Thrive

by Krista Ritchie

  I breathe heavily and both guys stare at me like I’m the crazy one.

  Because I’m the addict.

  Because I think irrationally.

  But I’m a person. I can feel.

  And there’s only so much I can put up with before I begin to drown.

  { 17 }

  0 years : 05 months

  January

  LILY CALLOWAY

  I tuck my shower caddy under my arm and use my free hand to keep the towel above my boobs. My wet flip flops slap against the tiled floor as I waddle to my bedroom. The only upside to this situation: I’m not naked underneath my towel.

  Lo and I devised a strategy for bathing in the communal showers.

  Swim suits.

  My one-piece keeps me covered and lessens the risk of flashing anyone who accidentally walks into the bathroom. The first couple of times, Lo showered with me. He even wore his swim trunks in solidarity.

  But today, I wanted to take a step and be by myself. I fall into my codependent ways far too easily. Another item added to my Needs to Work On list.

  I kick the bedroom door closed with my foot and set the shower caddy on my desk. When I plop down on the leather chair, it lets out a farting noise from my wet bottom. My eyes bug and I check over my shoulder, making sure I’m alone.

  No lurkers.

  No ghosts (that I know of).

  Good. I return to my laptop and log onto the internet. If I don’t check my calendar every day, I’ll forget about some random homework deadline—or worse—a quiz. The joys of online classes. The upside is that my internet privileges have been restored. Lo trusts me more, and I’m beginning to find the same trust in myself. I need to navigate the internet without “stumbling” on porn.

  Before I pop up my calendar, an alert pings.

  **5 new articles featuring Lily+Calloway+sex**

  This isn’t porn.

  Just so we have that clear.

  I’ve set my computer to track the articles that talk about me. It’s a little obsessive, sure.

  I scroll through a few of the articles, most featuring a variation of the same headline. Lily Calloway to Star in Reality Show this February. Watch the promo video here!

  I’ve seen it ten times already, but it doesn’t stop me from clicking on the link.

  The screen turns white and starts playing “Animal” by Miike Snow. I don’t know what the production company was trying to say. We’re not all animals. Okay, I may be a sexual animal, and I think Ryke is a literal animal, but the others aren’t beasts.

  We filmed the footage in a studio; all seven of us (Scott included) stand in front of a white backdrop. I waited for someone to hand me a script, but the director told us to act normal, that the video would be candid.

  The promo begins by panning down the seven of us, and then it cuts to close-ups, starting with Daisy on the end. She does a handstand, her white T-shirt bunches up at her neck and reveals her green lacy bra and bare stomach. She sticks out her tongue and smiles goofily. A caption pops up over her boobs.

  Daredevil.

  And then Ryke shoves her legs, and she crumples to the floor with a laugh. On his chest, the caption scrolls: Jackass.

  The first time I saw the promo, it was like a hurricane tore through the house. No one anticipated being labeled. And it didn’t take long for me to deduce mine.

  Lo and me are next in line. His arms hold me closely, our chests mashed together, and our lips devour each other in an intense kiss.

  Even though it’s my eleventh time watching it, I still have to look away at this part. I never thought that watching him kiss me would turn me on. But it does. It stirs places that should not be stirred when he’s not around. I don’t trust myself that much now that I have access to the internet again.

  My eyes flit up to the computer.

  The words Sex Addict and Alcoholic appear across our bodies.

  And then Rose, Connor, and Scott fill the screen. Rose’s yellow-green eyes are practically radiating heat, and her body is shifted towards Connor. He stares at her like she invented the sun, a look I’ve seen a million times when they have their epic nerd battles. Connor leans over to whisper in her ear, and it sets her off, her cheeks concaving in anger.

  She shoves his arm and he grins.

  The word Smartass flashes on his body.

  Then the screen pans to Scott, who looks down (very quickly) at Rose’s boobs. And then my sister gives Scott a quick glance. The editing makes it seem like they were a couple, or had some sort of relationship. Scott tilts his head and gives pretty good bedroom eyes.

