Lila and Ethan: Forever and Always: A Short Story

by Sorensen, Jessica

  Shaking her head, she presses her lips together and hops into the truck. She’ll be pissed off at me for, like, the next ten minutes, but then she’ll get over it. She always does.

  After I get in the truck, I pull out onto the road and turn up the stereo. We barely speak the entire drive and when I pull into the parking lot of her apartment, I figure she’ll bail and then call me in a few days when she needs me to rescue her again.

  But when she opens the door, she says, “So are you coming in or what?”

  “I guess, if you really want me to.” It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. Micha, my best friend and old roommate, is gone and I don’t work on the weekends anymore. “But I’m not sleeping with you no matter how much you beg.”

  “I never beg,” she says and then her face contorts with confusion as she frowns down at the ground. “At least from what I can remember I don’t.”

  I climb out of the truck and meet her around the front, aiming the keys over my shoulder to lock up the truck. We make our way across the parking lot beneath the heat of the sun and I pull my sunglasses down off my head to cover my eyes. I remain slightly behind her, checking out her ass and her lower back peeking out of her still-opened dress. Finally, I have to rip my gaze away and step up beside her, otherwise I’ll end up unable to keep my hands to myself.

  “You need to stop blacking out when you get drunk,” I say, nudging her playfully with my shoulder. “Drunk is okay, but getting so shit-faced you have no idea what you’re doing is really fucking bad, Lila. Even I’m not that bad.”

  “You’re not bad at all.” She attempts to smooth her hair down with her hand, but it only makes it stick up more. “You just pretend like you are. But deep down, you’re a really nice guy who likes to write in a journal.”

  “Hey, I told you that in confidence.” I scowl at her as we make our way up the steps to her second-story apartment. “You were never supposed to utter that aloud.”

  She pats her pockets for the keys. “Well, then you never should have told me because I kind of have a big mouth.” Her arms fall to her sides and her eyes scan around her feet and then down the steps behind her. “Crap, I think I lost my keys.”

  “Okay… so go ask your landlord to unlock it for you. It’s not that complicated,” I say, shaking my head at her.

  “I can’t ask him.”

  “Why not?” I lean on the railing, squinting against the sunlight as I assess her.

  She lowers her chin, allowing her hair to fall in her face, like she doesn’t want me to see her expression. “Because… if I do… then he’ll ask me for rent.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Are you behind on it or something?”

  She peers up at me through her eyelashes. “I may or may not have paid the last couple of months,” she discloses, her forehead furrowing.

  “Why? You’re not broke.” I hate to say it, but it’s kind of obvious by the fancy clothes she’s always wearing. Hell, she’s got a platinum ring on her finger, for God’s sake.

  “But I am,” she insists, crossing her arms over her chest. “My dad canceled all my credit cards a while ago and I have only, like, eight hundred bucks left.”

  “Then pay your rent with it.” I gape at her. “Or pawn that ring on your finger.”

  Shaking her head, she covers the ring on her hand, looking almost panicked. “No way. This was a gift from someone I used to know.”

  “So you’d rather live on the streets than get rid of your gift?” I cock my eyebrow at her. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she says simply, her arms falling to her sides.

  I tighten my jaw, growing frustrated. “God damn it. You do this all the time, you know that. You need to start being more responsible…” My eyes widen. Holy fucking Jesus, I sound just like my father. Shit. He’s always lecturing my mom about her flaws. This is the reason why I don’t let myself get into relationships and I’m not in one with Lila, so why am I acting like this?

  She laughs scathingly and jabs her finger against my chest. “Oh, and like you are. You get drunk and sleep around and work in construction.”

  “Hey, I never claim to be responsible.” I lean in, lowering my voice, trying to shake off the feeling that I’m acting just like my dad. No, this is different. You’re trying to help her, not control her. “But I do work and pay my rent.”

  She huffs, stomping her foot and crossing her arms. It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed her temper tantrums when I don’t give in to her, but it still gets on my nerves as bad as the first time I saw her do it. “Ethan, will you please just help me out?”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to help you out?” I ask. “Pay your rent so you can get let in? Because I’m not doing that.” But a voice inside my head laughs at me, telling me I’m full of shit. That I would pay it for her if she asks, that I’d do anything for her if she flat out asked me to.

  She sticks out her bottom lip and makes me soften just a little. “You can pick the lock,” she suggests, and when I start to frown, she grips the bottom of my shirt and clutches on to it. “Please, please, please. I’ll owe you big time.”

  “You already owe me big time, for being a pain in the ass and calling me all the time to come pick you up from random guys’ houses,” I tell her, dragging my hand across my face. “And I don’t want you to owe me. I just want you to get a job or something so you won’t get kicked out of your apartment.”

  “Okay, I’ll work on getting some cash.” She bats her damn eyelashes at me intentionally—I can tell because there’s a smirk forming at her lips.

  Sighing, I stick out my hand. “Give me one of those pins in your hair.”

  She releases my shirt, plucks a pin out of her hair, and hands it to me. Grunting and pretending I’m more annoyed than I really am, I bend down in front of the door and quickly pick the lock. When I shove the door open, she jumps up and down, clapping her hands.

