CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
“It doesn’t matter, Lil,” he snaps. “I’ve been thinking a lot in this place, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. For everything that I’ve ever done to hurt you?—”
“You haven’t hurt me,” I interject. “You haven’t.”
“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You remember the night before we split up and I came here? The day before Christmas Eve?”
“The Charity Gala,” I say. The night where he broke his short sobriety by chugging mini-bottles of tequila from a hotel room.
“I hurt you,” he says. “I had sex with you so you’d stop focusing on my alcohol addiction…so you’d stop looking at me like I was unraveling. You were crying hysterically, and I fucked you. And afterwards, I was a complete dick about it. What do you call that?”
“You didn’t…” rape me , I think, knowing that’s what’s plaguing his mind. He didn’t. “I wanted it, Lo. Please, don’t think that.” God, we’re so messed up. I listen for his reply, but I only hear silence. “Lo?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Lil. For that night, for when we were nine. I’m so sorry. ”
“You don’t have to take all the blame. I was there too when we were younger, you know. I touched you. Maybe I fucked you up.”
He laughs now, and it makes me smile. “I can assure you that I’m fucked up, but it’s not because of you.”
“Likewise.” At least, I hope so.
He suddenly lets out a long groan. “God, I just want to kiss you.”
I grin. “Welcome to my world. I think I’ve imagined making out with you about five billion times since you’ve been gone.”
“And how many times have you imagined my cock in your mouth?”
My eyes widen, and I lose breath, even though he says it so blasé.
“What about my cock in your ass?” I hear the smile behind the words.
Oh my God. I lick my dry lips and squirm a little on the bed. The spot between my legs begins to pulse with his words.
“In your pussy?”
“Lo,” I croak. Are we having phone sex right now? I eye the door. Should I go lock it?
“Have you been good?” Lo asks. “Did you touch yourself at all?”
“No, I’ve waited.”
“I’m proud of you,” Lo tells me. And I immediately feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. “You’ve earned something then.”
We are having phone sex! Yes. I crawl out of my canopy, struggling with the net for two seconds too long, and then jump off the bed with the phone still braced in my hand. I race to lock the door. Pausing in the middle of the room, I look to my closet. “Do I need…” How does this even work?
“Need what?” he asks in confusion. Great, he can’t read my mind. What I’d give to be dating Charles Xavier—though the X- Men: First Class edition where he’s played by James McAvoy. Bald doesn’t do it for me.
“Never mind,” I mutter.
“Need what , Lily?” Lo prods again, his voice serious. I don’t answer right away, trying to gain the nerve to say the words. “Am I going to have to guess? It better not be lube. You’ve never had a problem getting wet around me.”
“Stop talking,” I tell him. “You’re making this hard.”
“You’re making me hard.”
I roll my eyes while my lips involuntarily rise. “Please tell me that’s not your best dirty talk.”
“I’ve said better,” he agrees. “You know you can tell me anything. It can’t be that embarrassing.” He pauses. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be embarrassed anyway, but good news is that I can’t see you turn all red.”
I wish he could. I’d give anything for him to be here right now. But then I wouldn’t. Because coming home early means failure on his part, and I want him to succeed. I just feel so conflicted. About everything.
Maybe that’s why I’m still standing in the middle of my bedroom, wavering on whether to venture to my closet or hop right back on the mattress.
“Do you think I should…use a vibrator or…dildo…” I actually stutter . My whole face heats, and I swear little beads of sweat gather on my upper lip. I wipe it frantically, panicked as though someone will see me perspiring.
“Are you serious? That’s what you’re fucking nervous to ask me?” he says, slightly offended. “I thought you wanted to use the cellphone or something.”
What? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about. I gag and cringe. “Ew.” Now I’m offended.
“That’s what you get for not coming clean from the start, love,” he says with a laugh. His voice drops to a serious tone. “What does your therapist say about the toys?”
“We haven’t talked about them.”
“Then let’s avoid them for now, okay? ”
I can’t help but feel a little dejected by the decision. In my head, I heard Lo saying of course, go pick out the one that looks like my cock. I guess those days of enabling are over.
I untangle the knotted canopy and climb back on the bed, the phone now on speaker. “Where are you right now?” I ask, wanting a mental picture in place.
“In my bedroom. I have my own bathroom, no roommate, so the privacy is nice. The comforter is kind of scratchy though.”
“How sexy.”
