I look to my left, and Ryke grips the guy by the arms, fighting against his drunken, hostile movements. The guy swings. Ryke ducks, and then slams him into a stall. The guy falls hard into a toilet bowl, his forehead hitting the porcelain lip, and his legs splay out the door.
Ryke clenches him by the shirt, lifting him up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screams. But I feel like that question should be directed at me.
Connor steps in front of my transfixed gaze, but I stare past his eyes.
“Where’s Lo?” My voice is small and not my own.
“He’s still at the bar,” Connor says softly. “Lily.” He waves a hand in my face. “Lily, look at me.”
I do, but I don’t. I’ve never changed my mind after I invited someone to have sex with me. I’ve never been hurt by my addiction. Not like this.
Ryke kicks the guy in the groin and then bangs the stall door on him.
This is all wrong. Lo should be here, not Connor and Ryke.
“I want to go home,” I murmur.
Ryke puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me out of the bathroom and away from my attacker—or at least a guy who doesn’t understand the word no. A frown weighs down his face. “I need to go find Lo. Connor will you…”
“I’ve got her.”
Ryke’s hand leaves me only to be replaced by Connor. He guides me, and I float away from the bar, outside, and into the backseat of Connor’s limo. Connor finds a water bottle in the cooler and places it in my palm.
“Why did you come into the bathroom?” I ask. I should have sealed my own fate once I stormed off.
“You were acting strange all night, Lily. I was worried, so I told Ryke we should check on you.”
The car door opens, and Ryke enters with a wobbling Lo. He staggers but manages to duck underneath the frame before hitting his head. He collapses onto the seat across from me, and immediately shuts his heavy eyes, drowning in a sea of darkness, silent and void of turbulent thoughts.
Ryke climbs in beside him, shutting the door and giving Connor’s driver the order to go. I envy Lo so much right now for his peaceful, temperate sleep, the kind that shields the world’s dissonance, if only for one night.
Ryke checks his pulse and then nods to me. “Are you okay?” A welt grows on his cheekbone like the guy elbowed him.
I blink away tears. “I asked for it.”
Ryke’s face contorts, like I physically impaled him. “What? Why would you say that?”
Connor covers his eyes with his hand so I can’t see his reaction. If Ryke looks this wounded over something bad happening to me, I’m sure it’s not good.
“I let him touch me,” I say. “…but then…then I changed my mind. I think it was too late by then.” My hands shake. I wish Lo could hold them. My knees bounce. I wish he was awake. I wish I didn’t need him this much, but I love him. I sniff as tears spill. “It’s my fault. I gave him the wrong impression.”
Ryke gapes. “No means no. I don’t care when you say it, Lily. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. Any halfway decent guy would have backed off.”
My heart clenches. If Lo finds out this happened while he was at the bar, it’ll crush him. I won’t inflict that type of pain on Lo. “Don’t tell him.”
“He needs to know,” Ryke says.
I want to scream back about how wrong he is, about how the information will tear Lo apart, not strengthen him, but something sensible pulsates in my head, telling me to listen. I never do.
“This will kill him,” I choke. “You’re not helping!”
“You can’t keep this from him, Lily. Think about how much pain he’d be in if he found out and everyone knew but him? And he will. Don’t kid yourself.”
Maybe he’s right. I disintegrate into the seat, surrendering to Ryke’s unapologetic glare. I wipe the rest of my tears with a quick swipe and stare out the window. The limo quiets for the rest of the ride. No one talks. Not even as Ryke carries an unconscious Lo up to the apartment. Not when I close his bedroom door, locking him in for the night.
When it’s just the three of us left, Connor is the first to break the silence. “I’m going to make some coffee. If you want to go to bed, I understand, but I’d like to talk to you.”
I don’t deserve friends, but I try to hold onto them because I fear the blackness and emptiness that waits if I let go.
“Can you make me hot chocolate?”
“Even better. You could use some calories.”
