Текст книги "Addicted for Now"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

“Have you tried to do a wheelie?”

She stays quiet. “No,” she mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, not believing her one bit. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And is it not processing in your head or you just don’t give a fuck?”

She unfurls the crumpled piece of paper slowly. “I think…that I’ll be okay,” she sidesteps his question with more confidence than I could even possess. “But if you change your mind about the bike, here’s my number.” She writes down her cell on the paper.

I wonder if a premium channel is playing a Marvel film.

Before I click into special programming, I land on a newsfeed.

I see the word sex.

Huh.

It’s like a big flashing light in my eyes. I stay on the channel in curiosity. Maybe some senator had a sex scandal.

“Lily, wait!” Lo shouts.

My heart stops as my mind tailspins, trying to digest the program and Lo. Wait, wait, wait. Tears brim. Lo was upset.

And that’s not a senator.

He was upset because of this.

It’s me on the screen.

I shrink into a ball on the couch, my knees tucking to my chest. My hands are fixed on my mouth, my eyes too wide to shut.

I think…I think…I don’t know what I think.

The news stations are congregated outside Penn, and the bottom of the screen reads: Fizzle heiress has over fifty sexual partners and counting. Rumored sex addict.

Is this national news? How is this a national issue? What the hell is going on?

I don’t hear Lo call my name again. I turn up the television, and I’m shaking so badly that I have to hold the remote with both hands.

The news anchor is a petite blonde woman with bright red lipstick. “We just confirmed from a source that Lily Calloway, daughter of the founder of Fizzle, is a sex addict. As well as the fifty plus known men she’s slept with, she’s also been known to hire male prostitutes.”

My throat closes up, but I manage to barely breathe a word. One word. “Lo.”

He doesn’t come to me, and I can’t tear my eyes from the television.

“Lily, what’s going on?” Daisy asks, her voice tight.

Daisy, my parents—Oh my God, my father? His company…the guilt plows through me. They’re watching this. Everyone is watching this.

Melissa stirs from her corner, tugging her earbuds out and eyeing the screen. Oxygen refuses me. I shake my head again and again like this is a dream. I want to wake up. This can’t be real. But the words on the TV run through my head over and over and over. Sex addict. Sex addict. Sex addict.

This can’t be happening.

How much shame have I brought to my family?

“Lo,” I say a little louder, fixated on the TV as tears begin to scald my cheeks. “Lo!” I cry, terrified about what this means, as I process just how badly this is going to hurt everyone.

My phone buzzes beside me and the first text sends a knife in my gut.

Whore – Unknown.

It begins to explode in a rapid-fire wave of inflammatory messages. My eyes burn, and I choke on either a breath or a sob. “Lo!”

“I’m right here, Lil.” How long has he been on the couch? He turns me so that I face him, no longer absorbed by the newsfeed.

His hands touch my face, and he tries to wipe away the tears but I can’t stop crying. My chest constricts, and I sob into my palms. He draws me to his chest.

“You’re okay,” he says, rocking me a little, but there’s pain in his voice.

The plane feels too small. I don’t have enough air or space or lungs to battle this kind of affliction. I have ruined my family. It’s all I can think. It’s all I feel. I have spent years keeping my addiction a secret so that they wouldn’t bear the humiliation and disgrace. Their daughter is disgusting. I’m disgusting…

My mother…how will she look at me after this? How will Daisy?

“Lo, it hurts.” I try to take full breaths, but they’re sporadic and filled with so much desperation. I just want it to end. I want to fly the plane back and start over. We were headed home in triumph. We defeated Spring Break without giving into our vices.

Tonight was supposed to be about Lo and me together. And now…this…

I want to disintegrate, to flutter away and never wake up again.

“You’re okay,” Lo says, pulling me onto his lap. His arm swoops around my waist as he holds me tight to his chest. I can’t look anywhere but at my hands. They seem so empty all of a sudden. And then he grabs them and squeezes tight. “I have you.”

But I am falling so quickly.

I am drowning, Lo.

I don’t think I want to come up for air this time.

I’m not sure I can.

“We have a former captain of the Penn soccer team, Mason Nix, here to give a statement about Lily Calloway.”

This can’t be happening.

“Turn it off!” Lo yells.

But as Lo and Ryke struggle to find the remote that is lost in the depths of the cushions, I hear the past bleed into my ears.

“I slept with her when she was eighteen. My entire team did. She wasn’t just willing—she wanted it.” This is his payback. Was he the leak? We still don’t know. This one statement could just be revenge for being thrown over the hood of my car.

I can barely move. A single tear slides along Lo’s cheek. He wipes it quickly as he catches me watching. “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Lil.”

