Addicted for Now (16 page)

Aaron didn’t understand us. No one did.

“You’re definitely invited,” Aaron said directly to me. “And
I can introduce you to some
nice
guys.”

“Yeah, she’s not looking for a nice guy,” Lo said. He was
right. If I wanted someone who would take me on a date, treat me right, and call
the next morning—I’d date someone from Dalton. But I wanted the lay. The type
of guy who could sleep with me and forget about it as soon as we left the room.
I wanted easy. Nice guys were complicated.

I spoke up before Aaron could. “It’s okay. I don’t go to
parties. I mean, Dalton parties.” Rule number one: Do not have sex with boys
from Dalton. Otherwise everyone would have figured out that I slept around.

Aaron frowned. “That’s kind of weird.”

“
Thanks?
” I said
before turning to Lo, ready to leave.

 
“You both realize
this is going to be the party of the year,” Aaron said in confusion, his pride
finally starting to ruffle.
Yes, Aaron,
we had been serious about not wanting to go.
Though, I was positive it
would
be one hell of a party. Giant
punch bowls. Neon lights. Good drugs. Maybe even a famous DJ. But I would
choose to miss it all just to avoid being gossiped about the next morning.

Lo met my gaze, and I could see him cracking. Probably under
the assumption that there would be
good
liquor
too. I gave him a look. Dalton parties were my bane. The entire
student population flocks to them, and so I would have to spend my time in the
corner, trying to avoid leering gazes and making sure Lo didn’t pass out.

He gave me those big pleading eyes, and I realized he was
going to the party with or without me. So I just nodded.

Lo turned to Aaron and flashed a fake smile. “We’ll see you Friday.”

Aaron layered on his own mock happiness. “Perfect.”

Only it hadn’t been perfect. It was one of the worst parties
in the history of parties. So bad, in fact, that the event blacklisted us from
any social function related to Dalton. And I didn’t even attend Aaron’s stupid
blowout.

I wasn’t the one who opened all of Wells’ expensive booze. I
didn’t grab a lacrosse stick and stumble around, somehow ending up in the wine
cellar. I didn’t take out all my frustration on two-hundred-year-old bottles
that fractured and broke. I didn’t drown the cellar and my pain in a pool of
red.

But Lo sure as hell did.

And I should have been there. Sometimes I wonder if that
would have changed the outcome. I could have stopped Lo, and then maybe Aaron
and his friends wouldn’t have hated him so much.

The wine-cellar debacle started their rivalry.

Then it mushroomed from there. First with silly stuff, like
slapping Lo’s textbooks from his hands. But then three of them cornered Lo,
about to grab onto his arms and legs and stuff him in a locker. Lo ran before
they could touch him. He was good at that. Running away.

Lo has admitted to me, and only me, that it was his fault
the entire feud started in the first place, but he just didn’t know how to end
it once it began. Like dominos that kept tumbling down and down and down. He
wasn’t big enough to step away, to back off. He had taken too much shit at home
to let someone else run over him.

Over the next four years in school, they passively hated
each other and sometimes the passivity turned to fists, but Lo was quick to
dodge all attacks. It wasn’t until our senior year that everything changed. I
think, in part, Aaron had become tired of how teachers fawned over Lo and how
he seemed to have special treatment that extended beyond athletes.

I was seventeen and in a fake relationship with Lo. For the
first time, Aaron realized that there was a way to reach Lo without him running
away.

He could mess with me.

Aaron started following me to class, and then a week later,
he blocked me against a wall, ever so casually, with his lacrosse player
friends in tow. To everyone else, they probably looked like they stood there
for a quick chat, but whenever I met Aaron’s eyes, I saw only hate.

The fourth time he cornered me, I was in the library, trying
desperately to find a book on Renaissance Art. Secluded in the back, between
two book cases, I picked out a red spine and was ready to hightail it to lunch.
When I looked up, my exit had been obstructed by a six-foot guy with athletic
muscles and hardened brows.
 

Hatred is an animal you feed, and I imagined that after four
years, Aaron’s became plump and bloated. The seemingly nice guy who invited me
to a party my freshman year of prep school had turned cold and mean. At least
towards me.

His eyes were dark, and he stepped forward. My heart thudded
against my chest as I stumbled back. He continued his stride and my back hit
the wall.

“I have to get to lunch,” I said in a small voice. I didn’t
know what he was going to do. He’d already laid a fist into Lo. (He got a
week’s suspension and Lo got a Friday detention), so I thought maybe he was
preparing to hit me…or at least scare me.

Mission accomplished. I was terrified.

He came closer, not saying a word. I think that was the
worst part, the unspeaking, unfeeling of it all.

He raised his arms, putting his hands on a Student Election
poster beside my head, imprisoning me. His warm breath burned my neck, and it
was then, at that moment, that I had the impulse. I wanted out. Away. Gone. I
dipped down, small and quick enough to slip below his arm. I ran out of the
library and then right out of school.