I sink into the recliner, snuggling into a warm blanket and watch Connor mill about the kitchen like he owns it. I imagine if I ever had a brother, Connor would fit the perfect mold. A little conceited but deep down, even below his people collecting habits, he has a warm heart.
Ryke slouches on the couch. “Should I call your sisters?”
“No. They’ll just worry.”
Connor returns with a tray of coffee and passes me my mug of hot chocolate. “It’s too late. I already texted Rose.”
“What?” I squeak.
“She’s on her way here.”
{23}
Rose is coming over.
The words still haven’t fully sunk in. They sit there, along with the rest of my drifting thoughts, but they translate into something numb and foreign. I cup a steaming mug of hot chocolate, taking small sips in the wake of the quiet.
Connor says nothing. Ryke says nothing. They’re two statues on the couch while I curl into the chair.
An abhorrent place inside of me wonders how to lie to Rose. How can I concoct a new deceit to hide Lo’s unconsciousness and my maybe-assault? With two witnesses who will vouch for the night, I have no thread to spin my tales. Cold, blistering reality sets in, and I feel no dread, no sense of loss that I expected would come after all these years of lying to Rose.
I’m just empty.
The speaker box buzzes, and Connor rises to ring Rose inside. The movement shifts my gaze up, and I see Ryke, his ankle perched on his other knee. He stares distantly at a lamp, fingers to his lips. The light catches his brown hair and flecks of his brown eyes that shimmer with gold. He’s enchanting, but right now, no man can hypnotize me.
And then he turns his head a fraction and sees me watching.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“What it would be like,” he pauses, “to be him.”
I look away, my eyes burning. “And?” My voice shakes. I wipe a fallen tear, forcing the others back with a strong inhale.
When he doesn’t reply, I glance at him again. He stares, haunted, at the ground, as though picturing the alternate reality. Does it really look that bad? The door closes, and we both flinch, waking from the reverie.
I pull a woolen blanket tighter around my body, hiding beneath the soft fabric. I lose the courage to meet my sister’s gaze, and I listen to the familiar clap of her heels on the hardwood. The noise dies off as she steps onto the living room rug.
“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?” Rose accuses.
“It’s complicated,” Connor says.
“It’s not complicated, Richard,” she spits. “My little sister was just attacked. She needs to be checked out.”
I take a small breath and risk a glance. Wearing a fur coat and chapped lips from the chill outside, her usual cold demeanor has been undeniably fractured with something more human. She cares. I’ve always known that, but others wouldn’t be so quick to see it.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, believing it too. “He didn’t get that far.”
To avoid a surge of emotion, she clenches her teeth hard, staring at me like I’ve suddenly come undone. But I don’t feel how she sees me. I’m okay. Honestly.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, just so she understands.
Rose holds up a finger to pause the talk. She turns to Connor. “Where’s Lo?” She clears her throat, choked.
I chime in, on an automatic setting. “He’s asleep.”
“Unconscious,” Connor corrects me.
Ryke stands. “
Connor and I found Lily. Lo was…” drinking himself to sleep. He shakes his head, more upset than I thought possible. “I’ll go check on him.” Ryke pads off. And then there were three.
Rose looks back to Connor. “What was Lo doing?”
“Nothing,” I cut in. “Honestly, it’s fine. I’m okay. He’s okay. You guys don’t need to be here.” We can handle this. We’ve handled so much already. How is this any different?
Rose ignores me and waits for Connor to answer.
“He was drinking at the bar, getting wasted.”
Rose shakes her head almost immediately, disbelieving. “No. He doesn’t drink that much anymore, and he wouldn’t leave Lily. They’re always together.”
Connor frowns. “Are we talking about the same Loren Hale?”
I suck in a breath. “Stop,” I say. “Please! It’s fine.” But it’s like they’ve put my voice on mute. My head spins. Is this what free-falling feels like?
“I think I know him better than you,” Rose says. “He’s been dating my sister for three years.”
I crumple into the chair, seeing the wrecking ball smash apart my life before it happens.
