Addicted for Now (27 page)

Beside me, Melissa has already pulled the string to her top.
Which is cool. She has pretty boobs. She drops her top on Ryke’s head. He grabs
it and looks up, exactly what she wanted.

I have nothing much to show off, and I am easily
embarrassed. Clearly.

I do see a few other girls lowering from the air, not
wanting to take part in this either.

“Daisy!” Rose screams from the ground.

Just as Lo sets me on my feet, I crane my neck and spot
Daisy fingering the clasp on her back.

“Daisy!” I shout with wide eyes, equally as mortified as
Rose. I do not want anyone to see my sixteen-year-old sister’s boobs. If she
wants to tear off her bikini top in two years then so be it—but not now.

Lo plants his hands on my shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he
curses, trying to divert his eyes.

Daisy just looks at me, grinning from ear to ear.

Rose is about to swallow her anxiety and push through all of
these bodies to reach Daisy and wring her neck. But then Daisy drops her hand
with a laugh.

“Scare you?” she asks, waggling her brows.

Yes. She scared me, but at least she had no intention of
doing it. That has to count for something.

Her eyes flicker beside me. Not to Lo, but to Ryke. His
normally hard features are darkened slightly. And I think he’s trying really,
really hard not to call Daisy a tease, just to piss her off and start
something.

It’s what he does.

The longer she stares at Ryke, the more her smile fades. She
turns her back to us, hunches forward and says something to the bandana guy. He
lowers her to the ground, safely on Earth, and before she returns to our group,
she continues talking with him, even with the loud music.

She nods a lot. He smiles even more. I don’t like it.
Because he looks in his late twenties and she’s just a teenager.

And then his hand rests on her hip and starts traveling to
her ass.

“I’m thirty seconds,” Lo says under his breath, his eyes
flickering to Ryke.

“I’m fifteen.”

I frown. For what? To intervene?

Connor looks between them. “You both can’t be serious.”

Ryke glances at his watch. “Five…”

“She’s a smart girl,” Connor reminds them.

“She’s sixteen,” Lo says.

“Three…”

And then the guy slaps her ass, and Ryke is about to drop
Melissa on the ground. But Daisy just smiles and waves goodbye to the guy and
comes over to us. When she meets our faces, her smile contorts into a frown,
confused like I was. Now I’m pretty positive there’s too much testosterone
pumping in this area.

“What’s up with all of you?” Daisy asks. “Lo, you look like
you’re going to pop a blood vessel.” He does. But she tries to shrug it off.
“That guy told me a good place to swim with sharks. Anyone up for it?”

Everyone stays quiet.

And she deflates again. “What? What did I do?”

“That guy practically stuck his hand down your bathing suit,”
Ryke tells her, “and you didn’t care.”

Melissa has her arms crossed over her chest. Her mood is
slowly tanking.

Rose shoots me a harsh look and mouths
girl time.
Yes. Definitely.

I take Daisy’s hand, wanting air too but mostly wanting
Daisy out of their judgmental gazes for a second.

“Wait, I didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. “He was just
being nice.”

“Are you really that naïve?” Lo questions. “Because if you
are, we should consider sending you home before something terrible fucking
happens.”

“I’m not naïve,” she says. “He was happy.”

Ryke cringes. “You let him slap your ass because it made him
happy?
” Yeah, that doesn’t sound
right.

“Okay,” I interject. “We’re leaving. Right Rose?”

“Yes.” She sets a glare on each of the guys.

Connor raises his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

Her eyes soften at him. “You’re exempt.”

“Daisy,” Ryke says with so much emotion to the name that
shivers run down my arm. And it’s freakin’ hot out here. I think he wants to
say a lot of things to her—give her some sort of pep talk about how she doesn’t
have to please other people to make herself feel better—that doing so will hurt
her in the end. But Melissa leans her head down and starts whispering in his ear,
deterring him from speaking his mind.

