Addicted for Now (34 page)

I stare at the cabinet in a fog. I can’t believe this is
happening. Lo has never practiced tough love with me. The only love I know is
either the sweet kind or the kind that makes me come.

“Lily!”

I blink. “A little.”

His chest rises and falls heavily, hurt or angry or maybe a
bit of both. “There is no
a little
,”
he says roughly. “It’s either yes or no.”

I shake my head. “I was making it work,” I defend.

“Porn is not like sex. You’re not allowed to look at the
photos for an hour and be done.”

“Why not?” I ask. “If I’m not being compulsive about it—”

“You’re
addicted
.
It doesn’t feel like a compulsion now. But two days later that hour on your
computer turns into three. A week later, you’re losing sleep to the habit. Then
in a month, all your free fucking time is consumed by checking your phone,
logging onto websites, falling asleep to movies. Lily…” He walks over and cups
my face, brushing fallen tears from my eyes. “I have watched porn eat away your
time and your life. I’m not going to let it happen again.”
 

Before I can wrap my head around my feelings, his hand slips
into my back pocket, and he retrieves my cell phone. “On the way to your
parents, we’ll stop and buy you a flip phone. One that doesn’t have internet.”

He slides the cell into his own pocket. His eyes fall to
mine, still serious.

“Have you been masturbating?”

I feel the heat of my rash-like embarrassment flooding my
face. I glance hesitantly at Ryke, not wanting to discuss any of this with him
in the room. They have banded together, and I can’t deny that Ryke has made Lo
stronger.

“Lily, you asked to give me head in front of him,” Lo
reminds me. “You can’t be embarrassed now.”

“I’m not…I haven’t.” I don’t mention how I’ve contemplated
the act and almost succumbed to the temptation (more than once) in the shower.

“You promise?” he asks, still disbelieving. “Because there
are ways I can check. I could smell your fingers right now or go through your
box of toys.”
 

I scowl. My stomach turns in a mixture of anger and hurt. “You
don’t have to do that,” I say. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“This…” He motions from me to him. “
Us
. We can’t work unless we’re honest with one another. You’ll be
able to tell if I drink, but Lil, I’ll have no idea if you’ve relapsed until
it’s too late. I don’t want there to be distrust between us.”

“I don’t either.”

“Then talk to me,” he urges. “Don’t reach the point where
you’re watching porn or masturbating again to speak up. It’s not okay, Lil.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t make hearing those words, from
him, any easier. Maybe I need a good kick in the ass though.

Ryke clears his throat from the couch, and Lo rolls his eyes
dramatically. He grabs his wallet from the table and fishes out a twenty. Ryke
smirks as he takes the bill.

“Did you bet on me?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” Lo says, unabashed. His eyes fall to mine. “And I’ll
always bet on your side.”

He probably suspected I had watched porn all along too. I
should be more offended that they bet on my addiction, but it lightens the mood
and helps me not curl up in a ball of guilt.

“And I’ll gladly take your money,” Ryke tells him.

No way. The prospect of Ryke winning off my failure
motivates me to do better.

I open my mouth, about to tell Ryke that he’ll never win
again, but a glimmer in the window catches my eye. I sidle to the panes and
peer through.

Across the street, a van has pulled onto the curb. Cameras
flash, the lens directed at Ryke’s living room. I duck to the floor. How did
they find us?

Lo sees me hugging the hardwood, and he comes over to glance
out the window. I shoo him with my hand. “Cameras,” I say.

He squints in confusion and then quickly grabs the remote.
He flips on the television while Ryke hops over the coffee table and comes to
my aid. He snags the blinds, and they close the room in afternoon darkness.

A familiar voice blares through the sound system, and my
head whips to the flat-screen.

“I spent an entire week with her during Spring Break.”

Oh. My. God.

I go to Lo’s side in a daze and plop on the couch. Melissa
talks candidly with a camera crew outside of what appears to be Ryke’s
apartment complex.

“And what was she like?” the news anchor asks.

Melissa let out a short laugh. “Wild.”

“Liar!” I yell and grab a pillow from the couch, ready to
fling it against the television.

Ryke points a finger at me. “Do not break my TV.”

