Chapter 11 #3
Yes, very much so. “Lo,” I breathe. “If you’re not going to have sex with me, you need to back away.
Please .” Because I don’t think I can say no.
My body wants him so badly that it trembles beneath his weight, but my head has become far more resilient.
He’s just teasing me. That’s it. And I don’t want to wake up feeling ashamed about not stopping.
He doesn’t like me like that. He couldn’t want someone like me.
He lets go and takes three steps back. I massage my wrists and set them on the desk, not facing him just yet.
I collect my bearings—the places inside of me way too tempted right now.
When I muster the courage, I spin around, my eyes livid.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He can’t use sex against me, not like that.
His jaw locks, and he spends a great deal of time pouring his next drink. He takes two large swigs and refills it before even beginning to answer me. “Don’t be so serious,” he says lowly. “I was just playing around.”
His words send arrows into my chest. It hurts. I know it shouldn’t. I wanted him to say, it was all real. I meant it. Let’s be together. I know that now, even if being together will bring a whole new set of complications. Instead, he reinforced our facade. It’s all a lie.
“You want to play around?” My body thrums with heat. I storm over to his liquor cabinets, find the magnetic key and open them up quickly.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Lo shouts. I barely pull out two bottles before he has his hand on my wrist, knowing I’m either about to trash them or chuck ‘em out of the window. I haven’t decided which yet.
“ Lily ,” he growls my name like it’s the most profane word in the dictionary. We’re both furious, and I feel justified in it. I don’t look away. His face sharpens, and I can almost see the gears cranking in his head.
“Let’s talk, Lo,” I say tightly, not moving yet. “How is what I’m doing any different than what you just did to me?”
He inhales a deep breath, eyes narrowing.
As always, he calculates each word before speaking.
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?
I’m sorry that you can’t handle being touched by me.
I’m sorry that the very thought of fucking me disgusts you.
I’m sorry that every time you’re horny, I’m here. ”
And there goes my breath. I don’t understand what he’s trying to tell me. Does he want me or is he pissed that I’m a sex addict? I carefully set the bottles down on the desk and disentangle from his grasp. I slip into his bathroom and lock the door just as he nears it.
“Lily,” he calls.
I lie on the cold tiles and close my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I’m starting to wonder how much I can take of this—of not knowing the truth of our actions, of our relationship. It’s driving me insane.
My body shudders, a small withdrawal from the lack of stimulation today. I keep my eyes shut and try to sleep it off, but the knob jiggles with the click of the lock. The door opens and Lo pockets a bump key .
I don’t move from my resting place, and I train my gaze on the white ceiling.
Lo sits next to me and leans against the Jacuzzi tub. “You shouldn’t be worried if Daisy heard us. Normal couples fight.”
Right, the charade. Silence thickens, and I’m proud of making him suffer a little.
He shifts on the ground and pulls his knees up, arms loosely wrapping around them. “When I was seven, my father took me into his office and pulled out this small silver handgun,” he says and pauses, rubbing his mouth with a small, dry laugh.
I keep my expression blank, even if the story interests me.
Lo continues, “He put it in my palm, and he asked me how it felt to hold it. You know what I said?” He glances at me.
“I told him that I was scared. He smacked me on the back of the head and said, ‘You’re holding a fucking gun. The only people who should be scared are the ones on the other end of it.’” He shakes his head.
“…I don’t know why I just thought of that, but I keep remembering all of it.
The way the gun felt heavy and cold in my hand, how I was so terrified of the trigger or of dropping it. And there he was…disappointed.”
I sit up and scoot back on the other wall to face him. He looks visibly upset, and that’s enough of an apology from Loren Hale than I’ll ever need. “You never told me that story before.”
“I don’t like the memory,” he admits. “As a kid, I felt this overwhelming sense of admiration towards the guy, and now it makes me nauseous thinking about it.”
I don’t know what to say, and I don’t think he wants me to reply anyway. So the quiet passes once again. A shudder runs through me, even as I try to suppress it.
“Are you withdrawing?” Lo asks, his eyes heavy with worry. “Do you need something? Like a vibrator?” That’s not awkward …
I shake my head and clench my eyes closed as the pain in my extremities intensifies from being riled up without release. They pull tight and sharp. I’m a rubber band that can’t snap.
“Can you talk to me?” he says, irritated.
“A vibrator isn’t going to help,” I say, opening my eyes.
“Why not? Are you out of batteries?”
I return the smile, even though I’m not in the mood. “It’s just…not enough.” He gives me a weird look. “It’s like keg beer.”
His nose crinkles. “Copy that.” He scans my body, and I look away from the intrusiveness of it, his gaze heating me quickly.
“I’m going to just…withstand it for tonight.”
“You could go out,” Lo suggests. “If Daisy wakes up and looks for you, I can tell her that you had…an emergency study group since you’re failing econ.”
“I don’t even believe that. It’s fine, Lo.”
“I’ve been a jerk, so I want to help you,” he says in a breathless tone. “And there’s only one obvious solution.”
My forehead hurts from frowning so hard. Is he really going there? Does he want to have sex with me? For real?
“We can get you wasted so you won’t care about having sex. Then you’ll pass out and Daisy will be long gone tomorrow.”
