Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  Humans are cursed, I think. These are emotions too complex to overcome. Maybe it’ll take a lifetime to finally let go.

  I just nod. It’s all I can do. On my way outside, I pass the dining room and retrieve Maximoff.

  “We can watch Max,” my dad says, staring fondly at my baby who has a little grin on his face. My dad even reaches out and tickles Moffy’s foot. His garbled happy noise melts my heart. I glance at my mom who feeds Jane a bottle, Rose sitting next to her.

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “He hasn’t been outside all day.” I don’t know if I still look upset, but I sense the worry from all corners of the room, cloaking me like a hot blanket. It’s almost suffocating.

  I want them to believe that I’m strong enough to be a good mom.

  Some days, I think I am. Other days, I have to convince myself all over again. But I’m going to get there. And I won’t give up.

  I buckle Maximoff into his carrier and then pass through the side door, into the back patio. The weather lingers in the awkward stage between summer and fall, unsure of what it wants to be. I place the carrier on an iron chair and sit on the adjacent one, folding my legs beneath my butt.

  “You know I love you, right?” I ask him, fitting his little blue hat snug over his dark brown hair that’s grown in. He grabs onto my finger with both hands. And my melted heart starts to swell. “More than anything in the whole world…right up there with Loren Hale.” The warm air billows, and he lets out a tiny baby squeal, kicking his legs. I smile and sniff, rubbing my runny nose.

  The glass door slides open, and I crane my neck to see who followed me outside.

  “Hey.” Lo’s voice almost ignites another wave of tears.

  “Hey,” I whisper, blinking repeatedly to restrain the waterworks. “I’m just getting some air.”

  “Yeah, Ryke told me that you were out here.” Lo drags a chair near me, the iron legs scraping the cement. He sets it beside me and then touches Moffy’s cheek with the gentle rub of his finger. Our baby is glowing at the affection.

  “He loves you,” I say.

  “He loves you too, Lil.” His amber eyes narrow on me. Confused. Concerned. All of the above. “Are you going to make me ask?”

  I exhale a heavy breath. “I don’t want to be thinking about…you know what when I should be thinking about him. It’s not right.” I run a shaky hand through my thin locks, not greasy. I did wash my hair this morning. I remember to do that more now.

  He frowns. “That’s it?”

  My mouth falls. “That’s bad enough, Lo.”

  His forehead creases, and his expression carries so many words: no, not even close. “Normal people think about sex and other things besides their children. It’s okay.”

  “Then why does it feel gross?” I tickle Maximoff’s chest, and he smiles so wide that he drools a little bit on his chin. What a goober. God, I love him. I wipe the spittle up with the edge of his blanket.

  Lo turns to me, trying to hide his smile. “It feels wrong because you’ve conditioned yourself to think that even the thought of sex is bad. It’s not. It’s just your way of keeping yourself grounded. I’ve thought about screwing you plenty of times since we had Moffy. It’s all normal.”

  My shoulders loosen. “I just don’t want to choose sex over him.”

  “You won’t,” Lo assures me. “If you’re worried about it, I know you won’t. And thinking about it isn’t the same as making a choice between him and sex. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  It’s his turn to let out a heavy breath now. “We have therapy in a couple days. Can I bring this up? Maybe we can talk through it again.”

  I nod. “I’d like that.”

  He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips, warming all the cold in my veins. When he breaks away, his hand drops to my neck, his thumb brushing my skin. “You were thinking about birthday sex, weren’t you?” His smile dimples his cheeks.

  “Belated,” I remind him.

  “Belated birthday sex. Tell me all about it.”

  I love how he makes me feel normal. How my brain isn’t some vast deep filthy wasteland to him. In his eyes, I’m some kind of perfect.

  { 44 }

  LOREN HALE

  Lily is tangled and twisted in our red sheets and champagne comforter, even more when she rolls over onto her back.

  “You practicing to be a taco?” I ask her, kneeling on the bed. I fed Moffy this morning and let Lil sleep in. She’s been getting shit sleep lately, too restless from the lack of sex.

  “Maybe…” she mutters, peeking from the edge of the comforter. “Do I look like a good taco?”

