Addicted for Now (5 page)

{ 5 }

LOREN HALE

Here’s the thing about Lily Calloway. She’s
obsessed with masturbating. Not the I-love-to-get-off-before-I-sleep or
jerk-one-out-in-the-shower kind of self-pleasure. She fucks to come, and if
that means fucking herself every minute of the day then she gets it done.

Regrettably, I even facilitated her habit. I thought that
every video I bought her was one less dick she would ride. One less risk of
disease and guilt. I was so stupid.

I grip her wrist tightly. When she told me that she stopped
masturbating for a full month, it was difficult to believe. I’ve watched her
hide in a bedroom for hours on end just to please herself. Quitting seems like
the biggest accomplishment she’s ever had. Now, I’m not so sure it’s true, even
if Rose vouched for her progress.

I slowly shift the hem of her pajama shorts. My shoulders
drop in relief. Her palm rests
above
her panties. Maybe Rose was right. Maybe she did stop masturbating, but
obviously it’s harder for Lily when I’m here.

I’m her drug, her means to a high. But I see the life she’ll
lead if I’m gone—really gone and never coming back. She’ll return to strangers,
to sex with random men. She may even venture into the dangerous side of her
addiction—chat rooms and anonymous sex. I can’t let her go down that road.

I retrieve her hand and lace her fingers with mine, not
gently. My hand squeezes hers like she’s dangling off a cliff. She might as
well be.

“I didn’t do anything,” she defends.

 
“You were going to,
Lil.” I don’t know if this is true, but it’s a fear that rattles my heart as
much as hers.

She sucks in a breath. “This is too hard,” she says. “I feel
like I can’t escape my addiction. If I’m with you, I want to have sex with you.
If I’m alone, I want to fuck me. Nowhere is safe.”

Christ.

My hands slide to her wrists, and I pull her into my arms.
Our embrace isn’t soft. I’m not a teddy bear that girls can clutch. I’m sharp
and hard, the thing that braces a girl to the bed, the one who grips her
strongly and whispers with a husky, edged voice. I’m as rough on the outside as
I am black on the inside.

Holding Lily usually solves our problems, but she fights me
this time. Ramming her tiny fists into my hard chest, trying to push me away.
“Are you not hearing me?” she says, shoving my bicep. “I can’t sleep next to
you.”

I keep her in my arms easily, my muscles flexing as I wrap
them around her. “Lil, shh,” I say, my lips finding her ear.

“I can’t!” she shouts, tears beginning to pool.

“Lil, you can,” I whisper deeply. “Shh.” I lock her arms
together for a minute, her body wedged between my legs. Tonight will be the
most difficult, I remind myself. It’s confusing for her. She wants to be with
me, but my mere presence tempts her. I don’t ever want her to believe that being
alone, being apart, is the solution.

It’s not.

She needs me as much as I need her. We just have to find our
footing in this relationship. And that takes time.

She grows restless, so I roll on top of her, pinning her
legs down with mine, trapping her small frame. She seems to settle, but her
chest rises and falls heavily, fear swimming in her eyes.

“Who do you trust more, me or you?” I ask.

“You.” She doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then this is how we’re going to sleep.”

She frowns. “I’m not sure I can hold your weight.”

I smile. This is why I love her—why I relish in the fact
that I’m going to wake up next to her, my arms wrapped around her delicate body.
She’s fucking adorable. “No, like this…”

I slide off Lily and easily readjust. I tug her closer, and
my arm holds her small waist against me. We’re spooning, her back to my chest.
Now, where is that fucking hand? I find her right hand curled up underneath her
breast, and I take it in mine. Then I intertwine my fingers with hers, securing
them with determined force.
No more
masturbating, Lil
.

I’m about to officially instate our new sleeping position,
but her ass presses harder into my cock. She’s scooting back, either on purpose
or subconsciously, I have no clue. It’s still kind of cute, but it doesn’t help.

I lean back and grab a small pillow, and then I wedge it
between my dick and her ass. “Better?”

“Depends who you’re asking—Horny Lily or Good Lily?”

I love them both. I press my lips to her ear. “I love you.”

 
“…I don’t have much
love for myself at the moment,” she mutters in a small voice. I can see her
shrinking internally, her self-worth dropping lower and lower from the guilt.