But my tears brim and burn. “You can’t be sad if it’s true,” I whisper back.

He stays strong and reaches out to touch my cheek. He kisses my lips, but I don’t feel the power in them that I usually do. My heart does not flutter. I am just sinking.

“And was she dating Loren Hale at the time, the heir of Hale Co.?” the news anchor asks.

“Lily, come on, love,” Lo pleads, kissing me stronger. “I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” Mason says. “She’s cheated on him this whole time.” The news anchor wears a look like what a poor bastard. I feel so sorry for him.

I turn my head from Lo, crying, my lips separating from his as I bury my head into my knees.

“Lily.” His voice breaks.

What have I done? I didn’t realize that my addiction would hurt him if it became public. He’s now the sad sap who was fucked over by the slut. By me. How do I make this right? There’s no way to change this. How do I erase years and years of mistakes?

I want to go back in time. I want to tell myself that I don’t need to sleep around to satisfy this emptiness in me. That the guy I love is right there in front of my eyes. That he can be more than a friend. That I don’t need anyone else in the whole universe but Loren Hale.

And if I had just done that, everything would have turned out right.

I would not be sitting here listening to my past mistakes. I would have spent four years with Lo like I’m doing right now. Committed. Fulfilled.

Happy.

My voice is stolen, and the words stay in the back of my throat. But I manage to say something.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, muffled into my knees and incoherent with my sobs. I’m so fucking sorry, Lo.

He rubs my back. “Lil, it’s okay.”

It’s not okay.

Someone finds the remote because the voices silence. My phone vibrates manically on the floor, and I cover my ears with my arms now, a ball that cannot be unfurled. The noise pierces me, each rumble is another slut or whore that I have yet to read.

I truly want to disappear. I want my superpowers to kick in, right now. I want to never, ever exist again. I want Lo to live in a world where I don’t hurt him. Please, someone, make that come true.

Lo untangles me a little. He kisses my forehead and tries to let me cling back to him and not my bony legs. I slowly crawl onto his lap and press my cheek to his chest, listening to his unsteady heartbeat. I remain hidden, not vacating the safety of Lo’s shirt and avoiding the look of hurt and betrayal on Daisy’s face that I am sure exists tenfold.

I should have just told her on the beach.

And I don’t know what propels me to do it—maybe thinking that one simple thing, maybe feeling the regret—but I pop my head from my burrow. “Daisy?” I look around and find her standing by her chair.

She is crying.

And I’m not sure if it’s because I am or because she’s mad at me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I meant to tell you.”

“It’s true?” she asks, wiping her face quickly like Lo had, not wanting me to see. It’s as though they can’t cry because I am. I hate that. It makes no sense, and it drives me to dam my waterworks sooner rather than later.

“I’m…” I can’t say it. Why can’t I just say it? My sister deserves more than me weeping and hiding away. I wipe my nose with the back of my arm and sit up straight. I slide from Lo’s lap, but he intertwines my fingers with his. It helps. It makes me not want to drown so much.

“It’s okay,” Daisy says what Lo has been repeating. She rubs all of her tears. “It’s fine, you don’t have to explain.” Daisy hates to see people upset. I forgot that about her. She just wants everyone to be happy.

But all the pain that it’s going to take to admit this to my sister—I need to feel it. Telling Rose was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but this is worse. Because I told Rose on my own accord, but in this instance, someone has played my hand, forcing me into it.

There is no compassion in telling her my secret. It’s just…necessary.

Very softly, I say, “I’m a sex addict.”

Her tears have dried up. And she nods. My strong, fearless sister. “And Mom…does she know?”

I shake my head once.

“Dad?”

“No.”

Daisy glances at Ryke. “You knew.”

“It’s complicated.”

Daisy nods again, trying to understand, I think. Her eyes go to Connor. “And you knew.”

“And Rose. That’s it,” Connor says.

Rose. My eyes flicker to the back cabin door where the bed lies. I wish she was here. She’s like a prickly iron chair that will weather any battle.

“But not Poppy?” Daisy asks me.

“Not Poppy,” I say, “and I only told Rose six months ago. I would have told you sooner, but I was…am—I’m ashamed.” Tears build again. “You’re my little sister. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” I am the fuck up. The broken, pathetic one now. I can no longer dole out sisterly advice and expect the same admiration in return. Everything will change.

Her dark eyebrows bunch together, such an ugly expression for someone so beautiful. “You’re still the same person, Lily. I just…I have to get my head around this.” Her eyes flicker to Lo. “How long have you known?”