I motion to Melissa and her fake smile. “The one time I
actually didn’t even have sex, and I’m being blasted for it. It’s not fucking
fair.”

“She’s not the first person who’s been on camera lying about
you,” Lo reminds me. Yesterday a kid from prep school claimed I had sex with
him, and since I was particular and choosy back then, I can recall most of my
high school conquests. He was definitely not among them. But this feels
different. Melissa is the first person who has proof that she’s been in our
company, and not only that, she’s discussing events that didn’t take place four
years ago.

It happened last Friday.

As far as they know, she has no reason to lie.

The news anchor asks her to elaborate, and Melissa wears
another complacent smile. “Well, let’s just say Lily and Loren Hale have an
open
relationship.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Loren Hale has a half-brother,” Melissa says. Yeah, the
media revealed that not too long ago, and Sara Hale was finally painted as the
hero, divorced out of adultery, which she was forced to keep quiet after the
end of her marriage. She’s no longer the money-grubbing gold digger that my own
mother used to call her. Although, I suspect my mom still knew the truth about
Jonathan’s cheating all along like my father did.

“Do you know who his half-brother is?” the anchor questions.

Ryke’s identity has not been confirmed. By anyone yet.

“Of course,” Melissa says. “He tells almost everyone that
he’s related to Loren Hale. I think he likes being associated to money.”

Ryke rolls his eyes and sits on the armrest of the couch
beside his brother.
 

Lo pats his back. “Nothing like a woman scorned, huh,
big bro?
”

“Fuck off,” Ryke says lightly.

Lo smiles, but it fades as soon as Melissa answers the news
anchor’s whole question.

“His name is Ryke Meadows.”

“And there goes my anonymity,” Ryke mutters. He sighs and
curses under his breath as Melissa discusses the apartment building, his
affiliation to Penn and the track team…it’s a lot to digest.

“And there goes those morning runs around the block,” Lo
adds.

Melissa divulges more secrets, like which coffee shops he
frequents, the gyms he likes. Ryke groans his hand.

Lo’s voice softens. “You really pissed this girl off.”

“I didn’t mean to. Honestly.”

Melissa stares straight into the camera, delivering her next
lie. “Lily Calloway liked to do it a lot, but
especially
with both of them.” She pauses. “
Together
.”

None of us move, not at all expecting
that.

“Fucking fantastic,” Ryke breathes.

I can handle guys lying about sleeping with me. I can handle
comedy skits about my sex addiction. I can handle the
sluts
and
whores
that are
blasted my way. But having someone else—someone who has only helped me—being
dragged into these lies, well, that sets me off.

I storm towards the door, not even caring that my hair is
unwashed, that my clothes are wrinkled from all the lounging around, and that I
look one second from joining the trash in a garbage can. I’m a girl with a
fucking mission.

“Whoa!” Lo wraps his arms around my waist before I reach the
door. “Where are you going, love?”

“To the street. I need to set things straight.” They cannot
think I’ve slept with Ryke. They cannot think I’ve had sex with Lo and his
brother. That is beyond wrong.

Ryke stares at me from the couch. “So your first fucking
statement is going to be
Melissa is a big
fat fucking liar?”

“You can’t point fingers,” Lo clarifies.

“I can’t just be quiet,” I say. “This is getting bad.”

“You have to talk to your parents first,” Lo reminds me.
“They have money. They have lawyers.”

But for every second that Melissa’s lie is accepted as truth
is another moment where Ryke and Lo suffer because of me.
 

Ryke gives me an annoyed look. “You honestly think I care
what people say about me?” No, he wouldn’t, but I still feel horrible. “I’m
more pissed that she’s told the press where I rock climb.”

I picture lenses swarming him as he grips a mountain with
his fingers, and the cameras distract him as they flash repeatedly, so much so
that he tumbles to his death. I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Lily,” Ryke refutes. “I only
want one thing.”

“What?”

“When your parents tell you to go to rehab, what do you
say?”

We talked about this on the plane. I can’t go to rehab. That
would entail leaving Lo and a brilliant therapist, both of which I love, and
all of that would be replaced with anxiety-ridden group sessions. I can’t form
the words Ryke wants me to until Lo laces his fingers with mine, courage
filling me.

“I’m going to say…go to hell.”

