Addicted for Now (26 page)

Lily cringes, watching Rose’s eyes puncture holes into
Connor, her words sounding nasty. And he’s quick to retort back. Lil leans into
my side and whispers, “I don’t like lying to her.”

I squeeze her arm. “We’ll make it right.” Eventually.

And then the cab hits a pothole and my stomach starts to
twist in on itself, sending a shooting pain right through me. I touch my
abdomen as it intensifies. I retract my arm from Lily and grip the door handle
of the cab. What the fuck is happening?

“Lo?”

I open my mouth to speak, but a wave of nausea crashes into
me.

“Lo?!” Her high-pitched voice quiets the car.

“Pull over,” I hear my brother say. “Pull over
now!
” My head is a blur. I plant my hand
over my lips, and as soon as the cab stops and the door flings open, I am on
the road retching. My throat sears and my muscles burn.

Everything starts coming up. But for each heave, my head
pounds, my body aches, and I think some animal wants to crawl out of my stomach.
It claws and scrapes and tears up my insides.

“Did he drink?” Rose’s cold voice pricks my ears in the
background.

“What the fuck did you drink?!” Ryke yells at me, his voice
louder.

I shake my head and puke again, cars whizzing by and honking
their horns like I’m another drunken college student on Spring Break. But I
didn’t have one fucking beer. Not even a drop of whiskey. I don’t understand. I
don’t get it. I did nothing wrong.

Lil clutches my arm, and I briefly meet her eyes, and the
flood of disappointment feels worse than this pain.

I did
nothing
wrong.

But I don’t have the voice to say it.

I’m too busy throwing up.

{ 27 }

LILY CALLOWAY

I spend the entire night with Lo in the hotel
bathroom, wiping his clammy forehead with a warm washcloth and making sure he
isn’t sick enough for a hospital.

I think we all overacted
in the cab. But it was clear that his illness wasn’t from food poisoning. He
literally just took a bite of his fish taco. Food poisoning doesn’t work that
fast. So we all figured Antabuse was to blame—which meant one thing.

He had alcohol.

Ryke yelled at Lo while he puked his guts up on the side of
the road, but I didn’t believe that Lo could have been secretly tossing back
whiskey shots or some other concoction. Not when we were all sitting at the
table. He’s not that stupid.

But there was an inkling of doubt creeping in. The
what if
taking over my mental process.
Addicts lie. I just never thought Lo
would start lying to me too. We have been a unit for so long that I didn’t realize
I could be pushed out so easily—and without warning. I wondered, for a short
moment, that if he could lie all this time about being sober, then he could be
keeping other secrets from me. And I wouldn’t even know it.

Connor was the one to shush everyone’s doubts, including
mine. He said there was a high probability that the fish was beer-battered, a
detail that Lo may have overlooked before ordering. So Rose called the
restaurant, and sure enough, the fish were not only fried with beer but tequila
too.

Lo moves sloth-like this morning, brushing his teeth,
practically hunched over the sink. He looks a little like he used to before his
sobriety—like he just woke up after a night of binging.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly. “We can stay here if you
want.”

A stage is set up on the beach for an outdoor Spring Break
concert, and we’re all supposed to be headed down there soon. I can’t imagine
the chaos and noise being pleasant for him.

While I wait for his answer, I start the bathtub to shave my
legs, normally I’d just do a quick shave-and-go in the sink, but we share it
with five other people.

He spits into the sink. “No,” he says and wipes his mouth on
a towel. “I want to go, and honestly I feel better than I did last night.”

The bathroom door opens, and Ryke slips in, already
outfitted in a neon blue mankini. Lo confessed about the bathing suits a couple
days ago, and oddly Ryke would rather wear the scantily clad ones than the
trunks that Connor and Lo chose. He claims he gets a better tan, but I think he
likes the way all the girls stare at his ass.

I grab a razor, focusing on my prickly calves rather than
his…area.

“How are you feeling?” Ryke asks as Lo starts applying
sunscreen along his abs.

“Like shit. Must have been that bottle of whiskey I guzzled
while you were all sitting around me,” he snaps. “Oh wait, no, that’s what you
accused me of.”

“I already apologized.” His voice remains rough and he looks
to me, distracted. “Lily, what the hell are you doing?”

Lo follows his gaze and rolls his eyes. “She’s just shaving
her legs.”

“What he said,” I say, trying to concentrate so I don’t
knick my kneecap or ankle. Those are the tricky spots. And since I’m only
lathering my legs with a bar of soap, I have less suds to work with.

“Why don’t you take a shower?”

I let out an exasperated breath. “That’s so much more work.”

“You’re as lazy as Lo.”