So Daisy says, “I’ll see you around.” And she actually drags
me off towards a tiki bar that sits on the beach. Rose races behind us, wanting
out of the mobs of people too.

We rest our elbows on the counter, and I buy a water bottle
while Rose and Daisy wait for the bartender to blend their margaritas.
 

Rose raps her nails on the counter, antsy as always. “Daisy,”
she says. “Do you have something you need to tell us?”

Daisy stands between Rose and me, and she rocks on the balls
of her feet. “I’m not going to sleep with that guy,” she says. “I wouldn’t. I
just told him I thought he was good looking, and then afterwards, I asked him
about sharks.”

I frown. “Really?” It was that PG? Maybe all of us are so
focused on sex. We’re the gross ones.

“I mean, he said some suggestive things, but I wasn’t trying
to flirt back. Honest.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m used to it.”

“Which part?” Rose asks icily. “The touching or the
flirting? Because if you’re going on photo shoots where the crew is putting a
hand on you—”

“Nonono,” she says, slurring the word like me when I’m
trying to cover up a lie. “That has never happened. Mom comes with me. She
wouldn’t let anyone touch me inappropriately.”

Rose believes her. She nods, but I stare at Daisy for a long
time, not as trusting. Maybe because I have lied for so long that I can see
right through it.

Daisy meets my worried gaze and she wraps an arm around my
shoulder. “I’m okay, Lily.”

I don’t feel like she is.

I remember being young, trying to navigate what’s wrong and
what’s right in a place where lines blur so very often. But I had Lo to fall
back on—to make sure I didn’t fall off the deep end and drown.

Daisy is thrust into this modeling world without all of us
there to catch her. She’s alone and confused. And I’m not sure how to fix that
without telling her to quit. But she would never leave—not because of the money
but because her career is related to our mother’s happiness. And keeping our
mother happy makes Daisy happy.

My phone vibrates, and I check the caller ID. Poppy.

I click off the phone and slip it back into the pocket of my
jean shorts.

“Who was that?” Daisy asks, talking over the loud blender.

“Poppy.”

Rose glares at the bartender for being so slow, and Daisy’s
forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why would you hang up on her?”

“I just don’t feel like talking.” It’s the truth. And
anyway, my relationship with Poppy is distanced at best. She’s six years older,
so by the time I entered ninth grade, she was two years into college and
engaged.

Rose’s phone rings, and she answers the cell on the first
chime. “Hello, Poppy.” She gives me a sharp look, but nothing nearly as upset
as Daisy right now.

“Is that why you don’t answer my calls?” Daisy asks. “You
just don’t feel like talking?”

The accusation hurts when I remember Daisy is four years
younger than me—five years in August when I turn twenty-one. Almost the same
age gap as Poppy and me.

But any ability to heal a relationship with my eldest sister
has sailed long ago. She’s married. She has a baby and started a family of her
own. I have a chance to be a sister to Daisy, and I’m trying my damned hardest.

“No, that’s not it, Dais.”

“Yes, Poppy, we’re having fun. The mojitos are weak, but the
margaritas are usually good.” Rose’s sight is still planted on that sluggish
bartender, taking ages to squeeze lime into the frozen slush. “Yes, Lily is
with us. She couldn’t hear your cell because of all the noise.”

Daisy bumps my arm. “Then what is it?” she asks, waiting for
a viable excuse.
This is it
, I think.
This is the moment where I should come clean and tell her I have a sex
addiction, and that, in the past, I preferred sex over anything else—even
talking to her.

My throat tightens for a minute, and then I say, “I’m just
all awkward on the phone. I guess I prefer texting.” The lie tastes bitter and
rolls my stomach.

Daisy stares at the bar, quiet, which I’m not sure is a good
or bad sign.

“What?” Rose says over the phone, perplexed. “Are you sure
it was addressed to Lily?”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Hold on, let me ask.” Rose cups a hand to the receiver and
tugs me away from the bar, separating from Daisy a little, but she joins us,
curious. I would be too if I was her. “Did you mail a package to the Villanova
house?” Rose asks. Villanova…my parent’s house? Why…

“Why would I do that?”
 