Ryke tilts his head at me, appraising my tone. I said the
right words, but maybe not in the most confident way. He turns to Lo.

“We’ll work on it,” Lo tells me.

I nod. At least I have their support. Ryke and Lo, as a
team—for however strange that would have seemed months ago—is the best thing
for me.
 

Just not a sexual team.

Purely chaste here.

Okay, I’ll stop now. I think porn has fried my brain. I
blame Melissa! I’m going to use that excuse for the rest of the day.

I do feel a little better.
 

{ 35 }

LILY CALLOWAY

I haven’t told my parents to “go to hell” yet, but
that’s partly because they really haven’t spoken to me. When we arrived at
their Villanova mansion, Lo and I were ushered into one of the dens. My parents
were there, along with his father, but so were four lawyers that squeezed onto
a single couch. The lawyers asked us questions, and I tried to explain
everything without becoming too much of an emotional mess. I failed on multiple
occasions, blubbering so much that Lo would have to finish talking for me.

But my mother and father never said a word and avoided my
gaze as much as possible. They might as well have been listening from another
room. The hardest part was going through the video clips that many guys posted
and claimed as sex tapes. Some blurry ones I couldn’t be certain were me or
not, but others were clearly fabricated. I don’t have any cute freckles on my
butt.

Four hours later, my throat has swollen from talking and
bearing as much of the truth as I could. We even came clean about our fake
relationship. Now Lo and I wait in the living room while the lawyers and our
parents deliberate about the next steps. Rose and Ryke offered to be here, but
we both wanted to do this on our own.

“What if they never speak to me again?” I say, rubbing my
puffy eyes. I spot Harold, our butler, walking rather quickly past the doorway
with the mail in his hands. The staff, most of whom I’ve known for years, have
all had the same skittish reaction around me. Like I’m contagious.
 

“That wouldn’t be a big change, would it?” Lo asks.

My heart twists a little at his words. They haven’t been the
most active participants in my life, but I always thought it was my own doing.
I purposefully alienated myself during college. But then again, my father was
never around when I was a child, and my mother brushed me away pretty easily.
But Rose said my mom bought self-help books to learn how to reconnect to her
children, so maybe…she’s trying? I don’t think there’s a black and white
answer. I think I’ve been swimming in the gray state of things for so long.

They’re still my parents. I love them because I believe they
truly love me. My father has given me so much, and even if Ryke says otherwise,
I can’t just abandon this life with my family or walk away from what I did. I
don’t want to be that insolent child, stomping on my parent’s livelihood and
then telling
them
to clean it up.
It’s my fault. I need to take responsibility.
 

I just hope that I haven’t done irreparable damage—to the
company, our family, and my relationship with them.

“It’s going to be weird talking to them through lawyers,” I
rephrase. “It’s already weird.”

 
“Yeah, that’s kind of
bullshit,” he agrees and takes my hand in his. “Whatever happens, we’re in this
together. You and me.”

“Lily and Lo,” I say with a weak smile. It hurts to lift my
lips, but I try my best. I’ve avoided this day for a week now, and every minute
I’m here reminds me of all the harm I’ve caused.

He kisses my cheek and the doors to the den open. The
lawyers and our parents file out in a large wave. I haven’t been able to
apologize to either my mother or father. Every time I tried to digress from the
lawyers’ questions, they snapped me back on track with a sharp tone. I fear
this may be my only chance.

I walk quickly around the couch, my parents heading in the
opposite direction down the long narrow hallway. “Mom!” I shout, scooting past
one of Jonathan’s burly lawyers.

She doesn’t look back. “Mom!” I yell again, nearly reaching
her as I walk faster. She ignores me, and I rest my hand on her shoulder to
stop her.

She spins around on her heels, my father padding ahead.

Her cold eyes puncture me, filled more with malice than
anything else, and it takes me a moment to remember what I was even doing in
the first place.

I stumble back a little. “I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so
sorry.”

“You can be sorry all you want,” she says with a chill. She
touches her pearls across her sharp collarbone. “It won’t repair the damage you
have done to this family.” She takes a step forward, and I take one step back
so we don’t bump chests. “You have everything a girl could ever want, and you
had to spread your legs for every boy who gave you an ounce of attention. I
didn’t raise you to be so disgusting.”