I shrug, not denying it. Ryke puts his attention back on his
brother. “Did you take your pill yet?”

“Yeah.” He holds out the sunscreen bottle to me. “Can you do
my back when you’re finished shaving?”

“I’ll do it right now. I’m done with this leg.” I rinse off
my right leg and spin on the porcelain ledge. He sits down beside me so I don’t
have to get up to reach his height. I squirt some lotion into my hand and start
rubbing it along his bare back.

A sinful thought creeps into my head—of Lo turning around
and taking me right here on the ledge. I straddle it already, the spot between
my legs against the coldness of the tub. This is just bad. I try to smother my
longing and any attraction quickly.
No
sex.
Not today. Not this week. The words don’t devastate me as much as they
would have before.

Ryke keeps his gaze on Lo, skepticism creeping into his
eyes. “Where’s the pill bottle?”

His shoulders tense. “Under the sink.”

I smooth out the white streaks along Lo’s skin, my fingers
dancing along his back. I wish I could touch him other places, which I realize
is my problem. I shouldn’t want to have sex when I’m just rubbing lotion on his
back. Right? Maybe it’s not so weird, but I know my persistence to go further
and farther is wrong.

I’m not supposed to
go
at all.

Which just sucks.

And not a good sucking mind you.

Nope, this is a bad suck, which I didn’t think could exist.
But it does. This is definitely a bad kind of suck.

Ryke rises from the cabinet a second later with the orange
container in his hand, and then he pops it open, spilling the pills on the
counter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lo asks.

Ryke moves them out into little piles, and I suddenly
realize “what the hell he’s doing”—counting.

Lo goes rigid as the same thought strikes him. But he shouldn’t
have anything to fear. Unless…

Ryke starts shaking his head and scoops the pills back into
the bottle. “Why do you fucking lie to me?”

“When did you start counting my pills?” Lo asks, brows
furrowed.

“When you got them.”

“You had no right—”

 
“I have every right.
You’re an addict, Lo. You lie, you cheat, you fuck around the rules to get what
you want. I go behind your back because I fucking care, not because I’m trying
to undermine your privacy.”

“Tell me what I haven’t already heard!” Lo yells. “I’m a
cheat. I’m a liar. I get it. And if that bothers you so damn much, there’s the
fucking door.”

Uh-oh. I should go back to shaving my leg. But I can’t stop
watching.

Ryke’s face turns to stone. He grabs a bottle of water off
the sink and hands it to Lo, along with a pill. “Take it.”

“Did you not hear me?” Lo sneers. He pushes Ryke’s hand
back. “I don’t want it.”

It hurts to watch him deny something that helps him. “Lo,” I
say softly. “Just take it.”

He jumps off the tub ledge like I electrocuted him, and then
squares off with Ryke and me like we’re the enemies now. “You two don’t get
it.”

I stand up, not caring about shaving my left leg at this
point. “What don’t I get?” I ask, choking back my hurt.

“Last night, I puked my guts up from mediocre fish tacos. I couldn’t
even taste the tequila or beer batter or whatever the hell was on them! Like
hell am I going to have that accidentally happen again.”

“So read the fucking menu next time,” Ryke tells him. “Ask
the waiter, ask the fucking chef. Don’t make excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses, but staying sober shouldn’t be this
much goddamn work. I shouldn’t have to set an alarm clock to remind myself to
take a pill. I shouldn’t have to spend five hours a week in therapy.” Lo’s
chest rises and falls heavily. “And you…it’s not fair that it’s so goddamn easy
for you. Drinking your water every day, making it look like it’s nothing.”

“I’m not you, Lo. Don’t try and compare us.”

“How can I not?” Lo says, running two shaking hands through
his hair. “You stand there telling me what to do, what’s best for me like
you’ve been through this all before. You’ve never even taken Antabuse, Ryke.
You don’t know how this fucking feels!”

I’m not sure what to say or do right now.

“I’m just trying to help,” Ryke says. “Stop pushing me
away.”

Lo grips the sink tightly.

I agree with Lo, staying sober takes more work than either
of us thought possible, and obviously Lo and I are the type of people who only
give ten percent of our energy. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve always been
lazy, or if we’re just apathetic. But right now, in this moment, I care. I just
hope Lo does too.
 

“It doesn’t even make the cravings stop,” Lo says, motioning
towards the pill in Ryke’s hands.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, “but you just felt what it’s
like to drink when you’re on it, and I’m pretty sure that’s enough to motivate
you to avoid booze.”

Lo hesitates. “Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his eyes.

“You should take it,” I tell him. “If I had a magic pill
that made me puke whenever I looked at porn, it’d probably help.”