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She throws her arms around my neck and embraces me tightly.

  “Don’t thank me,” I tell her, uneasy and kind of turned on, something I always feel whenever she hugs me. Lila is off limits. She’s a friend. Just a friend. It’ll never work out. Relationships never work out. Look at the one that you had. “Just pay your damn rent and quit losing your keys.”

  “Yes, boss.” She rushes into the house eagerly, leaving the door open behind her, and hurries toward the hallway. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I ask, standing in the entryway of her two-bedroom apartment, which is much nicer than mine: painted walls, a crack-free floor, and the carpet isn’t loose. “Sit around here and wait for you? Is that what you want me to do?”

  “Don’t pretend like you’re totally not enjoying the idea.” She pauses at the corner of the hall and grins. “Besides, you could just come join me.”

  I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile. “I’ve already told you a thousand times that you can’t handle me, baby.” I bite down on my tongue on the baby slipup. I don’t use endearing terms with women. Ever. My dad used to use them on my mom when he was trying to kiss up to her after he beat her and she’d always let him butter her up. It made me hate affectionate terms and affection in general.

  She turns around and puts her hands on her hips, arching her eyebrows. “And vice versa.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I say, because I picture Lila as being extremely bossy and orderly in bed and I like women who get caught up in the moment, who love to do things without thinking about them first and who can completely and utterly let go of everything going on in the world. Who don’t care if they have money or material things. I like women who are like London. The problem is, she seems to be the only one of her kind and she no longer exists.

  Lila laughs and I roll my eyes again, feigning annoyance. Then I chuckle when she sticks out her tongue and I have to bite on my own because the movement draws all my attention to her mouth. Despite the no-touching rule I made, I sti
ll can’t help but picture the many things I’d like her to do with her mouth that would require a lot of touching.

  Once she vanishes down the hall, I get comfortable on the sofa and start channel surfing, but I can find only three channels and I wonder if she hasn’t paid her satellite bill either.

  “Damn it, Lila,” I mutter and then take my phone out of my pocket. I think about just calling Micha and asking him to ask Ella, Lila’s best friend, to call Lila because she’s obviously gotten in over her head, but then it just seems weird and makes me seem like I’m scared of Ella, so I call her myself.

  She answers after two rings and I can tell from her tone of voice that she’s trying to figure out why I’m calling her. “Ethan?” she asks warily. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” I say. “Or maybe… I don’t know… it all kind of depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “On whether you’ve talked to Lila lately or not.”

  “I haven’t heard from her in, like, a week,” she says. “I texted her the other day, asking her how she was, and she said she was fine.”

  “Well, I think she was lying to you.” I slump back in the sofa and something pokes me in the back. “Maybe you should call her.” I reach around behind my back and pull out an empty prescription bottle. The label’s ripped off so I can’t tell what it was for. I wouldn’t think anything of it, but I used to keep my drugs in something similar and it gets me wondering. No, there’s no way Lila would be doing drugs. She’s way too fucking preppy. I twist off the cap, glance inside, and then take a sniff. It doesn’t smell like anything I’m familiar with. Shaking my head, I put the lid on and toss it onto the table in front of me.

  “I’ve actually really needed to call her,” Ella replies. “Because I’ve been meaning to tell her… something…”

  “You’re being weird,” I point out, kicking my feet up on the table.

  “Yeah, I know,” she admits. “But I’m being like that for a reason.”

  “Well, if you have a reason then I guess we’re okay,” I joke sarcastically with a heavy sigh. Ella and I have always had this issue with each other, due to the fact that it always felt like she was interfering in Micha’s and my friendship. We’re not as bad as we used to be, but our clashing personalities will always sort of hinder us from being good friends. “Look, can you just call her and talk to her?”

  “Is she there now?”

  “Yeah, but she’s in the shower.”

  “And where are you?” There’s insinuation in her tone.

  “Sitting on the couch.” I click the television off with the remote. “Where else would I be?”

  “I don’t know.” She pauses and I know whatever she’s about to say is going to irritate me. “In the shower with her or watching her take one.”

  “Well, I’m not,” I say dryly, more offended than I probably should be. “Look, just call her, okay? I’m going to go.”

  “Fine,” she mutters. “God, you’re in a bad mood.”

  I’m not sure who hangs up first, but we probably do it at the same time. I’m about to put my phone away when I get a text. I’m guessing it’s Micha, because I figure Ella went and told him that I was being a jerk, but I’m surprised to find that it’s from London’s mom, Rae. I haven’t talked to her in more than seven or eight months, around the time I decided to give a go at living my lonely wanderer dream, living my life to the fullest, mainly because Rae had called me and reminded me of everything that happened, the stuff I’ve tried to forget—the life I tried to forget, yet I always feel imprisoned by it. But when I hit the road, there was the whole Micha and Ella drama. Micha was boozing it up, going completely fucking crazy because he thought Ella cheated on him. I remember when I got the call from Lila telling me what was up.

  “You need to go to New York, now,” she’d said.