I didn’t want to tell Lo what had happened, but Aaron’s
advances only became worse. One day when I was driving home, he tailed me with
his lacrosse buddies. I drove straight to Lo’s and they sped off. I kept my
mouth shut, but I spent most of the school day stuck to Lo’s side. No one
harassed me when he was around.

I usually tried to skip when he skipped. But one abnormal
day, I actually slept at my own house, and he didn’t tell me he was going to be
late.

I tried to focus on the task at hand.
Get your books. Go to class. Done
. I tugged my World History book
from the locker and the hardback spine tilted the mirror on the inside door.

And then I felt two hands on my waist.

I jumped: feet and heart. Then I spun around and Lo’s eyes
were wide.

“Hey
girlfriend
,”
he emphasized, seeing as how we were in our pretend relationship.

I wanted to smile, but I could barely catch my breath.

His face fell in a wave of concern, and he put his hands on
my cheeks. “Heyheyhey,” he said quickly. “Take a breath, Lil.”

Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t realize Aaron had unraveled
me until that point.
Game. Set. Match
,
I thought. He won.

But I had forgotten who my “fake” boyfriend was.

“Lil, what’s wrong?” His voice was heavy and serious.

I buried my head into his shirt and he held me there for a
very long moment. We skipped class so I could tell him the truth, and it poured
out of me like a flood.

“I’m going to fix this,” Lo said.

I believed it too. He called Aaron and threatened his
college career if he didn’t stop harassing me. With the Hale name, Lo had
plenty of contacts and one phone call from him or his father, and Aaron’s
collegiate career would be over.

Aaron called his bluff. And then Lo called the college.

So Aaron Wells was reduced to his safety school, losing out
the lacrosse stardom.

He stopped following me after that…

Well, until the Fizzle party pretty recently (where he tried
to scare me again). And not soon after, we received those texts. Maybe only a
couple months separating the two events.

Connor’s normal placid expression has been slightly
overtaken by a wrinkled forehead and the hand that covers his mouth. I never
thought I could shock Connor Cobalt—or that he’d let me see his surprise.
 

“In defense,” Lo says, “Aaron Wells and I have hated each
other since ninth grade. That’s like an era of hate. None of the others are
like that.”

“We can only hope,” Connor says.

“And our dad helped you tear up this kid’s future?” Ryke
asks.

“What can I say,” Lo says with a bitter smile, “it’s how we
bonded.”
 

{ 15 }

LOREN HALE

I couldn’t talk about Mason. Neither could Lily. I
think that one was too fresh for us. I mentioned what happened in brief to Ryke
over the phone one day—about the parking deck and a little bit about the
past—so I told him to just fill in Connor and that was that.

My head weighs a fucking
ton and I could use a glass of whiskey. Hell, I’d settle for a beer at this
point.

But we drive right on back to Princeton afterwards. A couple
times, I pull over at a gas station, telling Lily I have to pee. I avoid grabbing
any six-packs in the foggy glass fridges, but the second time I park the car,
Lily catches on and follows me into the convenience store. She finds me staring
questionably at a case of Samuel Adams. Lily talks me down for a good ten
minutes, telling me that beer tastes disgusting, that breaking my sobriety is
not worth the small, insignificant buzz. She’s right, but I just want to forget
everything for one extended moment.

I want all of the memories to shut down so that I can sleep.
But everything I did—every mistake, every fucked up word that spilled from my
lips—replays on repeat. And I can’t take it back. But I do have the power to
drown it all out.

We drive again. Towards home. And I forget about the booze.
I try to focus on things that I can do that won’t involve alcohol. “Maybe I
should call Aaron,” I say to Lily. My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
“Apologize or something.” What if he didn’t do anything? What if I made it
worse by going to his house and threatening him? My father’s way to do
things—it could be wrong. It’s all I know. And it’s what put me in this place
to begin with.

I have so many regrets. I don’t believe anyone who says they
don’t. How can you live life making mistakes and never wish you could take one
back?

I destroyed the guy’s
wine
cellar.
If a person did that to me, I wouldn’t be just a little ticked off.
I would
despise
them. And I don’t
have much of an excuse. I was just…I was hurting, and I felt like I was
screaming and no one could hear me. I was in the wrong, I get it, but my
actions never gave him permission to terrorize Lily. For that, I just can’t
forgive him.

Lily runs her fingers over my hand that holds the gear
shift. “I’m not sure that will help. He may not accept it.”

If Aaron is the guy threatening us, we may be fucked.
 

We roll up to our gate, and I punch the security number into
the keypad. We drive through, parking in the empty garage. Rose is late, not
surprising with how much she juggles. When we walk into the house, I flick on
the lights, half-expecting Lily to turn around and ask me if we can fuck.

