Chapter 51
Ryan
A s much as Matt said that I should stop focusing on myself so much and focus on Lily, I had to figure out why I did what I did and make sure that I didn't do it again. There was no use pretending that I wasn't angry with her when I threw that pitcher. I didn't throw that pitcher because I was curious about the weight of it and excited about the sound it would make when it crashed into the ground.
I was angry with her for booking me a therapist. I didn't think a therapist would do me any good when I couldn't open up about what was driving me crazy without being arrested on the spot. I couldn't open up to her or anyone else about it. I was drowning on my own.
I was angry with Eric for telling me to calm down instead of sharing in the understanding of what we were both hiding and considering me for once.
I didn't think, not of her or anyone.
I saw the pitcher, my blood was coming to a boil, and I needed to throw my energy into something. I wanted to break something. So I picked it up and I threw it as soon as the idea entered my head.
It was never supposed to be aimed at her, but I took a reckless risk when I spun around and flung it toward Eric, who was standing next to her. I didn't spare a second to think about where she figured into the direction of the pitcher. And I didn't intend to hit Eric either.
It doesn't matter what I intended.
The fact is I was angry with them both, and I was so driven by my anger that I wanted to hurt someone. Whether or not I wanted to hit Eric with the pitcher, I wanted to get him to stop telling me what to do. To frighten him, maybe. It doesn't matter. I could have hit them both.
And that's the problem. Becoming so blinded by rage that I don't think about the safety of the people around me. I'm not fit to be a friend, a boyfriend, or a husband, until I figure out why it happened. No amount of catering to Lily, buying her gifts, apologizing, tending to her desires, joking around like old times, or talking to her will reassure me that I won't let myself get to that point again.
I scrubbed the internet for self-help books, wishing there was one written specifically for me: a man who never laid his hand on a woman yet almost hit the woman he loves, didn't think he was capable of killing someone yet plunged a knife into someone's neck and stood by as the other guys finished off the job, and didn't have a drinking problem before and is now an alcoholic who can't get through the day without aching for a drink.
So, why did I do it?
Growing up in an inner-city neighborhood in Detroit, violence was ingrained into us. The easiest thing to do was to fall into the familiar. But taking the easy way out wasn't in my nature. Look at me, I'm a dark-skinned bisexual man with a freelance photographer income who fell in love with my best friend's girlfriend and got lucky that he didn't cut me off forever. At least, not for that. Our friendship, now — damn, I have so much to fix.
I fought to be different, to be the complete opposite of what I knew. Created a life for myself, took care to structure my character. Built an identity. Became someone I could be proud of. Why? Because I wanted better for myself.
And in the blink of an eye, I became someone I didn't — that's a lie, I became someone I recognized, but it was like looking into the mirror and seeing all your demons' faces smiling back at you. All the faces from the past jeering me for trying to be different and failing. It was the parts of me that were destined to manifest because of my upbringing. Everything I suppressed, thought I wasn't, thought I was better than had come pouring in like a reckless flood destroying everything I thought I knew about myself, all my values left behind in the wreckage.
So, how do I fix things with Lily? I begin by fixing things with myself, and as much as I don't like it, accept that I was always destined to be this.
I am a dangerous person. Officially a murderer.
"Great. Don't forget, a potential abuser, a liar, a coward, and a terrible friend." I groaned, shutting my eyes against the lowering sun and fighting the urge to get myself a drink to flush away my reality.
If I stand any chance at all with Lily, I'm going to have to learn to add 'manipulator' to my list of titles as well because I want her back more than I want to be punished. I'm going to have to find a way to become okay with lying to her about who I am.
And if I'm going to do that, I'm going to need a clear head. So, starting today, I'll let my addiction burn through me and torture me. I won't touch a drop. I won't rely on anyone else to pick me up. I need to take responsibility for what I've done, accept it and make the changes to move forward, even if it kills me in the process. I'd rather be in agony with Lily, than lose her.
I know I don't deserve it, but I hope it pays off before the wedding.
Groaning, I jumped to my feet.
My pulse raced on the way to get my hiking shoes. It was how I found serenity before, but now the thought of leaving the house on my own had my heart beating in incomplete rhythms. This place we were at was more remote than the places we'd stayed before, so I didn't have my more familiar hiking spots. It was okay though; all I needed was a long walk, alcohol excluded. I could do this.
By the time I left the Airbnb, the landmarks had started to light up in the not-so-far distance, along with the street lights, turning the river and moats into liquid gold. The night was awake with tourists and residents. Through the restaurant windows, couples on dates sipped wine, and I zeroed in on their glasses. One sip of that stuff and I'd be one more step away from earning Lily's trust back. So, I pushed forward.
It was harder with every step.