We meet each other’s gaze. How long has he known? How long have I known? Setting a date seems like trying to pin down when a growth spurt begins and ends. Immeasurable time.

Thinking about it reminds me of all the moments we’ve shared. From childhood to adolescence to adulthood. We have lived together, loved together, and fucked up together. I’m not sure many people can truly say that about someone else.

His eyes soften and he turns to Daisy. “Awhile.”

Awhile. That seems right.

Daisy opens her mouth to ask another question, but a Bob Dylan song starts playing from her pocket. She pulls out her phone the same time something vibrates near my leg. Lo fishes out his own cell.

A chime and another vibration go off and both Connor and Ryke look at theirs. We must have hit an area in the sky with good cell reception. Who knows how long people have been calling?

“It’s Mom,” Daisy says.

“My therapist,” Lo tells me.

“My mom,” Ryke adds.

We all look to Connor. His eyes flit up to Lo’s. “The private investigator. I have to take this.” He retreats to the back cabin where Rose sleeps. We still don’t know who leaked the information, but maybe we will now—not that it matters. What’s done is done.

Daisy’s phone keeps playing “Shelter from the Storm” and everyone sits on edge the longer they ignore their calls.

“Go talk to them,” I say.

Daisy sniffs and stares at her phone. “I just like this song.”

Ryke puts a hand on her shoulder. “Rose should talk to your parents first anyway.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay.” She clicks the green button and puts the receiver to her ear. Daisy risks sitting by Melissa since she’s secluded in the most private alcove of the whole plane. (Besides the bathroom, that is.) Melissa stays frozen in her seat, uncomfortable and bit stunned by everything.

“I have to go pee,” I mutter, about to stand up. I can imagine the sheer horror on my father’s face. On my mother’s. I don’t think I can ever confront them.

Lo grabs my wrist before I rise from the couch. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I just have to pee,” I tell him again, tugging his hand off me.

He gives me a look like do you really?

No, I don’t. I want to cry in solitude. I guess he knows this, and I understand his fear that I’ll avoid my emotions with self-love like I’ve done in the past.

It’s tempting.

I stay put and stuff my face into a pillow. The news replays in my head again, and I’m on the verge of tears once more.

“Hey, Lily.” Ryke comes over and nudges my side. “I don’t want to talk to my mom, so how about we play cards?” He glances to Lo. “And you need to talk to your therapist.”

“I can stay here.”

Ryke gives him a firm look.

He sighs, resigning more easily than normal. I must have drained him of energy. Lo rises and disappears to the bathroom.

“Lily? Cards?” He pulls out the deck from his pocket and shuffles.

I lower my pillow, sensing his tactics to distract me. “What kind of card game?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Go Fish.”

He looks like I’ve almost stabbed his soul.

“You said whatever I want,” I remind him, trying to wipe silent tears that keep falling against my will. I need permanent tissues stuck to my tear ducts. Like when you staunch a bloody nose. Would it work?

“That’s not even a two-person game,” Ryke tells me.

“But it’s still possible to play with two people.” I want the distraction without having to bust my brain learning a new game.

“Fine,” he says, relenting when I sit on the floor since there’s no coffee table. He deals the cards on the carpet, and I try not to dampen them with my tears.

“We’re flying over Georgia right now,” I hear Daisy say. “We shouldn’t be long.” Her voice shakes really badly. I don’t like that she’s talking to our parents first.

Ryke’s concerned gaze flits between Daisy and his cards. “Do you have a king?”

“Go Fish.”

“Lily’s taking a nap,” Daisy says.

Ryke picks up a card and then kicks my knee. “Your turn.” Right.

“Do you have a…” I stare at my cards. “An eight?” I look at the bathroom door, not hearing a peep from Lo. But he leaves the door cracked so we know he’s not doing something rash, like chugging alcohol or…worse. My chest hurts, like someone decided to stand on my diaphragm.

Ryke hands me his eight and grumbles under his breath about how this is the stupidest fucking game. But he’s partially concentrated on my sister in the corner.

“I can’t wake her up,” Daisy says, her voice growing more frantic and low. “Wait, please…I don’t want to…Mom.”

Ryke stands up before I can find the strength to put weight on my gelatin legs. He goes over to the four-chair alcove. He has to lean over a glowering Melissa to reach Daisy. “Give me the phone,” he whispers, but I can still hear his hostile voice.

“Mom,” Daisy says. “I have to go…But…I…Wait…I…”

Ryke grabs the phone from her before she has a breakdown. And at the same time, Rose is halfway across the plane aisle, her eyes dead-set on me with so much confidence and power that I immediately wish I was her. Strong and built like a fortress—able to withstand anything that’s thrown at me.