Tears cloud my eyes, and I disobey my therapist’s orders and
internalize everything she says. I deserve her hate. I’ve ruined everything my
father has ever created. Years and years of hard work have been tarnished by me
and my stupid fucking decisions.

Her eyes flit to Lo as he comes to my side. Coldness
blankets me, and my hand feels numb to his palm. My mother looks him over in
one long gaze before she says, “You could do better.”

I try to disentangle my hand from his, but he grips
fiercely, holding on. Tears spill down my cheeks as I focus on prying each one
of his fingers off mine. He directs his attention to my mother.

“You don’t know us,” he says. “If you did, you would realize
how guilty she already feels, so stop tearing her down.”
 

I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. I want to hear her anger
and disappointment. I’m so tired of people telling me it’s okay when it’s not.
It’s not okay that my little sister is being theorized as a future sex addict.
It’s not okay that my father’s company has lost investors. I don’t want to lock
myself in an apartment and pretend that everything is fine anymore.

There is no one else to blame but
me
.

Lo squeezes my hand with extra force, making it impossible
for me to let go.

My mother purses her lips. “It’s late. You both need to talk
with the lawyers.” She spins on her heels, and they clap all the way down the
hall.

I breathe in sporadic, choppy inhales, and my head spins so
much that my vision starts to whirl with it. Lo presses his hands to my cheeks,
cupping my face with strength that I do not possess. Months ago, he’d probably
leave me on a bench in the hallway to go collect bottles from the liquor
cabinet. Now that he’s here, I try to ingest some of his power to stand
upright. But all I see is a boy who’s good and whole and a girl who’s broken
and weak.

I want to be him.

I want that.

But those are my parents. And they hate me.

I think I hate myself more.

“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You’re going to have a panic
attack if you don’t slow your breaths.”

Going to?
This
isn’t a panic attack?

“Lily,” he snaps. “Breathe.
Slowly
.”

I try and listen to him and focus on his chest, the way it
rises and falls in a stable pattern. When my lungs feel less strained and my
breath steadies, we both turn to the team of lawyers who linger in the
corridor. Exhaustion sags their eyes, and they each hold stacks of papers that
they’ll be sifting through for the next forty-eight hours.

The head lawyer, Arthur, holds the largest stack. “We need
to discuss what should happen in the upcoming weeks.”

I don’t know what my parents have decided to do. Send me to
rehab? Fly me to Switzerland? I’m supposed to tell them to go to hell, but
after confronting my mother, all I want to do is make this right.

And that means giving in to whatever they want. Whatever
they need. I’ll repair the damage I’ve done.

Jonathan Hale steps forward, already clutching a crystal
glass of scotch. Surprisingly, like my parents, he didn’t utter a word during
our briefing in the den. “I can take it from here, Arthur,” he says easily. “I
think Loren and Lily have had enough of this intermediary bullshit.”

Arthur sways on his feet, hesitant to leave.

“You don’t need to relay information,” Jonathan snaps. “You
need to get your ass back to your office and make phone calls and fact check
the hell out of those stories. It’s time for you to go. Now.”

They disperse quickly, and Arthur hands Jonathan a couple
files before he leaves. A burst of envy pops in my chest, and I’m frightened
that I covet Lo’s father and want to trade mine in for the Jonathan Hale
version, wishing mostly that my dad could be more supportive.

The world has gone mad.

Jonathan looks to us. “We should do this at my house. The
staff here is getting on my last goddamn nerve.” On cue, one of the
groundskeepers walks into the house from the back door and then speeds off in
another direction. Jonathan mumbles something that sounds like
ridiculous motherfuckers
. But I really
can’t be certain.

The farther I am from this house, the better, even if it
means that we have to drive through mobs of camera crews again. Lo and I climb
into my car, and before he puts it in drive, he faces me.

“I have to tell you something, and you’re probably going to
be mad.”

I frown, not having a clue where this could go. I watch
Jonathan’s car exit the gates, cameras flashing and clicking, the light
glinting off the tinted windows.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice smaller than I like.

He licks his lips, guilt lining his face. Uh oh. “This isn’t
the first time I’ve seen my father since rehab.”