 
“Hey, I’d be passed
out already if I had to sleep in the same bed with a bottle of booze. You’re
doing all right. And this is new for both of us, Lil. It’s going to be lots of
trial and error. Now we know that we have to sleep like
this
. Okay?”

“Are we going to have sex in the morning?”

The question doesn’t annoy me. Still, I’m not used to
telling her no. I’m usually the one teasing her until she’s hot and bothered.
But I can’t do a goddamn thing. Because that would be
enabling
.

So I say, “We’ll see.”

She sinks back into me—and that damn pillow—as I watch her
drift to sleep. When I know she’s safely in slumber’s hold, I allow myself the
same luxury.

{ 6 }

LOREN HALE

My heart beats wildly, my muscles burn and my legs
pump. I run. Around and around. There is no end.

If I stop soon, I’ll start screaming. The tendons in my
calves strain with each foot on the cement track. And I focus on my breathing.
In and out. Inhale, exhale. One, two, three…

I’ve always been good at running. Even when I screwed up
every fucking thing, I did a decent job at sprinting right away from the cops,
from prep school guys wanting to smash my face in, from my father and my
problems.

Running has kept me alive.

And if I learned anything from rehab, it’s ways to stay
busy. But my warring thoughts only make me want to drink. Even bringing up my
father, college, the text messages that threaten Lily—any fucking thing, my chest
collapses, and I know just the solution that’ll fix everything. Whiskey,
bourbon—an amber glass will melt all the pain away.

Yesterday, I almost walked into a bar.

I lose my steady pace on the track, my breath staggering.
One…two…

Each foot feels heavier than before. I want to be light as a
freakin’ feather. I want to float right on out of here. But I keep
thinking
about it.

A smoky bar was directly across the busy intersection as I
waited for Ryke to pick me up from therapy. Traffic, honking cabs and bike
messengers never stopped me before. Why should they then? The Jack Daniel’s
poster in the front window called out to me like a siren singing her deathly
serenade on the edge of a dock.

And I nearly drowned in that sea of bourbon.
 

Stupid, little fuck.

I exhale deeply, which only screws with my pace again. Ryke
runs by my side, and his eyes flicker briefly to me. He purposefully slows his
quick stride. Right now, he could sprint laps around me. But he chooses to be
here. I should be glad that he wants to work out with me, but I hate that he
won’t run as far as he can. I hate that I’m holding him back.

I want to scream.

So I push harder, and I race ahead of him.

Not long after, Ryke catches up to my side again, and then
he taps my shoulder and veers off the collegiate track towards the bleachers. I
follow him, trying to avoid the other athletes in Penn shirts as they sprint
down the lanes.

I probably shouldn’t have driven all the way to Penn to run
around a fucking circle with Ryke, seeing as how I was expelled and he’s not my
favorite person at the moment. I don’t believe that he’s the guy threatening to
reveal Lily’s secret to the tabloids. There’s mistrust in our relationship,
sure, but he spends too much time driving me to therapy and hanging out with me
to have some ulterior motive. He could let me ride alone to New York and give
me just enough slack to hang myself with.

He could be uncaring.

But Ryke Meadows is many things—uncaring is definitely not
one of them.

I gave him a hard time about the text messages because I’m
an asshole, and a huge part of me resents him for things that I can barely
process. Each time I try to understand his childhood where he knew about me and
had contact with my father, my hands shake for a sip of something strong.

I unscrew my water bottle, and two girls approach us, one
brunette, the other blonde. Both wear cross-country shirts. I’m surrounded by
athletes right now—Ryke being one of them.

“Hey, Ryke,” the blonde says. “Who’s your friend?” She looks
me over from head to toe.

I try to wear disinterest, drinking my water, shuffling
through my gym bag, anything.

“My brother,” Ryke says so easily. I can barely admit that
he’s half of my brother to Lily. Saying that we’re related is so easy for him.
But I have to remind myself that he knew about me for years. He just never
voiced the truth until three months ago.

“Oh yeah, I see the resemblance,” she says, her blue eyes
flickering between us.

“Yeah, we both have brown hair,” I say. “Shocking, isn’t it?
She could even be our sister for all I know.” I gesture to the brunette hanging
by the blonde’s side. My tone is not even close to friendly. And I can’t help
it. This is how I normally say hi to people. My manners died somewhere around
my eleventh birthday.