“Then one of us has been fed wrong information. The Lo and Lily I know have been dating for two months.”
I crawl further in my blanket as their accusatory eyes pierce my body.
“Lily,” Rose says in a high-pitched voice. I’m scaring her. “Explain.”
Don’t cry. I swallow. “I’m sorry,” I start. “I’m sorry.” I bring my knees to my chest and press my forehead to them, hiding the tears that brew. I sense her condemnation, her hatred and spite at the world I’ve constructed for her to trust. A girl who has done nothing but love me unconditionally.
“Lily,” she breathes, her voice soft and near. She places a hand on my cheek, smoothing back my hair. I look up, and she kneels in front of me, not as betrayed as I imagined. “What’s going on?”
I want to paint a picture for her—a torrid, restless picture that spans across three long years, but spilling truths hurts more than constructing the lies. I focus on the facts. As an intellectual, maybe Rose will accept them.
I rest my chin on my kneecaps and stare past her. It’s easier. “Three years ago, Lo and I made a deal to pretend to be in a relationship. We wanted everyone to believe we’re good people, but we’re not.” I look away. “We started dating during the boat trip to the Bahamas.”
Rose tenses and picks her words carefully. “Lily, what do you mean about not being good people?”
I let out a short, crazed laugh. Why is it so funny? It’s not. None of this feels right. “We’re selfish and miserable.” I lean my head back. Being in a real relationship was supposed to fix everything. Our love should have mended all the pain and the hurt. Instead, we’re met with more complications, more consequences, more frowns and furrowed brows.
“So you closed everyone off?” she questions. “You built a fake relationship to hide away from the rest of us?” Her tone sharpens, beyond hurt, but when I look at her, I see fear and pain and sympathy. Sentiments I do not deserve. “It doesn’t make sense, Lily. You’re not a bad person, not enough to cast us away and play make-believe with your childhood friend.”
I cringe at everything. “You don’t know what I am.”
Rose glances over her shoulder. “Leave us,” she tells Connor. He doesn’t hesitate before disappearing down the hall. Swiftly, Rose spins back and clasps my hands in hers. I try to jerk away.
“Stop,” I say.
She holds tighter. “I am right here. I am not going anywhere.”
Tears well up. She should leave. I’ve tortured her enough.
“Look at me,” she pleads.
Hot tears scald, sliding slowly down my cheeks in fiery lines. I can’t meet her gaze.
“You cannot get rid of me, Lily. Nothing you do or say will make me leave. If you don’t tell me now, then I’ll hear of it in a year…”
“Stop,” I cry.
“…three years, five years, a decade. I’ll wait for you to tell me.” She’s crying—a girl who never cries, who squirms at the sight of tears and a wailing baby. “I love you. You’re my sister. That will never change.” She squeezes my hands. “Okay?”
Everything surfaces. I break into sobs, and she rushes into my arms, holding me tightly on the chair. I don’t say I’m sorry. I have spoken enough empty apologies to last a lifetime. This has to mean something.
I break from the embrace first, but we share the recliner, sitting close. She keeps her hand in mine, waiting while I form what feels impalpable. “I…I always thought something was wrong with me.” I swallow, my mouth cottony. “I try so hard to stop, but I can’t. And being with Lo, I thought it’d make everything better. I thought there would be no more bad nights, but it’s just a different kind of bad.”
Her breath goes. “Is it drugs?”
I let out another short laugh, tears dripping. “I wish; then it’d make more sense.” I inhale. “Don’t snicker, okay?”
“Lil,” she says. “I wouldn’t.”
“Lots of girls would.” I meet her eyes. “I started having sex when I was thirteen.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, feeling small all of a sudden. “I’ve had more one-night stands than birthdays…” I open my mouth, ready for the next wave of truths but I stick to those.
“You think you’re slutty?” she wonders with a frown. “I wouldn’t judge you because you lost your virginity so young.” She lifts my chin with a finger. “One-night stands do not make you a slut. Sexuality is a part of human nature. No woman should be slandered for experiencing it.”