Rose’s bony shoulders stiffen in sharp angles.

“What package?” Daisy asks.

“Here talk to her.” Rose hands me the phone.

I press the cell to my ear, my nerves spiking. “Hey, Poppy.
What’s going on?”

“Lily, I’m at the Villanova house for Maria’s birthday
party,” she explains in a hushed tone, as if she’s afraid someone will hear.
“Harold just brought the mail in, and there’s a package addressed to you. It’s
from a website called
Kinkyme.net
.
There are literally X’s all over the box. He was going to give it to Mom, but I
stopped him before he could.”

 
“I didn’t order
that,” I say quickly, my heart beating out of my chest.

“It’s fine if you did,” Poppy says gently, “I’m just
wondering why you would mail something like that here. Mom would have your
head.”

“Honestly, I really didn’t.”

Rose seems a little skeptical, and I wonder if she thinks I
sent the package there to hide it from her and Lo or something. She trusts me
about as much as Ryke trusts Lo.

I make a sudden decision. “Poppy, can you open it and see
what it is?”

Rose’s eyes go wild, but now she can’t possibly believe I
sent the package.

“Yeah, hold on,” she says. I hear her fumbling around and
then the rip and tear of tape. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “It’s a dildo.”

I grimace.

“Wait, there’s a letter.” She pauses and the silence is
agonizing. “Oh my God.”

“What-What does it say?” I stammer.

Rose taps her foot, annoyed that she can’t hear. Daisy rests
a hand on my shoulder, comforting me even though she’s blind about the origin
of my distress. The guilt starts creeping in almost immediately.
I should have told her.
Maybe not.
Yes.
No…I don’t know. My head hurts.

Poppy reads quietly, “‘
Dearest
Lily, here’s something to keep you full at night
.’” She pauses. “There’s no
signature. Is it from Loren?”

“Why would Lo buy me a dildo?” I say out loud, unthinking.

“Dildo?” Daisy’s mouth falls open, connecting some of the
dots.

“Who else would send something like this to you?” Poppy
asks.

“It must be a stupid prank,” I say. From the blackmailer.
“Can you throw it out before anyone else sees it? And can you tell Harold not
to mention it?”

“Of course,” Poppy says. “If you’re having problems making
friends at school—”

“It’s not prep school, Poppy. It’s college. No one is
stealing my lunch money.”

“Then why would someone do this?”

“They must think it’s funny. I don’t know,” I say quickly.
My throat is starting to close up with a lump and my voice threatens to shake.
“Hey, do you want to talk to Rose?”

“Sure.”

I hand the cell to Rose, and she engages in a cordial
conversation.

“Hey.” Daisy squeezes my shoulder in a side-hug. “It’s
probably just some loser from Penn who’s pissed you never put out for him or
something.”

Tears prick my eyes. She couldn’t be any further from the
truth.

“Oh no, please don’t cry.” Daisy spins me around and grabs
my hands, swinging my arms like she could dance with me at any second. “We’re
in Cancun. Spring Break. The best week of the year. Don’t let some asshat get
the best of you.”

She’s right, so I sniff and wipe my eyes. She pulls me in
for a real hug, and her fingers go through my hair. She sighs enviously. “So
short and pretty,” she says with a smile.

I rub my nose as we separate a little. “It’s greasy.”

She waves me off and her eyes wander towards the stage. I
follow her gaze and spot the guys plus Melissa retiring from the huge crowd.
I’ll have to tell Lo what happened. Not only does the blackmailer know I’m in
Cancun, but they know my parent’s address.

He’s trying to unnerve me.

It’s kind of working.

{ 28 }

LOREN HALE

On the balcony, the music blasts from the pool
below, but at least it’s more private than the bedroom. Everyone throws on nice
clothes for the club tonight—our last outing in Cancun before we travel back to
the real world with responsibilities and commitments.

