’t stop texting me, so that doesn’t help. Three to four times a day, every fucking day, she texts me or leaves me a voice mail. I’ve been screening her calls, refusing to answer until I’m certain about what I want to do.

  I lock myself in my room and do the only other thing I can think of to try to clear my thoughts. I write.

  I’m afraid. More than I want to admit. Fear has never been a feeling I have been comfortable with. I always adopted the artificial, subdued, and in-control demeanor, because I don’t think anyone needs to know what really lies inside me. Like the fact that I still feel torn apart, ripped in half, my soul split, because the only girl I thought I wanted to be with is an outer shell that still exists in every aspect down to the mole she has above her lip. That’s still there, along with her hazel eyes and the scar above her mouth. Her skin is still flawlessly smooth. Her looks still exist, but she doesn’t. The London I knew—the London of the past—is no more. She’s forgotten her life, and life for her now is only about the future. Everything else is lost to her.

  But what I really worry about is if I do go and see her, I’ll finally have to let her go. Forever. And the scariest thing is I both do and don’t want to. I want to move on, maybe with Lila and yet I want to hold on to London because it’s easier than feeling everything that comes along with letting go. But deep down, I’m realizing that eventually I’m going to have to finally say good-bye.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lila

  It’s been a little over a week since I brought up this London person and Ethan will still barely talk to me. He avoids me most of the time, but when we do cross paths, he keeps it very businesslike, as if we’re only roommates and nothing more. Whoever this mysterious London is she obviously means something to him. At first I thought it was just a secret girlfriend, with the way he whimpered out her name after he fell asleep on the couch. It hurt. A lot. I’d always been okay with him sleeping with women, or at least I could live with it. But a girlfriend? The idea was clawing at my skin like overly manicured nails.

  When I started questioning him about it, though, the spark of anger and discomfort and pain in his eyes led me to believe she might have been someone he loved. But getting to the bottom of it seems nearly impossible when all he’ll say to me is hello. It’s annoying me a little, because he knows so much about me. But when I think about it, Ethan’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and he keeps a lot about himself to himself.

  I got the job at Danny’s and I’m still figuring out if I like it or not. Honestly, it hasn’t been too bad, but then again, I haven’t gotten up on the bar and danced yet. Today is supposed to be the big day.

  After I check out my reflection in the mirror for what seems like ages, I finally head out. Ethan is sitting on the couch, watching the news, although his glazed-over expression means he’s probably daydreaming about something other than the weather. He’s got no shirt on and a torn pair of cargo shorts. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red, like he’s high, but I know Ethan enough to know he’s not.

  I collect my purse and a jacket off the table and his eyes wander over to me. Usually, he immediately disregards me, but tonight my outfit sets him off, which I expected.

&n
bsp; “What the fuck are you wearing?” He sits up, giving me a dirty look as he takes in my tight white tank top that shows off my stomach, my breasts, and the leopard-print bra I wear underneath. I have a pair of really short cutoffs on that reveal the bottom of my ass when I bend over, which one of the waitresses told me I’ll be doing a lot since the guys usually throw the tips onto the floor.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I retort, swinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “There’s a thing called a shirt, you know.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What the hell did I do to you?”

  “Besides ignore me for the last few weeks?” I say, jerking the front door open. “Nothing.”

  “I’m not ignoring you,” he calls out. “I’m just opting not to spend time with you. Something roommates do a lot.”

  I stick my head back in the door. “You’re being an asshole and I don’t know why. I didn’t even do anything to you besides ask a God damn question.”

  His eyes soften and I think he’s going to apologize as he stands up and struts over to the door. But then he says, “You look like a whore.”

  That strikes a nerve, severing my connection with him. I raise my hand to slap him or shove him—I’m not even sure which. But then I decide against it and, shaking with rage, I walk down the stairs. “I don’t even know what I did!” I holler, unconcerned that I’m making a scene. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to make a scene and I’m so sick and tired of it. Nothing feels right anymore.

  “You didn’t do anything… This is all my fault… I’m sorry,” Ethan calls out after me, but I’m already running across the parking lot so his words hit my back.

  I have no traveling option other than to take the bus or walk. It’s a long walk, so I take the smelly, gross bus. I sit in the back, stewing in my anger, zipping my jacket up over my slutty clothes. I’ve never cared that I was a slut before. I’ve been called it since I was fourteen. But that God damn word—whore—sends me back to a time I’ve tried to forget.