  “Um, no thanks,” I’d replied. “I’m trying to escape people, not go to a city packed with way too many of them.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” she said, sound like a spoiled brat, which she did a lot. Then she proceeded to tell me how Ella had told her, after multiple shots, that she’d only told Micha she’d cheated on him because she thought it was the only way he’d let her go. That he was too good for her and her insanity and deserved someone better.

  As much as I agreed that Ella was insane, I didn’t think the two of them should split up. They have the kind of love that most people, including myself, will never understand or experience. I don’t think I even had it with London.

  So I’d agreed to go to a city I hated, to help fix the problem and try to make things right between the two of them even though it wasn’t my responsibility. Why do I always try to fix things? I have no fucking clue other than it drives me crazy when other people are acting crazy when clearly they have it really good.

  I slide my finger over my cell phone screen and read the text over.

  Rae: I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I wanted to check up on you and see how you were doing.

  That’s not the real reason why she’s texting and I know it. She wants the same thing she wanted from me seven or eight months ago.

  Me: I’m fine.

  Rae: Have you thought anymore about taking a trip to Virginia?

  Me: Not sure I can.

  Rae: Why not? You know it’d be good for both of you.

  Me: No, it wouldn’t.

  Rae: Please, I really need your help… London’s getting worse.

  And there it is. The real reason she’s texting me. She wants hope. She needs to know that she’s doing everything right. And she wants me to give her the resolution. But I can’t because giving her false hope—going there and seeing London—means finally letting go. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, whether I can allow myself to let go and fully accept reality. That what’s done is done and I have to let go and move on.

  Me: You know it’s not going to do any good. It didn’t the last time I tried and from what you told me seven months ago, everything’s still the same with her as it was after the accident.

  Rae: But I want to change that. If you’d just come visit her, you might be able to change it. You were so close to her when it happened.

  No, I can’t. No one can. You know this—everyone does—and I don’t want to see what I lost. My finger hovers of the button as I deliberate what to type back to her.

  “Oh my God, I feel so much better,” Lila says, tousling her wet hair with her fingers as she walks out of the hallway wearing only a towel. My jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s a really, really fucking short towel, one that gives me a view of her thighs and if she turned around, I could probably see the bottom of her ass.

  “Is that a hand towel?” I ask, half joking, half serious.

  “No,” she replies simply. She seems more relaxed and laid-back than when I picked her up. “Just a normal towel.”

  I try not to stare as she sinks down on the sofa beside me. She doesn’t even bother trying to keep the towel closed and I get a glimpse of her thighs, which I’ve touched once so I know how soft her skin is. Just seeing them, I have to ball my hands into fists so that I’ll keep them to myself.

  “I really needed to get last night off of me,” she says, shaking her hair out. It falls against her bare shoulders, sending beads of water trickling down her skin. “I felt so gross.”

  “Is that why you were being so bitchy?” I stuff my phone into the pocket of my jeans. I need some time to think and process what she’s asking me to do and if I can finally do it, not to give her hope but to say my good-bye.

  She shrugs, examining her fingernails. “I guess so,” she says nonchalantly, putting her hand on her lap. “Hey, do you want to go out tonight or something?” Lila smiles cheerfully at me as she relaxes back into the sofa, with her hair swept to the side. “Drinks are on me for being a pain in the butt.”

  “I don’t think I can,” I say evasively. “Did you get a phone call from Ella by chance?”

  Lila
shakes her head and twirls a strand of her damp hair around her finger. “No, but I left my phone in my room, so maybe I missed a call.”

  “You should call her.” I pat her bare leg, slipping up again on one of my rules that I set with her: no inappropriate touching.

  I’m about to quickly pull away when she shudders under my touch and my muscles ravel as my palm presses against her warm, slightly damp skin. We both freeze and I swear to fucking God I can hear both of our hearts pounding insanely. This isn’t the first time that an awkward, intense moment has happened between us and I’m starting to think it won’t be the last. I know I should pull back, because it’s going to go somewhere beyond the friend zone if I don’t, but her breathing accelerates, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her breasts heaving up and down with her deep, ravenous breaths. My cock goes hard and the idea of touching her is so tempting. Suddenly, like my damn hand has a mind of its own, it’s slipping up her leg. Her skin is as soft as I remember. I knead my fingers into her thigh and she shudders again, her whole body quivering.

  As my hand drifts higher up into the towel, my thoughts wandering to how it would feel if my fingers were inside of her. Fucking good, I’m sure. Way too fucking good. I could find out. I know she’d probably let me, but the fact that she would so easily makes me feel guilty. She lets just about everyone touch her, but not because she’s a slut. I don’t believe for one second that she is. There’s something hidden inside her that she’s trying to cover up with sex. I can see it in her eyes sometimes, when she gets really quiet. Sadness. Self-doubt. Self-torture, even.

  She’s not like that now, though, seeming more content and subdued than anything. My hand lingers on the top of her thigh, my fingers brushing toward the inner section, which is even softer. I can feel warmth radiating off her and wetness. God damn it, she’s getting wet and I can feel it, which only makes me want to feel more. As my fingers make a path inward, just about to brush across her wetness, she grips down on the armrest and moans. Actually arches her neck, tips her head back, and fucking moans. My pulse hammers as my fingertips press down into her skin. Fuck.