I see him grinning in my mind, his amber eyes lighting up. “Aren’t I always?”
God, I miss him. A wave of sadness bears down on me, and the crash feels so sudden and abrupt that I have to pinch my nose to withhold tears.
I sink back into my pillow and stare up at the top of my canopy.
All I can think about is how much I want to see him.
How ironic is that? The one time we’re about to sort of have sex and I’m turning into an emotional spaz.
“Lily, are you crying?” Lo’s worry intensifies.
“No.” I wipe my eyes and keep my phone on my stomach. “Let’s just do it.”
“Well when you say it like that,” he snaps.
I haven’t had a release in days. I need to collect my bearings because if we call this off then I’m going to regret it badly in a couple hours when the urges start again.
“No, really, I’m okay.” I straighten up and the phone thuds to my comforter. “Let’s go. Who takes off their clothes first?” I cringe. That could have been way sexier.
“I think we both suck at phone sex,” Lo tells me.
I should find this funny, but instead his words bulldoze right over me.
It’s like someone offered a bag of cocaine to a drug addict and decided at the last minute to yank it away.
I picture tonight, alone in my bed, fighting the cravings yet again.
And the moment will be my fault. Because I grew mopey and sad and pathetic. Idiot .
“No, we’re good at it,” I defend us. “Pleasepleaseplease, let’s try again.” But fear shakes my voice and causes me to garble them out with tears.
“Hey, hey, Lily,” Lo says urgently. “It’s okay.” I can hear him rustling around, and I wonder if he’s taking off an article of clothing. Maybe his pants.
“It’s not,” I refute. “It’s not okay.”
“Shhh,” Lo whispers. “You’re fine. I’m fine. I’m still going to make you come, I promise. Just relax and breathe, love.”
As soon as he says the words, my computer lets out a ping! I sniff a little and mumble, “Hold on a sec.” I pop open the Skype menu. Then I see the alert: Accept call from Hellion616
My heart immediately jumps to my throat. That’s Lo, of course. His username has been his favorite Marvel character since he was fifteen. I’m going to see him, aren’t I? Can this be real? I bite my lip and click the button.
The screen fills with Lo. He stares right back at me.
He looks the same as I last remember. Almost three months have passed, and he still has the same light brown hair, shorter on the sides, full on top.
The same sharp cheekbones that make him look menacing and lose-your-breath sexy.
He sits cross-legged on his single bed, the comforter navy blue.
He wears a charcoal gray T-shirt, and a pair of black track pants.
His amber eyes actually stare into mine.
I’m looking at him. Not just imagining his body, his eyes, his face.
I can’t help it—I instantly burst into uncontrollable, happy tears.
“No,” Lo prolongs the word and adds a small smile. “Don’t cry. You’re going to make me start crying.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I let out a long breath and situate the laptop on my bed a little better. Now he’s not staring at half of my face.
I meet his gaze again, this time more relaxed, but my chest swells. A part of me feared that he’d return home too changed and too different somehow. All my terror evaporates and shushes to bed. He’s still Lo. He’s still mine.
“Hi,” he says in one breath .
“Hi.” The hardest part about the whole ordeal has been being away from him.
It has nothing to do with sex, I realize.
He’s my best friend, my whole world, and losing that hurts more than losing a body to grind on at night.
Seeing him reminds me that he’s not gone forever. Even if it may feel like it sometimes.
“You look good.” His eyes flit around my body. “Are you gaining weight?” he asks hopefully. Maybe he imagined I’d be a withered twig, so gaunt and gnarly that he’d have to pick me up before I wasted away. Wow, that would be scary.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one with huge, immeasurable fears.
“I am,” I say with a smile. I lean back a little and snatch my pack of Twizzlers. I wave them at the screen. “I’m on a new diet. It’s called Eat Sweets Avoid Sex.”
“That sounds like an awful diet,” he tells me, “and an awful way to deal with your addiction.”
I shrug and raise the bottom of my cashmere sweater. “I can do this now.” I pinch my half-inch of fat by my belly-button and show it off to him.
“That’s nice, but you still have to get healthy the right way. Binge on your Twizzlers and Ho Hos now because when I get home, I’m abolishing that diet.”
“How do you know I have Ho Hos?”
He tilts his head, and I see his playful smile envelop his face. Witnessing it lights up mine. “Please, if you purposefully stocked the pantry with sugar, you’d have all the best names. Ding Dongs, Sugar Daddys, Blow Pops.”