The blonde lets out a small laugh, trying to blow over my
rudeness.

Ryke sets a hand on my shoulder, and he whispers, “Do me a
favor and don’t talk.”

If he wants to hook up with one of them, by all means. Have
at them. I’m not going to be his wingman on this one. I have a girl waiting for
me at home. I check my watch. Yeah, she should be back from class right about
now. I’d rather be there than here. I’d rather be holding her in my arms, even
if I have to tell her
no
by the end
of it.

She’s the only good thing in my life.
 

“This is Laura,” the blonde says, bringing her friend
towards Ryke. “She’s a freshman. I thought I’d introduce her to the captain of
the track team.”

Ryke checks her out with a slow once-over. The girl is
almost as thin as Lily, but muscles pad her legs and arms—they’re just lean
like most runners. “How have you liked Penn so far?” Ryke asks.

The girl shrugs, shifting her weight off one leg and to
another. “Oh…you know.”

Ryke does that to women, I’ve noticed. He either stupefies
them with his dominance or they start spitting out lame lines that make no
sense.

I’ve yet to really see a girl that can keep up with him.

“That good, huh?” Ryke says, trying to be nice, but this
only causes her face to redden.

“It’s been good.” Laura nods.

This is just awkward and slightly painful. I can’t watch the
girl be debilitated by embarrassment and nerves anymore. Ryke is slowly peeling
off a Band-Aid. I’m going to rip the damn thing for her.

“Hey, Laura,” I say. “You and your friend are on the cross-country
team, right?”

Laura nods again.

“I’m Maggie,” the blonde says, perking now that I’ve shown a
tad bit of interest.

“Oh great,” I say. “So you and Laura will have no problem
running
that
way.” I point to the
other side of the track.

Maggie’s face falls.

I flash a smile. “Bye.”

“Asshole,” she curses. “Come on, Laura.” She grabs her hand
and shoots Ryke a look, guilty by association. When they disappear, Ryke turns
to me with a glare.

“Sorry,” I tell him dryly. “I couldn’t remember how long you
told me to keep my mouth shut. It snapped back open, couldn’t stop it.”

Ryke throws his sweaty towel at my face.

I grab it and fling it back. “Hey, that brunette was two
seconds from fainting. I did both of you a favor.”

Ryke shakes his head. “You did yourself a favor. Don’t
pretend that insulting them was for me. I know your motives by now.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Isolate as many people as you can. Drive everyone away.” He
zips his gym bag. “Not going to happen with me, not even if you run off every
girl I come into contact with.”

I touch my chest. “You would abstain from sex just to be my
brother? Wow. That’s generous, Ryke.” My dry humor barely darkens his eyes. I’m
looking for a different reaction, one that comes with a fist to the face, but
Ryke never goes there, even if he wants to.

“I’m your older brother no matter what,” he refutes. “Get
that through your fucking head and maybe I wouldn’t have to repeat it all the
damn time.”

“Can you say that again? I couldn’t hear you,” I quip.

He rolls his eyes, and then we both actually share a smile.

I check my watch subconsciously.

“She’s fine,” Ryke assures me.

“Look, you can pretend to know everything about me, but you
can’t understand Lily the way I do.” I’ve watched her cry and shake in a
bathroom because she craved sex—because she couldn’t have it. And she wouldn’t
turn to me for help back then. Now that we’re together, I should have the power
to take her pain away. But I don’t. Because she’s trying to control these impulses.
And so I’m back where I started, watching her shake, watching her eyes grow big
and wide, pleading for something
more.
And
I have to deny her that pleasure. Over and over.

“You forget that I was here while you were in rehab,” Ryke
says. “I’ve seen her at a low.”

No, I never forget that. “Great.”

“You’d rather be there with her, I know that. But didn’t
Rose tell you—”

“I get it,” I snap. Our relationship needs room to
breathe—Rose so very
pointedly
put it
the other day. I’m trying to give Lily more space. I’m making a conscious
effort to change our codependent relationship.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck.

But I have nowhere else to be but right here. No other
invitations from friends (I have none) or family (my father practically
disowned me). No job. No school. I am a worthless piece of shit.
I grimace and turn that into a
half-smile, shaking my head. I chug half of my water to drown these stupid
thoughts.
 

“Have you started taking Antabuse yet?” Ryke asks.