  When his caption appears, it just makes me hate him more.

  Heartthrob.

  Seriously. He’s a douchebag. I find it insulting that out of all the guys, he gets the only decent label.

  And finally the promo shows Rose, wedged in between Scott and Connor, further exploiting the fake love triangle. Both guys stare down at her with longing and desire.

  Her caption pops up just as she looks directly at the screen.

  Virgin.

  Now everyone knows about her sexual status, but she didn’t much care about that. Rose isn’t ashamed of being a virgin. I think she’d shout it from the rooftops if she could—just to prove a point.

  The promo ends with the Princesses of Philly logo and title, and then the tagline flashes on the bottom.

  Get inside the Calloway sisters this February.

  Dirty. That was dirty, and I don’t have to be a sex addict to know it.

  Plus, I got confirmation from Daisy that she thought it was a sexual innuendo too. So there’s that.

  I scroll down and read some comments underneath the video.

  Havana33: Are they going to show LiLo f*cking on this show? I feel like it needs to be NC-17.

  NoelMarch: +Havana33 No way. GBA would be sued big time. So curious to see how crude it’s going to be tho.

  JamesGGG: How old is the Daredevil? She’s hot as fuck.

  James. Your GGG must stand for gross, gross, gross. I have to click out of the video and clear my head. It’s not his fault, I remind myself. Daisy isn’t his sister. He doesn’t know her. But it’s hard to convince myself that he isn’t some creep in his parent’s basement.

  I log onto the last alert, an article from Celebrity Crush. Just great. This magazine has been nothing but nasty to me.

  The headline alone makes my stomach turn. Poll: Which Brother Should Lily Calloway Choose?

  A poll? There’s a freakin’ poll now.

  My disbelief and masochistic curiosity compels me to read Wendy Collins’ article from the top.

  Poll: Which Brother Should Lily Calloway Choose? Loren Hale or Ryke Meadows? By Wendy Collins

  With only a few days left before the premiere of “Princesses of Philly”, we have one huge question left to be answered. Does Lily have more chemistry with Loren or Ryke? While we have strong suspicions that she’s been dating both at the same time, one of these men is bound to have more fire on-screen than the other.

  Let’s break it down:

  Loren Hale is her “long time” boyfriend, now fiancé, and a recovering alcoholic. Just click through our photo reel of him and you’ll realize he has a panty-dropping body but it’s the face that seals the deal. “Gorgeous” just doesn’t even cut it. Oh, and he has a nicely-sized inheritance of a rumored $2 billion dollars, the direct heir to Hale Co. baby products.

  Ryke Meadows is Loren’s half-brother, routinely spotted riding his Ducati and climbing at a local Philadelphia rock wall. He’s notorious for his fights with the paparazzi, shoving cameras away from Lily and his brother. Despite Lily’s “proposed” engagement to Loren, we believe Ryke brings a certain heat in bed that Lily craves.

  Now remember, Lily is a “recovering” sex addict, so her needs have to be satiated by her man (or men). Since we don’t know their…ahem, full packages, we’re going to base their chemistry between each other from recent candid photos.

  I quickly scroll through the
photos, none of which make me seem too chummy with Ryke. I’m literally kissing Loren in most of them. The poll resides just below the pictures and before I click into the results, I read a disclaimer at the bottom.

  Note: While it’s my firm belief that Lily may very well be sleeping with both men, we know, in the very end, that she can only be with one. And while she may choose Loren for publicity, this poll is for you to choose who she should be with despite whatever happens.

  I hate her.

  I click into the results and my heart drops.

  22% Loren Hale

  78% Ryke Meadows

  …no.

  I do not accept this. How could she even have a poll? It’s rude. No one is polling to see if Kate Middleton would be a better match with Prince Harry than Prince William. I realize that I may have just compared myself to royalty. Not my intention.

  I’m just freaking out.

  A lot.

  A lot, a lot.