  “I’d eat you,” I say with a nod.

  Her cheeks redden. Shit.

  “Two more days, Lil.” I tap her foot in encouragement and then clasp her ankle, yanking her closer to me. The comforter and sheets come with her.

  “It seems like eternity,” she whines.

  I scan her body quickly, noticing how the blankets rise and fall with her ragged breathing. I peel the heavy comforter off, just leaving her wrapped in the red sheet. “You remember when we were teenagers?” I ask, spreading her legs apart with a firm hand.

  Her mouth slowly falls as she hones in on my movements.

  I sink my weight onto her, and my lips brush against her earlobe. “When we were alone in my living room, pretending…” I kiss the base of her neck, using my tongue. Her body trembles beneath me.

  We always “practiced” together. Not going all the way but far enough. We’d put on a show for passing staff in the house, just in case they reported back to my father. I always pushed her limits. I know this.

  “I would have you against the wall,” I breathe, my gaze traveling along her collarbones, peeking from a black V-neck shirt. My shirt that she wore to bed. “And I would brush my fingers through your short hair.” I run my hand up the soft flesh of her neck. She’s small beneath me, thin and delicate, even if she’s likely to jump on me and grind.

  “Lo,” she chokes, her voice hoarse. I can remember the past fully now. To say the words, to bring it up and relive some moments—it doesn’t hurt anymore.

  I think we’ve both accepted it for what it is. Our fucked up beginning. But it’s our beginning. And no one can take that away from us. “Do you remember what I would do next, love?”

  She’s fixated on my lips. “You’d press yourself against me.” Her neck flushes. “I could feel your erection, did you know that?” Her eyes flit up to mine, eager for my answer.

  “I knew you made me hard, yeah,” I say with a smile.

  She hits my arm. “Not that.”

  “Yeah, Lil, I was a dick,” I remind her. “I wanted you to feel my cock.” I drink in her features: round face and big green eyes.

  “You hoped I would ride it, huh?”

  “Every day.” It also doesn’t hurt admitting these things to her anymore. I can see the lightness in her expression too. We have each other now. That will never change.

  “Guess what?” she says.

  “What?”

  “I want to ride it now and for every single day.” She lifts her head like she’s ready for a kiss. “Promise you’ll let me?” Christ—I could fuck her right now. Impatient, she inches downward, wiggling beneath me so that she’s in line with my cock. Abandoning the kiss.

  I have to control every muscle in my body to keep from taking her. After a moment of concentration, I let out a dramatic sigh and grip her waist, pulling her higher. “Unfortunately, I can’t make that promise with you, Lily Calloway.”

  She squints at me, waiting for my punchline. I take my time and then press my pelvis against her heat. Her breathing staggers, and she drops her hand as my cock digs into her.

  “You see,” I say, continuing where I left off. “There are going to be days where I want to ride you.”

  “Oh…” She licks her lips, and I start rocking against her. Goddamn. My cock screams to be inside of her. To toss away the sheet. To remove my dra
wstring pants and her underwear. I ignore my dick and focus on her reactions.

  Her toes curl. Her hips buck. Aching for pressure.

  I lift one of her legs higher, thrusting deeper. Fabric separating us. She hooks her other leg around my waist and moves with me, grinding against my erection. Jesus. My mouth opens as a heavy breath leaves me.

  Moans breach her lips. One that escalates the longer I move. High-pitched. Desperate. Like I’m her ice in the desert. It’s like when we were teenagers. Only it’s not.

  I have her this time.

  I’m not just hers.

  She’s mine.

  I kiss her deeply, sucking on her bottom lip until it swells.

  “Lo, please,” she begs, her hands trembling. She wants to touch herself, to meet her peak.

  “Okay, okay, shhh,” I coax, smoothing her hair off her forehead.

  I reach down, beneath the sheet and her panties, and start rubbing her with my thrusts. Her eyes flutter at the new sensation, and she takes a shallow breath. Her lips part, and I expect more moans. But she manages actual words.

  “It’s really going to be like when we were younger,” she says in a dazed smile. I wait for the punchline this time. “…with you coming in your pants.”