Each time I thought I was okay, I spotted a bottle of wine or patrons stumbling out of bars, and my brain convinced me that I was missing out on something they had, something I needed.
I was more exhausted than ever, having walked a couple of miles less than I was used to. When I returned to the house, I collapsed onto the sofa. My snoring woke me up, and I opened my eyes to the outline of a person. Convinced it was one of the sleep demons that had been haunting me, I let out a yell.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Lily jumped back, holding a blanket. "I just thought you might need this." She tossed it and began to hurry away.
"Wait! Lily. Please." I called after her, wanting to kick myself. "You don't have to be afraid of me."
Fuck, it broke my heart.
She hesitated, and I held my breath as she turned on her heels to face me, hands folded across her breasts, clavicle bones popping with the straightening of her shoulders.
I wasn't sure why I stopped her, and I struggled to find something to say. "Uh...how are you?"
"Pretty good. Tired. You?" she asked, her nails digging into her arm.
With careful movements, I got up off the couch, praying she wouldn't run away from me when I got close. "May I?" I reached for her.
She gulped. Her eyes reddened. She nodded.
Covering her hand with mine, I pulled her fingers away and soothed the bruised skin with my thumb. She exhaled.
"Thank you for the blanket," I swallowed.
"I thought you could use it." She sniffed, eyes off mine. Her brows creased, and she raised her head. "You don't stink of alcohol tonight." Her lips parted on a soft gasp.
"No. I don't," I agreed.
Her lips turned up a tiny bit. "That's good."
"Yeah." I smiled at her. "I want to be good enough for you again."
"Ryan." She shook her head.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." I sucked back the words that were begging to be released, to ask her if there was a chance for us, to convince... pressure her to take me back.
Fuck, the struggle was almost as bad as fighting the need for a drink, and my brain tried to get me to find some release somehow. I scratched the back of my head, my fingers trembling as I kept my feet planted in front of her, instead of bolting through the door and getting myself a bottle. I startled as her hand reached up to take mine, securing my fingers with hers.
"I do understand how hard it is, fighting an addiction. If you want to know a secret, I'm still fighting it now," she whispered.
"I'm sorry. I wouldn't want my addiction to trigger..." I started pulling my hand away, but she kept hold of it.
"No, I know how to cope with my urges now." She smiled at me. "It took years to develop methods that help me. So, I don't blame you for being scared, or not knowing what you're doing. That's why I–" She sniffled and lowered her voice. "That's why I called the therapist. I was just trying to help."
Now, I took both her hands in mine. "I know. I'm so sorry. I was a fool."
"Yes. And you were scared," she nodded.
"Don't make excuses for me," I countered.
"Oh, trust me. I'm not." She flashed me a look. "It's just that I get it. I've been a fool more times than I can count when I was going through my addiction. Granted, I'm not with that person anymore, because we were bad for each other. But I admire you for trying. And I want to be here for you more, because I get it. And because you need a support system. I can tell that you and the guys aren't that close anymore."
"Rightly so. Because of what I did," I interjected.
"I know," she nodded.
"Is that why you tried to put me and Matt together?" I asked.
She flushed. "Partly."
Our eyes met and my heart stopped. I wanted to ask her more. Find out if the other part of her request was out of the need for my body on top of hers, inside of her, because she missed me as much as I missed her. The game before, teasing her, attempting to drive her nuts until she begged me to fuck her, it was asinine. I deserved to be tormented by desire, driven mad by need, as punishment for my actions. Not her. Still, the thought that she might have been missing me that much, to invite me over, was getting me all hot again.
Listen to me. Was there a bigger narcissist alive? It was all a matter of mood and her having her fun. Nothing more.
"Did it work?" She smiled.
"My head is a clusterfuck of madness around you, Lily."
We both spoke at once.
"Uh, um." I cleared my throat. "Did it work? That's still to be seen, I guess."
"I should probably go." She struck a thumb out over her shoulder.
"Yeah." I nodded, before making another foolish decision. "Lily?"
She groaned. "Yes, Ryan?"
"For what it's worth...even if it doesn't mean anything..." I fought with the voice in my head telling me to respect her boundaries and not complicate things anymore, but damn it, this was the longest we'd spoken in so long and there was this distance between us that was wider than it was before. And I was terrified it would never be resolved.
"I know what I did might say otherwise, but you are the reason why I haven't given up on trying to be better, despite being tortured by my mind, day in and day out. You're the one I think about every second of every day and beat myself up for being such a fuck up because losing you was my biggest fear and I've committed the ultimate cr...ime." I gasped at the word choice and how eager I was to confess to her what I'd done and see whether or not it would be added to my list of unforgivable sins. I already knew the answer.