  Fuck it. Wendy Collins can’t just write biased articles and not have consequences. I pop up my email and start pounding the keys in frustration. I’ve never written a nasty letter, but as long as it’s legible, I’m fine with it.

  Dear Ms. Collins,

  I don’t know you personally, and you don’t know me personally, which is why I’m writing to you today. This is your fifth or so article about me and the supposed Ryke/Loren rumors floating around the media. These rumors are NOT TRUE. I would gladly appreciate you focusing on another topic. Hell, I wouldn’t even care if you still have to write about me (though, I would prefer you not). But just stop claiming that I’m sleeping with my boyfriend’s brother.

  Thank you,

  Lily Calloway

  I reread it a couple of times, checking for grammar. It sounds more professional than I thought it would. And then I hit send.

  As soon as my finger touches the button, and the email dashes off into cyberspace, my anxiety rockets up about ten levels.

  { 18 }

  0 years : 05 months

  January

  LILY CALLOWAY

  It’s been thirty minutes since I sent the email, and I haven’t heard a response. Not that I assumed Wendy Collins would reply. I just thought maybe she’d email back with an “okay, I understand, thanks for letting me know. I won’t post anything else.” Wishful thinking.

  I sit on the couch, my mind reeling. I know exactly what would calm me down and clear my thoughts. My fingers inch towards my shorts.

  No.

  I can’t.

  I stand up quickly and pace back and forth. When I catch myself biting my nails, I drop my hand. Food. I can distract myself with food. The kitchen has been stocked with necessities and junk food. Perfect.

  I open a cabinet and find a tub of icing in the top of the shelf. Standing on my tiptoes, I have to reach up to grab it. All the while, my pelvis “accidentally” grinds against the edge of the counter. It was an accident.

  I think.

  I don’t know anything anymore.

  I let out a strained breath and back away from the counter, taking the icing with me. After I open the lid, I dip a spoon into the container and let out a relaxed breath.

  The chair looms close to me and a sudden image bursts into my head. Me. Rubbing up against it. Just like the counter. Only maybe this would be better. I step closer, changing my mind just as my crotch brushes against the wood. I suddenly back away, my face burning. I whip around. There aren’t any cameramen but there are still cameras in the rafters. Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Maybe they won’t use that footage. I have to believe that.

  And what’s worse, my anxiety is so high that I’m grinding on inanimate objects to relieve it. That’s a little extreme…and weird, even for me.

  I walk into the middle of the kitchen, my icing in hand.

  What do I do? Nowhere is safe. If there are bad days for sex addicts, this is a very bad one for me. Should I call Lo? No. I don’t want to burden him with this. He’ll be overly concerned, and I need to figure it out myself.

  The front door opens before I have a chance to make a proper decision. And the townhouse’s living room and kitchen are all in one visible space, nowhere to hide.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Ryke growls.

  Uh-oh. Did he see me grind on the chair? No. That’s impossible. He doesn’t have X-ray vision, and the world isn’t so unjust that it’d grant him a superpower before Lo or me.

  “I’m…I don’t…” I end up stuttering.

  “You wrote to Celebrity Crush,” he tells me, storming further into the kitchen.

  “How do you know that?” I pull out my phone as soon as I say the words. But I remember I don’t have internet on it, so I slide it back in my shorts.

  “They posted your email online.” He hands me his smart phone and my stomach does handstands and acrobatics worthy of gold medals.

  Lily Calloway Responds to Celebrity Crush and Refers to Loren Hale as Her Boyfriend, Not Her Fiancé. Is the Marriage a Hoax?

  Oh….no.

  They have my original email underneath the title with a few choice words from Wendy Collins. Mostly, her calling me dramatic and sensitive.

  The sad thing: I am a little dramatic and a lot sensitive.

  I look back up at Ryke and his eyes have darkened considerably. “I had to do something. They had a poll, Ryke, a poll! And you freaking won it over Lo. That’s not okay!”