  I raise my brows, trying hard not to smile. “Who said I was coming in my pants?” I grab her chin in one hand and stare down at her beautiful mouth that starts to form a perfect “O.”

  I kiss her cheek, her jaw, her lips, quickening the speed of my fingers on her soft flesh. “But you first, love.”

  Her eyes say, yes. A million times over.

  * * *

  I descend the staircase, showered and about to head out for lunch with Ryke and Connor. The girls are spending the Saturday with Jane and Moffy, giving us free time.

  “We all have two more fucking days until we get laid,” Ryke says as he leans against the foyer wall, waiting for me to finish tying my black Vans, “so why do you look so happy?”

  “My girlfriend likes blow jobs,” I tell him with a shrug.

  Ryke gives me a glare. “Why don’t you write a fucking book?” he says. “You could call it: Perks of Dating a Female Sex Addict.”

  “Or you could write one,” I shoot back, rising to my feet. “Perks of Having the Hots for a Sixteen-Year-Old Supermodel and Having to Wait until She Turns Eighteen, Only to be Cock-Blocked by Your Bastard Half-Brother.” I flash a bitter smile.

  “That title needs some work,” Connor says, clipping on his Rolex watch. “And that’s if we all agree Ryke can write a full-length novel.”

  “Dude, I was a fucking journalism major.”

  “And look how far that got you.”

  “Let’s just go,” I cut in. “I’m starving and our bodyguards are probably bitching us out in their Escalades.” They have to follow us anywhere in public, including the local Mexican restaurant downtown.

  Ryke turns the doorknob, and I step out onto the brick porch with my brother.

  The minute my foot hits the welcome mat, liquid suddenly cascades in violent sheets, dousing Ryke and me. It’s slow motion. And I shut my eyes as the warm liquid tries to sear them. The smell is overpowering, sharp and too familiar.

  “What the fuck!” Ryke yells, horrified.

  It’s not water.

  We’re drenched in something worse. After the gushing stops, a bucket tumbles a second later. I marbleize in realization. Fully processing what just happened.

  We were just showered in alcohol.

  By inhaling, I can tell that it’s bourbon.

  I slowly open my eyes. I’m shaking, too stunned to do anything. I’m swept up in years and years of bad deeds and terrible nights. I look to Ryke, and his hair is wet, his gray shirt plastered to his chest. He’s breathing unevenly, filled with fury. “This is so fucked up.”

  And then he meets my eyes. His features burst with too many emotions. Panic for me. Rage at the teenagers.

  The smell is killing me. On instinct, I lick my lips. It’s bourbon, for sure.

  “Lo, don’t fucking taste it,” Ryke says quickly, grabbing my arm like he can stop me. He can’t.

  “We’re soaked in booze,” I state like he can’t see it. “It’s too fucking late.” It doesn’t mean I broke my sobriety. Not again. I have to believe this. No matter how much my brain wants to say I fucking lost a battle today. I didn’t. I didn’t.

  My face twists with my stomach. God. Dammit. I squat for a second, collecting my breath.

  “Hey,” Ryke forces, bending down to me. He clasps my shoulder. “You’re okay.”

  “No matter how much you say it, it doesn’t make it any fucking truer,” I retort in an agitated voice. I’m pissed. At the situation. Not at him. I grimace. “Just…” I’m trying not to lose it.

  “Take off your clothes,” Connor says from the doorway, with an inexpressive voice.

  It almost makes me laugh, but my features only morph into hurt. “How forward of you, love.”

  “He’s right,” Ryke actually agrees with Connor. My brother lifts me up, so I’m standing straighter. And then he starts removing my sopping shirt since my joints are locked tight. When I unfreeze a bit, I pull my crew-neck over my head. Ryke tugs off his own shirt and tosses the wet fabric on the brick with mine.

  I instinctively run a hand through my hair. I pause at the smell. At how much it’s seeping into my skin. Christ.

  Ryke is saying something. My mind is on a hundred paths, speeding. I stare off at the road, expecting to find an audience. No one is there. Not these stupid, bored teenagers that’ve turned malicious. This is low. The girls TPed one of their houses. And in return they decided to shove me a thousand steps back in my recovery.