She usually does.

Tonight’s different. Maybe because I openly confessed to
thinking about a drink. Maybe she doesn’t want to put me in a position where I
have to tell her no.

Lily plops down on the couch like its normal for her to be
more interested in the television than the bedroom. “I think they’re playing
Thor
on HBO,” she says, leaning over to
grab the remote. My eyes drop to her knees, squeezed tight together. Yeah,
she’s struggling.

After pouring through all those memories, we both deserve a
release. I mentally file through the therapist’s blacklist. I’ve reread it
enough times that every word is engrained in my head.

No masturbation.

No porn.

No public sex.

Stop when your partner
stops. Helpful tips: Start with timing your sessions and have a set hour
dedicated to sex. For the first few months stick to positions that won’t elicit
increased arousal after a climax. (This is subjective and you will have to
experiment to discover what triggers you to keep going.)
 

Only engage in sex
when both you and your partner want to. Helpful tip: Let your partner choose
the time.

Healthy amounts – sex
cannot interfere with daily routines. Helpful tip: Keep to morning and night
schedules.

I know Lily thinks there are stipulations like banning anal
and blow jobs. I’ve had lengthy conversations on the phone with Allison,
discussing how far I should take Lily. We still have to be intimate, and
banning sexual positions won’t help that. So Allison and I agreed that the goal
is to get Lily to a point where she doesn’t expect sex.

Not asking me for sex is a good first step, and I want to
reward her for it. But I also fear that she’ll catch on to this. Over time she
may pretend to be uninterested so she’ll get a lay out of me. The point is to
make her stop
thinking
and wanting
sex—not devising strategies to get it.

Considering my mind circulates around hunting for a bottle
of something alcoholic, I understand it’s not a simple task.

“Ah, yes!” Lily says excitedly. “We didn’t miss the part
with Sif.” Her eyes flicker to me briefly before they return to the TV. “You
think we should go to Comic-Con this year? We can dress up as Thor and Sif.”

I sit down next to her on the couch, giving her a cushion
worth of distance. I catch the instant frown in her eyes but it disappears when
she focuses on the movie.

“I don’t think I’d look good as a blond,” I tell her.

She appraises my hair and then her eyes drop, lingering as
she takes in my other features. She’s stared at me so hard for the past couple
weeks that I’m fairly certain in a year she could recall every freckle by
memory. Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I…yeah, umm…blond…no,” she stammers
before turning back to the movie.

“How about we go as Loki and Sif?” I suggest.

She hesitates a moment before shaking her head. Her eyes
meet mine again, and this time they stay right there. “How about Hellion and
X-23?”

She never wants to dress up in the X-23 costume. It’s skimpy
black leather that exposes her entire midriff, and I practically have to beg
her to cosplay my favorite mutant couple. She’s offering this to me, and for
some reason I have the sudden urge to take her right here.

So I do.

I bridge the distance between us and my lips find hers.

Her surprise stiffens her shoulders and freezes her arms,
and I edge her mouth open, slipping my tongue inside. She wakes up, her hands swooping
around my neck. I smile against her soft lips. My girlfriend is like a raunchy
Sleeping Beauty, reanimating from a deep-throated kiss.

 
I run my tongue along
the base of her neck, and she begins to writhe underneath me. She’s unlike any
girl I’ve ever been with. Little things set her off as if her body is made of a
thousand nerves. She responds to every touch and lick like they’re each the
peak she wishes to reach.

Her hands fly towards my pants, and I have to grab them
before she does anything. A moan escapes her lips, and her spine curves, her
body arching towards me. I lift her up beneath her arms, and her legs instantly
wrap around my waist. I press a strong kiss to her lips, inhaling the vanilla
scent of her hair.

Even midway in the air, she starts to grind against me. She has
to feel that I’m hard, but I need her to keep her hands off me. I have
self-control, but it flits away whenever she starts rubbing against my cock.

I set her down on the rug, the couch to our left. My lips
slowly brush the top of her ear, my teeth barely skimming the tenderness of her
skin. She lets out a sharp gasp.

“Easy, love,” I breathe. She settles again and I start, ever
so slowly, undressing her. The light touch of the fabric sends her off as the
shirt grazes up her belly and over her head. As I go for her jeans, she tries
to sit up and touch me, but I put my hand on her shoulder, forcing her back to
the floor again and give her a disapproving look.

She breathes heavily, and I wait to unbutton her until she
nods, accepting that she must stay still.

When she does, I fish the button through the hole and slowly
unzip. As I slide her jeans below her hips, down her thighs, I drink in her
body and the way she responds to me. The little cries, the twitches of her legs
and the curl of her toes. Every motion is filled with beauty that she won’t
ever understand. It makes me aware of how alive she is.