  His eyebrows knot in confusion. I guess I’m not explaining it very well. “How many times do I have to tell you to forget about the fucking rumors?” he snaps. “Not only have you given the media a reason to believe they’re true, but my dad is fuming.”

  My heart stops. “What?” I whisper.

  “Lo’s back in the car on the phone with him,” Ryke explains. That’s why he’s so upset. It’s not about the rumors, not really. It’s because I put Lo in a position where he had to confront their father, the man that pushes him to drink.

  I’m fucking things up.

  My body goes cold and chills rake my arms. A pressure sets on my chest, so heavy that breathing takes work.

  The door swings open again, and I expect to see Lo gracing the room next. Instead, I hear my sister’s edged voice.

  “I’m walking in the house right now, Mother,” Rose says, her hand tight on her cell. My stomach thrashes in another beating. My mom’s pissed too?

  “Hold on, I’ll ask her.” Rose cups the speaker and meets my gaze. “Mom would like to know why you didn’t use the family publicist before making a statement.”

  “That’s a good question,” I say softly. My eyes trail away, looking for the answer, as if it’s on another side of the room.

  Rose lets out a sigh and returns to her phone. “She didn’t have Cynthia’s number,” Rose says, which isn’t a complete lie. I have the number to Jonathan’s publicist, but not our family’s. Acquiring Cynthia’s number means communicating with my mother, something I haven’t done for a while.

  Brett walks backwards into the house, filming Connor as he passes through the open doorway. Did they all come home early for this? I know I screwed up, but I didn’t expect to ruin everyone’s Saturday.

  Connor talks through his own phone. “Don’t worry about it, Greg. Rose and I will remind everyone how to address the media.”

  I take out my cell and check for missed calls.

  Zero.

  Which is also how I rank to my parents. Or at least, they still don’t know how to talk to me. Not before the sex scandal and definitely not after. Though, I am a little disappointed in my dad. I thought we were making progress. He’s called me a few times to discuss Superheroes & Scones and school, but I suppose those were safe topics.

  I take a couple steps back, aware that Brett’s camera is whipping around the room, trying to determine who’s the most interesting person right now.

  He lands on Rose, who starts arguing into the phone.

  I tune her out an
d turn around completely. There’s not much I can do here. No one will trust me to do damage control. There’s only one place I should go. To my bat cave! (my room). I need to check the internet for more alerts or wallow or both.

  Someone grabs my arm, stopping me.

  When I spin around, I sink into Lo’s amber eyes. Anger doesn’t invade them. Only concern. The kitchen, I realize now, is silent. All phone calls finished and pocketed.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my throat swelling. “I didn’t mean for this to blow up.” Don’t cry. Channel your inner Rose. Tears are for babies and losers.

  I wipe my eyes.

  I suck at being Rose.

  “It’s not you, Lil. Our parents are blowing this out of proportion,” Lo says, his hand sliding up my arm to my bare shoulder. I’m so scared of myself that I take a step back, away from his touch, no matter how good it feels.

  Wrinkles crease his forehead in more concern. It hurts to be away from him, but it’s dangerous to be near him.

  Rose walks forward, her heels making an aggressive noise against the hardwood. “As much as it pains me to agree with Loren, he’s right—” she rolls her eyes at the word “—they’re being dramatic and trying to make you feel bad.”

  “It’s working,” I mutter.

  “Well, get thicker skin, Lily.”

  Ouch. But true. So true.

  Lo glares at her though. “Not everyone has iron balls.”

  “I don’t need balls to be resilient,” she says curtly before turning back to me. “Next time a reporter gets on your nerves, you can write a nasty email but send it to me instead. I’ll even pretend to be the reporter and reply to you.”

  I have the best sister in the world.

  Hands down.

  As much as her words soothe me, they don’t erase what happened. It’s not so easy to move on from something that just happened five minutes ago.

  “Maybe we should watch a movie,” Connor says, typing on his cell.

  “No,” I speak up. “You all were out doing things. Just, go back to them.” I don’t want to interrupt their lives with my stupid mistake.