  Ryke is right. It’s fucked up.

  It’s really, really fucked up.

  “Lo!” Ryke shouts, lightly slapping the side of my face to get me to concentrate.

  I inhale a deep, strained breath that burns my muscles. “Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m not going to pass out and die.”

  “You’re shaking,” Ryke says.

  “I’m pissed,” I sneer, putting some distance between us. “Just like you are.”

  He nods, but the concern never leaves him.

  I turn to Connor, who wears a similar expression as my brother now. “I’m not the Wicked Witch, okay?” I snap at him. “I’m not about to melt onto the floor.” My body binds the longer I stand here. Anger doesn’t accurately describe the feeling coursing through my veins.

  I wasn’t ready for this type of retaliation. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t handle it. I’d give anything not to be the weak one right now. For them to look at me like I can take this. I can take it. I know I can.

  “You should go shower,” Ryke advises.

  “In a second,” I say.

  “Lo.”

  He’s not going to let up. Fine. “You need to take one too,” I say with an edged voice. “You reek.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  I pass Connor into the house, kicking off my shoes. And then I run up the stairs, two at a time, while Ryke disappears to the basement. As soon as I slip into my bedroom, Lily pops up from the comforter where she’d been napping.

  “Lo?”

  “I’m fine,” I say quickly, aiming right for the bathroom. I disappear inside and start removing the rest of my wet clothes. I’m not surprised when Lily follows me, my black V-neck tee covering her thighs. “I have to take a shower.” I sound more detached than usual.

  She clutches onto the door frame as she watches me strip. “What happened?” Her nose crinkles. “Is that…?”

  “Bourbon,” I say under my breath.

  She catches the word. “What?” Her voice spikes.

  After stepping out of my boxer-briefs, I enter the glass shower. “The teenagers used the water bucket trick. I’m just going to wash off and then head to lunch.” I don’t wait for her to respond. I switch on the faucet, the hot water pouring down on me. My muscles tense, and I rest a
hand on the tiled wall, trying to relax before I grab the soap.

  The juvenile pranks, I understand. The malicious intent, I get even more. That’s me. All of those teenagers are me. And I should call the cops like my father would, but how can I? It’s a waste. I’ll make it worse with their parents, enrage them more, ruin their lives before they’ve even started. This feels like my final test. To be a better person than I was.

  I keep waiting for my self-preservation to kick in. To say: fuck you all. To tap into the selfish, dark parts of my soul.

  But I give a shit. I think about that young guy I held the night of the paintball shooting. I think about my son and Lily. Her sisters. And I can’t find an answer that solves everything—the happy ending that I’ve been fighting for.

  It’s there. I know it’s there. Just one last shadowed road. One more bout of pain. I can take it.

  “Lo?” Lily peeks through a crack in the glass door. “Can I come in?”

  I give her a stiff nod, and she slips into the shower, still half-clothed. The water rains on her small frame, suctioning the black tee to her body. I watch her snatch a washcloth and bar of soap. I’m caught in a tornado of memories. Of Lily trying to drag me into the shower while I was hungover.

  My lips begin to rise. Back then, I could wash myself fine, but I liked how Lily tried to help me. Her being that close meant more to me than she ever knew. She was my best friend—is my best friend.

  After she lathers the washcloth, she gently begins scrubbing my abs. And then her eyes flit up to mine for the first time. She pauses. “What’s so funny?” My smile is full-blown. From cheek to cheek.

  “I’ve always loved you, you know,” I breathe.

  I can’t stop staring at her. She’s been through every piece of my life with me. And it’s overwhelming and incomprehensible. The universe that I want to be in is the one where Lily walks through that shower door. Every time.

  She opens her mouth to speak, but emotions pummel her first. She wipes her eyes, which is silly and adorable since beads of water roll down her cheeks from the showerhead. “I have something in my eye,” she mumbles.

  “Sure,” I whisper. Then I draw her closer, kiss right outside her lips, and just hold her for a second. It’s like embracing the happiest parts of yourself. I can’t quite explain what it feels like—but I’m certain it’s somewhere near heaven.