“It’s more than that, Rose.” Although, I could have used her empowerment years ago when I tossed and turned in bed, believing I should wither away before I touched myself, that masturbation was something for the boys. All the young girls said as much. They avoided the word, shunned those who so much as mentioned it, as though only guys can be the ones to touch girls’ aching flesh. Now it seems so ridiculous.
“Explain it to me,” she says.
“I’ve chosen sex over family functions hundreds of times. Even when I know it’s wrong, I keep doing it. Before I was with Lo, I used to convince myself that I’d stop all of the time. The next morning, I’d pop up another porn site. And I’d start all over again.” My arms tremble. “What does that sound like to you?”
Her eyes stay wide in thought. “You’re addicted.”
I wait for her to laugh or to convince me that I made it all up.
“Lily,” she says, very softly. “Do you know how this started—why you’re like this?” Her cheeks concave. I read her thoughts. Were you molested? Abused? Touched by some distant uncle of ours? I’ve sat and wondered for hours if I’ve repressed some traumatic event, but I always come up blank.
“Nothing happened to me. I just started. It made me feel good. And I couldn’t stop.” Isn’t that how most addictions begin?
“Oh Lily.” Tears build in her eyes again. “You were assaulted…does this play into your addiction somehow? Has this happened before?”
“No, no,” I say quickly, trying to bed her tears. My eyes already start burning again. “This is the first time, and it’s partly my fault. I…I sent the guy the wrong message. I’ve never been monogamous before, and this is the first instance that I’ve slipped up.”
Rose’s clutch tightens. “No,” she forces, jostling my hands in hers. “You are so wrong, Lily.”
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re right. I don’t understand your addiction, not yet. It’s very new to me, and I’m still trying to process it, but if you said or gave him any sort of impression to go away, then he should have listened.”
Ryke said the same thing. “I should feel upset about it,” I say. “This should change me in some monumental way, shouldn’t it?” But why do I feel so numb?
“I think you’re in shock,” Rose murmurs. “Do you need to see someone? I have a good therapist.” She scans the ro
om for her purse.
“No, I don’t want to go to a shrink.”
“So you want to live like this? You don’t want to try and curb your addiction?”
I shrug. “I’m okay.” Or at least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself. “Lo is here. As long as I have him…”
Her eyes suddenly darken and I see the gears clicking in her head. She’s far too smart to let something as big as this go unnoticed. “You said you both were bad people. You’re helping each other keep secrets, aren’t you?” And then it hits her. “Oh my God, Lily. He never stopped drinking, did he?” When I don’t answer, she leans back in the chair, touching her lips. “Why hadn’t I noticed? He said he stopped partying because you didn’t like it. That was all a lie.”
“We’re okay,” I say for the millionth time.
“No, you’re not!” she shrieks. “You’re not okay. He got wasted at a bar and passed out while a guy assaulted you!”
My face cracks. “It’s okay,” I whisper. Tears flow full-force now. The waterworks pour while I stare at my hands. “This system works. I know you don’t see it, but it does.” I wipe my eyes but they keep coming. “And…and everyone’s better off. Lo and I, our addictions only affect each other. And we’ve learned to deal with it.”
Her mouth falls. “You think pushing your family away is the better option? This affects us. No matter what you choose, Lily. You know why? Because we all love you. Dad asks about you every day because he knows you won’t answer his calls. Mom has a stack of self-help books on her dresser. Want to know what they’re about?”
I shake my head. Not really. This is going to hurt.
“How to reconnect with your daughter. How to build relationships with your children. You affect them. Your addiction affects them. Missing parts of our lives isn’t a solution, it’s a problem.”
I understand what she’s telling me. I hear the words, and they make a great deal of sense. But what’s my alternative to satiating this addiction? Getting help? Kicking it? How do you eliminate something that’s a part of life? I can understand being sober, but being celibate? It’s unnatural.
Rose must see me processing because she adds, “You start with counseling and someone who has been through this before.”
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