"I've committed the ultimate crime," I repeated and she stared at me in silence. "I've lost you. And I'm not telling you this so I can guilt you into taking me back. I'm telling you this, because despite the outcome of everything that I've done and how much I've royally fucked up, I love you. There won't be a day, a single second in the rest of my life, where I'll ever stop loving you."
We both took a breath.
"Your love. I'm not aiming to win you back, like you're the prize at the end of a cheap game. If there's a chance for me to earn your love back..."
She started walking toward me and I lost my ability to think, much less speak.
Lily
What was I doing? I shouldn't have come out here. Me and my idiotic ass wanted to see how he was doing, because I missed him. I should have asked one of the guys to bring him the blanket, which was what I'd been doing as of late. Asking them to do most of the talking for me, to avoid forgiving him as easily, letting him off the hook. Looking into his hazel eyes and melting without any effort on his part.
But tonight, he looked like Ryan. I'm not sure how to explain it.
He was a tortured Ryan, sure. But not the stinking drunk, unable to stand straight, vomit breath, ticking time bomb Ryan that had taken the place of the man I loved in the past several weeks.
We should have never kissed. If I had any sense at all, I wouldn't have yielded to him on the entrance to that private jet, and again, how many times? I'd lost count. Our kisses brought me back to the moment we did something unthinkable, when I kissed my boyfriend's best friend and knew that whether or not it was a bad decision, I didn't regret it.
I wondered now, as my feet were taking me in the opposite direction of where I should go, whether or not I'd regret this decision.
"You know, when people break up, they don't usually have to see each other twenty-four seven, living on top of each other," I said, when I was standing breast to chest with him.
Was that my heartbeat or his?
"Yeah. I don't know what I'm doing here. I should probably book another hotel." His eyes shimmered in the dim lighting.
"Yeah. You probably should." Okay, that's it, I directed myself. Turn around now and go back to your room where the three men you love, who love you back and will never put your safety at risk or do anything to hurt you, are waiting for you. Oh, stupid girl!
My hand lifted as if it was the object of a ventriloquist's attention, and rested gently onto his cheek.
"What are you doing?" His eyes darkened, the creases in the corners of his eyes became more prominent and it wasn't because he was smiling.
I raised up on my toes and leaned forward to kiss my Ryan, the one I'd missed and longed for since that fucked up replacement came and possessed his body.
"You don't want to do this." He held me back, whispering against my lips.
"Why not? I kissed you earlier. I can kiss you again." I breathed and leaned forward.
His forehead dropped to mine and he groaned, rubbing our two thick skulls together.
"Because I can feel your nipples boring into my chest," he breathed.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," I moaned.
"It is, when my cock is so full and I can smell your arousal on your breath." He cleared his throat and I shut my mouth.
"Ew. Is it bad?" I gasped.
And he chuckled. Oh, he chuckled and my heart did a somersault, thudding into my stomach.
"No. It's intoxicating. And I want you. I do. But we're alone," he said.
"You keep listing pros like they're cons." I licked my lips.
He grinned again and his hands tightened on my arm, not hurting me, but burning through me to my core.
"If you were anybody else I didn't love as much as I love you, I would rip your clothes off right here and fuck you over the back of that sofa." He cocked his head and my insides turned to lava.
I panted. "Sounds good to me."
"But I love you and damn it, I'm committed to doing the right thing from now on. That isn't just reserved for my drinking and anger management. I mean everything." He turned me around and my internal organs combusted. "So, why don't you go on in there, wake your men up and make them very happy, while I pine for you and steam in the bed of fire I made for myself." Ryan spoke against my neck and fuck, why was he the one making sense here? "I want to be good enough for you, Lily. And I don't believe I am, just yet."
"Isn't that up to me to decide?" I countered as he walked me back toward the hallway and ushered me toward the bedroom.
"Are you telling me that you trust me completely not to lash out in recklessness and hurt you again?" he asked.
My chest tightened at that question. I opened my mouth on the defense, but nothing came out.
"Good night, Lily." His eyes narrowed and he groaned.
For a moment, I thought he might walk toward me again, grab me and make good on that suggestion to fuck me over the couch. Except, he pulled away with inspiring restraint and headed back to the living room. I stood in the hallway for a moment, catching my breath and getting my knees to work again.
They turned into instant noodles as the sound of my name on a groan sparked through me. I walked back toward the edge of the hallway and took a peek into the living room, to find Ryan, stripped naked on the couch, stroking his thick cock, working up a craving deep in my stomach for dark, sweet, caramel, hot on my tongue all of a sudden.
This topped all other moments I'd been aroused. Ryan, committed to doing the right thing, and torturing himself instead of fucking me when he had me in the palm of his hand, made him ten times hotter. Tempted to go over there and buss it wide open on that wide tip, I took his advice instead and headed to the bedroom.