I don’t know if it’s me, or Ryke, or his own warring
conscience, but something wins out. He turns around and accepts the pill from
his brother.

***

The remixed rap song bleeds into the crowded area,
swimsuit-clad college students pumping their fists in the air and chugging
vodka straight from water bottles. I have the best seat on the beach.
 

Right on Lo’s shoulders.

The height gives me an advantage from the sweltering body
heat and sweaty stench. I also have prime view of the stage, where the rapper
in shiny shades saunters around and jumps in unison with the riled crowd.

Lo hasn’t left my side the entire concert. Not to buy a beer,
go to a bar or to find his way to liquor. I haven’t made a move on him or asked
for sex.

We’re having unadulterated fun.

The song ends and I stick my fingers in my mouth, letting
out a loud whistle as everyone claps and cheers and hollers. Below me, the rest
of our group tries to remain together and not be pushed too far away.

Rose wears a black sheer bathing suit cover-up and stands
rigidly among the crowd, petrified by the closeness of so many bodies. Connor
couldn’t be more composed. He’s like a chameleon, adapting to the drunken,
party-like atmosphere with ease. He keeps her close, his hands on her hips, and
normally she’d probably push him off. But I think the fear of ramming into someone
and beer being spilt all over her cover-up and chest outweighs her fear of
intimacy with Connor.

Melissa has all but forgiven Ryke. The make-out session
helped in the cab, but the below the panties groping solidified her plans to
stay in Cancun. I would have been more jealous last night if Lo wasn’t sick.
But his clammy skin and pale hue literally rerouted my whole mind. Even as I
heard Melissa’s giggles from the deck, pitch black outside—I didn’t care all
that much. I just wanted Lo to feel better.

Melissa is in a good mood now. She sits on Ryke’s shoulders,
clapping beside me as the next song starts.

A gust of smoke plumes up by my nose, and I sniff the salty
air. Joints are lit all over this beach, the smells overpowering, but this one
is so near that I look down. Daisy stands directly in front of Ryke and Lo, a
cigarette pinched between two fingers. At least it’s not pot. So there’s that.

She effortlessly keeps the cigarette from burning anyone in
close proximity, and she lifts her head to blow the smoke into the air away
from other people. Except me, of course.

I’ve let Daisy smoke on numerous occasions. I didn’t know my
place to tell other people to
stop
when
I can barely stop myself. I hate the thought of being a hypocrite. But I’m
under the impression that Daisy only smokes recreationally. I imagine that recreation
turning into a habit, which turns into an addiction. I just can’t bear for
Daisy to go through what I am.

Before I can say anything, Ryke plucks the cigarette right
from her fingers and tosses it into the sand.

I don’t see her reaction because the rapper has stopped
singing and starts talking, the music still going on behind him. “Now I want to
see more ladies in the air! On shoulders now! Let’s go!” Girls start climbing
on random guys’ shoulders, being lifted into the air like Melissa and me.

Connor doesn’t even ask Rose, probably knowing she would
prefer to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. Daisy taps a
bandana-wearing guy in front of her. He gives her a long once-over from head to
breasts—mainly staying on her breasts that fit in a neon green bikini, the
fringe accentuating her boobs from a small B to a C.

“I’m light,” she tells him. And then she whispers in his
ear.

Melissa is watching Ryke with the utmost scrutiny, but he
doesn’t say a word.

The guy breaks into a big dopey grin, which is not good. I
am thinking sexual things—like Daisy whispered to him that she will return the
favor of sitting on his shoulders. Sexual favors, of course. But maybe that’s
just my dirty mind playing tricks on me again.

I put my hands on Lo’s head and glance down at him. He is
glaring
at the guy. So…Maybe everyone is
just as dirty as me. I grin at the idea.

The bandana guy bends down to let her on his shoulders.

When she’s at my height, she turns a little and gives me a
high-five, oblivious to the overprotective guys below me.

“Ladies! Say yeah!” The rapper chants.

“YEAH!” This is kind of fun. My smile takes over my face.

“Guys! Say fuck yeah!”

“FUCK YEAH!”

He continues a portion of his song, the beat pumping and my
view officially gone with the amount of girls on shoulders.

“Now ladies!” He goes back to his talking. “It’s Spring
Break! Let’s see those titties!”

Wait. What?

I go still while the girls around me respond by flinging off
their bikini tops, as though the rapper said a magic word.

All I heard was titties, which has the opposite effect on my
willingness to free-boob. Everyone hollers in drunken excitement, eyes wide at
the sight of nipples and springy parts.

Boobs of all sizes jiggle and bounce around me. I’m slapping
Lo’s face, his nose, his cheek—
get me
down.
Down. I need down. Now.