I stare at the screen of my phone. Five missed calls from my
therapist. I should call him back, but talking to Brian makes me feel like a
failure. He carries this hypersensitive tone like I’ve already fucked up, and I
can’t listen to that. I don’t want to hear him try to calm me down or to tell
me that I should be tucked in my bed at home where alcohol doesn’t exist, where
my vice isn’t staring me in the face.

Lily has made a better effort to stay in touch with her
therapist. When I see her on the phone, Allison is usually on the other end.

I sit on the plastic chair and open a text message that my
father recently sent.

Emily Moore

789 Huntington Drive

Caribou, Maine 04736

Whether he was feeling particularly generous, forthcoming,
kind—he spontaneously gave me my birth mother’s address. I asked him for it
only once. When he denied my request, I wasn’t about to grovel for it. Now that
I know where she lives, I don’t know what to do. Seeing her will open new gates
that may crash me backwards.

I’m not sure I’m ready to handle that.

My hand trembles, and I glance over my shoulder. No one
watches me, but if I dial a number, they’ll believe my therapist is on the
other end. No one will disturb me. That’s my hope at least.

I punch in a familiar number, and when the line clicks, he
speaks before I have a chance. “Long distance calls aren’t fucking cheap. How
do you expect to pay for it?”

My father’s words drill into me, bringing up an insecurity
with such ease. “That’s really not your concern.”

“Greg Calloway gives his daughters an allowance. Lily can’t
afford to support your apathy forever.”

I clench my phone tightly in my hand, trying so hard to
focus. I had a reason to call him after all. “Well, since I am paying per
minute, can you stop talking about money and let me speak?”

“Make it quick, I have to get back to a meeting.”

He stepped out of his meeting to answer my call?

That’s all that processes. Greg would have never stopped a
meeting for one of his daughters. If Lily needed her father, he’d send an
assistant and then find her after his work was finished. My father—he dropped everything
for me growing up. If I called him at school, he was the one walking into the
principal’s office. But I only needed him when I was in trouble, and he’d yell
at me for causing it.

“Have you found the guy?”

“These things take time, Loren,” he says curtly. “Answers
don’t just fall down from the goddamn sky.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a sharp breath.
“Look, something else happened,” I say quickly. “He sent a package to the
Calloway’s house.”

I hear rustling on his end like he’s looking for pen and
paper. “Okay, give me the details.”

I explain the dildo and the note, trying to be specific,
even though all I want to do is find this guy and make his life a living hell.
He’s torturing her.

“He hasn’t asked for anything? Not a dime?”

“No.”

“This sick fuck is making it clear he doesn’t care or want
to be found, but I’ll try my best.” He pauses. “How is she?”

I laugh bitterly. “Since when do you care?” He wasn’t fond
of Lily when we were teenagers. He believed having a female as a friend was
like girl repellent, and if she wasn’t putting out for me, then I should kick
her to the curb. But I knew once I started a fake relationship with Lily, he’d
be pleased. And he was. Only because she suddenly became of use to me.

I never saw her like that—an object that I could fuck or
toss away. My father’s perception of women is demented.

“Please, she’s practically my daughter-in-law,” he says
defensively. “And if Greg and Samantha Calloway ever find out she’s a sex
addict, don’t think they won’t react accordingly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means when you’re both fucking broke and homeless, I’ll
be here to pick up the pieces. Just like I’ve always done with the two of you.
Cleaning up your goddamn messes.”

I narrow my eyes at the ground. That’s his fucked up way of
saying he’ll be there for me when everything goes to shit.

“Just find this guy,” I snap.

“Of course.” Voices puncture the other end and then he says,
“I have to go. The partners are getting restless. Impatient, fucks. I’ll see
you next week?”

I don’t know what for, but I just end up saying yeah. We
hang up, and I feel as paranoid and anxious as I did before. Obviously, that
did not help. No conversation with my father ever really does.