After tossing her jeans to the side, I kiss the tops of her
breasts, and she shudders against me. I run my teeth playfully over her bra
straps, and her chest rises and falls in quick succession, eager and wanting.

“Lo,” she moans.

I stifle a groan in my throat, and I unclip her bra, freeing
her of the clothing. And then I gently slip her panties down and off her
ankles. While doing so, I lightly brush my fingers across the wet spot between
her legs, so brief and powerful that the sensation immediately jolts her body.
I have to remind her to stay still again.

“Lo, please,” she says, her voice raw and raspy.

I kiss those reddened lips, and then stand to my feet,
leaving her bare and naked on the living room floor. Her eyes widen in horror,
thinking I’m no longer going to fuck her.

“I’ll be right back, love,” I say quickly, wanting that look
to disappear from her face. “I have to get a condom…and lube.” I grin at this,
and I wait a second to watch her expression flip.

Her whole face lights up with delight. “But…I thought…” she
starts.

I’m already backing away towards the bedroom. My dick feels
like it might explode any minute, and I can’t prolong waiting much longer to
get my own fucking release. Fear crosses me for a brief second, realizing I’m
leaving her naked, horny, and alone.

Halfway up the stairs, she’s still watching me but her hands
have edged closer and closer to the inside of her thighs. “Don’t fuck
yourself,” I say roughly. “Or else I won’t fuck you.” It’s a threat I don’t
like giving, considering my own arousal has almost peaked. I want to shove my
cock inside her right now.

She nods eagerly, and I accept it, trying desperately to put
faith in her. I just need her to be strong, but I know masturbation is one of
her compulsions.

After reaching the second floor, I enter the darkened
bedroom and quickly fumble around the desk drawer, grabbing a pack of condoms
and lube. I haven’t used up either in two weeks, which should be a record for
us.

When I return to the living room, I find Lily still lying on
the rug but she covers her face with her hands. She’s concentrating too hard to
hear me come in, and I take the time to kick off my pants and pull off my
shirt. I lie down beside her and rub the top of her head easily. Her hands
slide down, exposing her face and her eyes and the look that says,
fuck me now
.

“Lo, I almost touched myself.”

I kiss her forehead and take one of her hands in mine. “But
you didn’t.”

She shakes her head. “But I want to…so badly,” she admits.
“I can’t remember what I feel like. Isn’t that weird? That’s weird, right? I
mean it’s my body, but I’m not allowed to touch really, and I…I…”

Jesus Christ. I take her in my arms, and she buries her head
into my chest, near tears. This is not going as planned, and I feel like it’s
partly my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone and given her the opportunity
to crawl inside her head. Maybe I can fix this.

“It’s okay, Lil,” I whisper. “If you want to touch yourself,
just ask me.”

With her hand in mine, I guide it down her stomach, past her
belly button and in between her legs. She gasps as I rub her fingers over her
clit and then down farther, letting her feel how wet she has become.

“Better?” I ask, pulling her hand and glistening fingers
back up to her chest.

She nods, her shoulders relaxing, and I kiss the base of her
neck.

I turn her on her side and lie right against her back. I can
almost see her start to smile.

I rip the condom package.

“Can I put it on you?” she asks hopefully, hearing the paper
tear.

“If you can do it quickly,” I tell her, wanting to be inside
of her more than she probably even knows. She flips over to face me, and I hand
her the condom. Her eyes drop to my cock and I watch her entire expression
practically glow. Her happiness is easy to bring, which I suppose is the
problem, but I relish in sending her body into shockwaves and seeing her face
lit up like the city.
 

Not listening to me, she gently and
slowly
rolls the condom on my dick. I let out a heavy breath and
then groan. Dear God. “Faster, Lil,” I demand.

Her eyes flicker up, surprisingly, since it takes her great effort
to look anywhere but my dick at times. She gives me a doe-eyed look and I can’t
help but smile, yet I don’t give in. “Fast
er
,”
I repeat, stretching out the syllables.

She finishes rolling the condom up my shaft and then reaches
for the lube. I grab her wrist and motion for her to turn around. I know she
wants to be in control. I know she misses it. But she has to make me believe
she can be on top and not get carried away. Right now, she’s not even close to
being able to handle that type of position without going crazy.
 

Before she flips over, she bends down and places a soft kiss
on the head of my cock. Then she rolls onto her side, sticking out her ass for
me.

I rub some lube on, and she squirms a little, but I hold her
steady. My cock throbs and I know I can’t hold out on going nice and slow. So
when I have her ready, I thrust inside of her as fast and deep as I can without
hurting her.

She lets out a long pleasurable moan and begins to writhe
again. But I hold her tight, one arm around her neck and the other around her
waist, grabbing her breast as I start pumping inside of her. Every thrust sends
waves of ecstasy crashing through my cock and it feels too good to even stop
for a second. I quicken my pace, her moans and half-screams perpetuating my
speed.