The truth washes over me in a freezing cold wave. I shiver
and nod, letting this sink in fully. Okay. He’s lied. But he just opened up, so
that has to count for something, right? Still, no matter how much I make
excuses for him, I can’t help the sadness that pours into me.

I lift my legs to the seat and bury my head in my knees,
hiding from
Lo
, not the paparazzi.

“Lil,” he says, his hand hovering above my head, hesitant to
touch me. “Say something.”

I can’t speak, the words tangle, swollen in a pit midway up
my throat. So Lo pulls the car out and navigates past the cameras. He explains
his conversations with his father and how he went to him specifically to find
the blackmailer and to learn more about his mother.

By the time we reach the street, away from the paparazzi and
news vans, he has finished spilling all these secrets. After a long tense
silence, he asks, “Are you mad?”

“No,” I say softly, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I
don’t lift my head from my knees.
I’m
just sad.
I should have known and busted him like he did me. He was able to
go to rehab and come back a little stronger than before. I didn’t have that.
When he returned, I started back at day one, trying to figure out how to cope
with my addiction and him in the same room. And I’m just realizing how much of
a rock he is for me, and how much I may have let him down if he relapsed and I
didn’t stop him sooner.

“Lily, please talk to me.” He tails Jonathan’s car and slows
down when we reach the gate.

“Did you drink?” I murmur.

“No, I promise, Lil. I mean…”

My chest collapses. I don’t like
I means.

“…I thought about it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’m on
Antabuse,” he says. “The idea of vomiting stopped me more than once. Being
around my father does make me want to drink. I can’t deny that.” He pauses “But
I’m at a point where I can say no.” At least he’s being honest now.

I raise my head, rubbing my cheeks on my sleeve. “You didn’t
tell me because you knew I’d disapprove.”

He nods. “But Lil, he’s my
dad.
He’s my fucking family.”

I can’t tell him what I think. That even if his father shows
heart one minute, he’ll cut Lo into pieces the next. I’ve seen Lo walk away a
shell of himself after his father screamed at his face for half an hour.

He parks the car and lifts my hand. “You’re my family too.”
He kisses my knuckles. “Always.” He wipes a stray tear. “Please don’t be upset
over this.”

“I just don’t want to see him hurt you,” I say softly.

“He won’t.”

Lo is not built of armor. He goes into every fight without
the padding. He lets people hurt him because he believes he deserves that pain.
It’s sick. It’s something I think I’m coping with right now.

I breathe heavily and just nod. “Okay.” I feel so ripped
open. The extra dagger just fits in place with the others. I have to believe
that Lo will be fine in the face of his father, that he can handle all the
verbal onslaughts and the sudden disparaging comments. The
why aren’t you living to your potential? Why are you such a fucking
disappointment?
I have to believe he’s stronger than me.

I think I can do that.

We enter the house, and I skid to a stop by the grand
staircase, absorbing a home that I spent most of my childhood in. It’s quieter
and darker than my parent’s place and carries a somber quality. Maybe because I
have more memories here. And not all of them good.

“Can we do this in the morning?” I ask. Postponing the
inevitable sounds nice. I could take another sleeping pill too, or Lo might
even go down on me tonight. I shouldn’t be thinking about sex right now. I
shake my head to try to reset it. I’m a spin-cycle revolving backwards.

Lo strokes my hair. “My father is impatient.”

Oh, right. He leads me to his father’s office where I’ve
been many times before. Jonathan is already pouring himself scotch when we walk
in. I settle on the brown leather sofa, and Lo scoots close beside me.
 

I remember kissing Lo on this couch. We’d have these hot and
heavy make-out sessions, complete with over-the-clothes caressing, just to be
caught by Jonathan or the staff. We weren’t really together, but we made
excuses to kiss each other. We said that we were “reinforcing our
relationship,” even though it was just pretend. I liked the stroking and the
groping more than I should. And Lo did too, I suppose. He just never declared,
outright, that he wanted to be with me.

 
Jonathan lingers by
the liquor cart, examining his bottles. “Greg and I agreed not to speak during
the briefing. If it felt formal, it’s only because we didn’t want the thing to
last all fucking night.” He raises a crystal bottle of amber-colored liquid.
“Would you like a glass or are you still being obnoxious?”