The suggestion takes me aback because it’s not what I expected or kind of wanted to hear.
I would have liked him to say, sleep with me, I want to be with you, for real.
Hell yes, I would have replied. Even if monogamy scares me more than anything, I would try it.
For the whole purpose of having Loren Hale.
I think I’ve always wanted it. With him.
But I’m not so sure he feels the same. This is a letdown, but at least it’s a solution. “That’s a good idea.”
“Yeah?” Does he seem bummed out by my sudden acceptance of it? I can’t tell. “Well, good thing I know someone who’s an expert in the field of alcohol. He can set you up real nice. ”
“Just tell this guy not to make me so drunk that I puke,” I warn.
“Barfing is unacceptable, got it.” We rise from the floor and reenter the bedroom, and I lose my shakiness to a smidge of excitement at something new—with him mostly.
I usually don’t drink at all throughout the night.
Lo’s never told me outright, but I can tell he likes me better when I’m sober.
Maybe so I can drive and help him regain consciousness, but sometimes, I think it’s more than that.
I sit on the edge of his bed and cross my ankles. “Are you going to make me something that I can actually drink?”
“I think I have flavored rum somewhere. It’ll be easier going down.” He spends a few minutes concocting a very large drink, filled in an over-sized, super-wide water bottle.
“Ugh…” I hold the cold concoction. “Am I going to die?”
“There’s more Diet Fizz in there than rum, I promise.”
I take a tentative sip, and when it doesn’t burn, I take a much larger one.
His smile grows. “Good?”
“Tastes like coconut.”
“That’s the rum.” He plops on the bed beside me, and he has a much smaller glass of whiskey in hand, being economic on his sips. In a matter of minutes, I down the whole drink but barely feel a thing. Maybe it hasn’t kicked in yet.
I glance at Lo. The way he watches me with rapt attention sets my whole body aflame. I just want him on me. In me. Dear God. “More,” I tell him. “Maybe I should take some shots.”
“I don’t know your limit,” he says, standing. “And the whole point of this isn’t to get you sick.” He fixes another mild drink. I can barely look at him without imagining his body on mine.
I join him by the desk and grab a shot glass. “I need something with a higher alcohol content.” Before he can protest, I pour some of his whiskey into a shot.
“A whiskey shot?” he says with raised eyebrows. “Really? You’re going to fucking gag, Lily. ”
I narrow my eyes in challenge, and then throw back the liquor in my throat.
I gag. But I do manage to swallow it down without spitting it back up.
He cocks his head to the side like told you so.
I touch my neck. “That was horrible. I think my insides are burning.” I try to clear my throat.
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
He pours me a shot of something clear and then something else and holds both of them up. “Vodka. Cranberry juice.”
I nod and drink the first and wash it down with the second. Ah, much better.
He shakes his head at me. “You done?”
I run my eyes over his abs, and the spot between my legs clenches. No, no, no. “Another.”
I barely hear him mutter, “This is stupid.” Hey, it was his idea, but I can tell he’s rethinking it. A lot. An hour later, one more drink and a few more shots, I head to the bed and the whole world sways. Whoa.
I think it’s hitting me.
I fall backwards onto the mattress. I can’t see my feet. Everything swirls, and I no longer…even a little…care about sex. Hell, I don’t think my body is capable of moving on its own accord right now.
I lie supine on the bed and stare at Lo as he shambles about the room, cleaning up spills and shutting away bottles.
“Lo…ren,” I say his name that feels funny on my tongue. “Ren…lo.” I smile stupidly.
“I’m glad you find my name as amusing as the rest of your sisters,” he says, locking the last of his cabinets. Then he sits beside me while I shut my eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Spinning,” I murmur.
“Don’t think about it,” he instructs. “You think you can crawl underneath the covers?”
“Hmm? ”
Everything starts fading. And I drift into the blackness.
I don’t know what time it is. All I know is that there’s a monster rumbling in my stomach, and it wants out. I’m underneath Lo’s comforter. I don’t remember even getting here or putting my head on his pillow. Lo sleeps on the other side, facing towards me, but he keeps his hands to himself.
I debate whether I’m really sick or not. The effort to walk to the bathroom sounds strenuous and painful and way too taxing on my head and body. But I am past nauseous right now. And then my stomach contents start rising.
I have to get up.
Hurriedly, I race to the bathroom and pull open the toilet seat. Everything I drank appears in the bowl like a magic trick.
“Lily?” Lo flips on the bathroom lights. “Shit.” He runs a wash cloth underneath the faucet and then kneels behind me.
I can’t stop vomiting, but each time I do, I start to feel somewhat better.
He rubs my back and pulls strands of hair out of my face. After a few minutes, I start dry heaving, no longer actually puking anymore. He flushes the toilet and wipes my mouth for me with the cloth.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, about to set my cheek on the toilet seat. Instead, he gently leans me into his chest, and I rest my head against him.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, sounding pained.
“Lo?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Please…don’t move, okay?” The thought of standing or shifting my body at all may just send me back to the toilet.
“I won’t.” He wraps his arms around me, keeping me warm on the cold tile. We stay like that for quite some time. And I start to fall back asleep, my eyes heavy. And then I hear his voice, so soft, that I think I’ve made up the words.
“I should have just had sex with you.”