I meet her gaze, but I point to Ryke who now clutches my mother—or the phone that contains my mother. Rose understands. She grabs Daisy’s cell from him and immediately goes into crisis management mode.

“Mother, calm down. No,” she snaps. “No.” And that’s all I hear as she struts back to the cabin to talk in private. She said the one word that Daisy couldn’t.

I’m not sure I could either.

Daisy stares out the window. Ryke whispers something to her, and she just nods and gestures to me.

Ryke comes back to the floor, collecting his cards and fanning them in his hands. “It’s my turn, I think,” he says. “Do you have a ten?”

“Ryke?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, you’ll take care of him, right?”

He goes rigid. “I don’t know what that fucking means.”

“It means what it means,” I breathe. “He doesn’t have anyone besides you and me. I just need to know you’ll be there.”

“And so will you,” he snaps.

“Not if my parents force me into rehab or halfway across the country.” My mother will want to bury away this problem by transporting it to a different time zone.

“You’re almost twenty-one. You’re a fucking adult. Your parents can’t make you do shit, Lily.”

“I owe them—”

“For tarnishing the Fizzle name? For bringing you up with cash and luxury?” He keeps shaking his head. “You and Lo have it so warped. You think you’re indebted to your parents because they gave you everything you have. But they didn’t give you what fucking mattered. They owe you. They owe you for not asking why their daughter isn’t home. Why she looks distant and sad. Why she has barricaded herself in a fucking apartment with her boyfriend. They have failed you, and if they tell you to get on a fucking plane or go to rehab—where we all know you shouldn’t be—then you need to tell them to go to hell. And if you don’t, Lo and I will. I promise you that.”

The right words stay at the back of my throat—thanks, Ryke. It’s a hard phrase to produce, especially when he delivers his opinions with such fervor and force.

I land on something though.

“Go Fish.”

He lets out a short laugh as he reaches for the deck. “You’ll be fine, Calloway.”

At least one of us believes it.

{ 32 }
LOREN HALE

I lean against the bathroom wall, staring at my pallid face and sunken eyes. I look like utter shit. I feel even worse. My left hand keeps shaking, and I have to clench my fingers into a fist just to make it stop. My father bitches me out on the other line for ignoring his previous calls.

“I’m in the goddamn air,” I remind him curtly, keeping my voice low so Ryke doesn’t hear. “Unless you’d like reception to magically be invented over the ocean.”

“Hey, I’m just as fucking livid as you are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I say, my voice slightly breaking. I don’t want to be talking to him while Lily looks one second from opening the hatch and jumping from the plane without a parachute. And every time I picture her crying like that—goddamn, I can’t start. I rub my eyes to push back the emotions. I want to kick the wall so fucking hard, and I swallow a scream that needs to escape.

“Whoever this motherfucker is,” my father says, “I will personally rip him a new asshole, Loren. You hear me? He’s not getting away with this shit.”

I have to ask. “Did you do it? Did you leak it?” One week after I told him, the news exploded across the globe. Is it really all a coincidence?

There’s a long pause. And then this: “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Did you not hear what I just said? I have busted my ass trying to find this fucker.” He growls a little. Yeah, it’s not him.

“Then who?” I ask. “Who would do this? What do they possibly have to gain?”

“Money,” my father says flatly. “We’re still working on some leads.”

I bring the phone away from mouth and struggle between not shouting and screaming my head off. No sound escapes, but I catch myself in the mirror, and I look like I’m fighting an invisible battle against a shadowed enemy. I look crazy and tortured.

“I have to go,” my father says quickly. “Greg is on the other line. I’ll talk to you soon. Keep your head up.” Words of encouragement from my father. Those don’t come often. So I take them.

We hang up at the same time. I lean over the sink and splash some water on my face. Trying to get my shit together.

I should call Brian, the therapist that Ryke and Lily believe I’m talking to about my deep inner thoughts. But I can’t discuss alcohol. Even the thought makes my stomach turn. Because Lily shouldn’t be worried if I’m going to relapse. The world is crashing down on her shoulders, and I don’t want to add to that weight.

I let out a long breath, bearing her pain that feels so much a part of me. We’ve become entangled, years and years of lies and childhood memories and stories all wrapped into one. I know her better than her sisters. I know her sometimes better than she does herself. I know just how much this is killing her inside.

And then one thought punctures me.

I’m here.

I could be at a bar. Passed out cold.

I could be in rehab. Away from her.

I have the chance to be by her side through all of this.

So go, you stupid bastard.

That’s what it takes. I’m out the door.