The doctors at rehab prescribed me a drug for my recovery,
and I forgot I told Ryke about it. If I drink on the meds, I’ll have stomach
pains and severe nausea. It’s supposed to deter alcoholics from falling off the
wagon. And even though I decided not to attend AA meetings, I still need to
follow the right steps to get healthy.

I didn’t tell Lily why I’m not going to AA. The reason will
make her think I’m even more fucked up. I’m a hard person to be around, and
when I was in rehab, I pushed two recovering addicts to drink and break their
short sobriety.

I always say the wrong things.

And the facility administration forbade me from going to
group meetings because I was “adversely affecting my peers.” They also highly
advised I
not
attend AA meetings in
fear that I would be the same asshole there.

Ryke agreed with them.

So here I am.

“I haven’t taken it yet,” I tell Ryke. “I think I’m going to
start tomorrow.” I’ve heard horror stories about people becoming violently ill
just from a sip of beer. I wanted to have a couple days without that
suffocating fear before I started.

“You should take it now. Do you have it on you?” Ryke asks.
He’s such a fucking pusher.

“No,” I snap. He doesn’t listen to me, already unzipping my
bag and rummaging through it. “What is this, TSA? Leave my shit alone, Ryke.”
He finds the inside zipper easily and holds up an orange bottle. His eyebrows rise
accusingly.

My teeth ache as I bite down. “Wow, you found my pill
bottle. Congratulations. Now put it back.”

I wait for him to yell at me for lying. I prepare for the
verbal onslaught with narrowed eyes, ready to combat or storm away.
 

But he never mentions it. Instead, he uncaps the bottle and
doles out a pill on his palm. “Take it,” he says roughly. “If you’re waiting
for yourself to fuck up, then you might as well fuck up while you’re on it. I’m
sure puking all night after a shot of whiskey will do you some good.”

He’s right.

I hate that he’s right.

I take the pill from him and toss it back with some water.
It feels official. Like this is it. No alcohol. Forever.

Forever.

God.

I have a sudden impulse to run to the bathroom and stick my
finger down my throat. Somehow my Nikes weigh me down on the trimmed grass, and
I clench my water bottle as I take another large swig.

Ryke starts to stretch, pulling his arm across his chest.
“Have you spoken to Jonathan?”

“No.” I leave it at that, not wanting to be probed about my
father. No one really understands my relationship with him. Not Lily.
Definitely not Ryke.

And it’s more complicated than just
hate
and
dislike.
It’s
what drives my mind wild. It’s what makes me seriously want to kick that
fucking bleacher and grab a beer.

But I remember Lily, and I immediately tell myself
no.
No alcohol. Ever. One memory has
kept me grounded for a while, deaf to any compelling arguments from the devil
on my shoulder. It’s what stopped me from heading into that bar yesterday.

In my foggy memory, I wake up, glazed and half-delirious to
the people in my kitchen. Rose, Connor and Ryke camped out in my living room
like the Scooby Gang. And the three of them told me the night’s events—as
though I wasn’t even there. My body was, but my head was floating in another
dimension.

And Ryke was the only one who could stomach the words. “You
fucking passed out while a guy attacked Lily.”

And “attack” was an understatement. Something could have
happened that night. But it didn’t. Ryke and Connor stopped the guy when that
should have been me. My whole life, I had one fucking job. Protect Lily. Make
sure her addiction doesn’t get the better of her. Make sure she doesn’t get
hurt. She did the same for me. And I failed her. Somewhere down the line, I
fucked up.

Never again.

Ryke holds out his arms like
what the hell
, and I remember what he asked me.
Have you spoken to Jonathan?

“I said no,” I tell him again, like the answer isn’t
registering in his head.

“
No
, that’s it?”
Ryke wants more. Everyone wants more.
 

But I feel like I’m giving everything I have.

“I thought it was a yes or no question. What else is there?”
Lots.
But nothing I can bear to say
out loud. My father left me a few messages on my phone the past week.

I want to have lunch,
Loren.

We need to talk.

Don’t push me out of
your life over something this fucking stupid.

Call me back.

I’ve ignored him so far, but I can’t forever. There’ll be a
point where I’ll have to face my father. It won’t be for money, but the allure
of a handout will always be there. Because it’s so fucking easy. Drinking,
that’s easy. Taking his money, that’s easier.