Текст книги "The Temptation of Lila and Ethan"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

He smiles broadly. “A sappy, poetic one maybe?”

I point a finger at him. “You know they don’t exist. We tried to find one on Netflix, remember?”

He sits up, ruffling his hair into place. “I’m sure one exists, we just haven’t looked hard enough… but we can watch a movie.”

“Which one?”

“Whatever you want?”

I raise my eyebrows to express my doubt. “And what if I say the girliest movie ever?”

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, showing off his rock-hard abs and the artful ink on his skin. “Then I guess I’ll finally get a nap. I’ve been wanting to take one all day.”

I roll my eyes, but smile. “I secretly think you like girly movies,” I say as we head out into the living room.

He shakes his head, but I hear him laugh under his breath. “Not the movie, just the company that comes along with it.”

I don’t say anything, because I can’t. I’ve never been around guys before who have complimented me on anything besides my tits and my ass. I situate myself on the couch while Ethan boots up the Xbox so we can stream Netflix. Grabbing the remote, he sits down on the couch beside me. He sits closer than I anticipated, his knee resting against mine and it feels almost painfully good, to the point where my body feels like it’s going to explode from the tension and heat, and while I hate it, I also love it because I’ve never felt it before. It’s crazy and strange, like I’m a virgin again or something, and it alters my entire thought process. For the first time in my life, I picture myself sitting next to him, doing this exact same thing ten years down the road. We would be living in the same shitty apartment and Ethan would still be working his job in construction because he never graduated from college and I don’t think he cares enough to do anything more with his life. And I won’t be going anywhere, since I could barely get a job as a dancer at some skanky run-down bar. I would still be wearing an outfit I got off a clearance rack and we would have the same crappy furniture because Ethan hates fancy stuff and we couldn’t afford it between our crappy salaries. But despite poverty, everything would be okay. In fact, I can actually envision myself happy, even if I were poor. I’ve had everything before, material-wise at least, and look where it got me. Addicted to pills, struggling to take care of myself, and bearing all the emotional trauma I couldn’t deal with because I’d been taught it was wrong to show emotions that were anything but perfect and pretty. I feel so content right now and I want to keep feeling content. Genuinely content.

Ethan drapes his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brush my hair away from my neck. He starts searching through the movies, asking me questions about them, and I answer with minimal responses because I’m too engulfed in what’s happening to my body and mind. There’s so much clearness in it and I’m hyperaware of everything, from the way his lip is slightly swollen from where he chews on it to the intoxicating scent of him. I can even feel the heat flowing off his body, enflaming my skin and he’s not even touching me. It’s amazing. Clear. Undiluted. Is this what I’ve been missing? All these years? Is this what things are supposed to feel like? Warm and heart pounding, instead of cold and silent. If it is, though, then what the heck am I supposed to do with it?

A little bit into the movie Ethan falls asleep and he slumps over, putting his head onto my shoulder. I’m fairly sure he has no idea that he did it and I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up. I let him stay there, running my fingers through his hair, across his nose, his jawline, his lips, like a creeper touching someone in their sleep. I can’t help it though. He’s got such soft skin and amazing lips. I wonder what they’d taste like if our mouths finally came into contact with each other.

I’m smiling at the thought when he starts muttering in his sleep. At first it’s really quiet and it almost sounds like he’s saying “Lila.” But then he starts to get louder and I realize he’s saying “London, don’t leave me… Please, stay… I need you…”

London? Is it a person? If so, Ethan’s never mentioned a London before. Who could they be? A girlfriend? But if they are then why has he never introduced us? An endless list of things runs through my mind and I realize that even though he sleeps around, the idea of him having a girlfriend is like a knife to the heart. Sex is meaningless, but a girlfriend he could care about.

Maybe even love.

Ethan

“Oh, Ethan,” London singsongs as she skips through a field. There’s a bonfire burning near the trees in the distance and the smoke rises to the starry sky. There’s a party going on and people are laughing, shouting, drinking, having sex and London is out in the field skipping like the strange girl that she is.

“What are you doing?” I ask, drinking my beer as I walk slowly behind her, watching her move through the field of tall grass and weeds. “You’re going to get us lost.”

She spins around and around, with her head tipped back, her dark hair blending with the night. “I’m having fun.” She spins again and then stops as I reach her. “How about you?” she asks, breathless.

I knock back the rest of the beer and then crush the cup, throwing it into the dirt. “What about me?”

She grins, walking toward me, swaying her hips. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having a blast,” I say flatly, placing my hands on her hips.

She frowns. “Well, that sounds convincing.”

I sigh, letting my head fall forward so it’s pressed against hers. “Sorry, I’m just tired. And there are too many people over at the party for my taste.”

“You can be such a party pooper,” she says. “But only half the time. And then sometimes you’re totally into it.”

“I’m totally into it when I’m either drunk or stoned,” I admit. “But when I’m sober, it drives me crazy.”

She pauses, hooking her finger through my belt loop. “Sometimes I think you’re going to just pack up and leave and go wandering off on your own.”

I don’t answer right away, moving my forehead away from hers so I can look her in the eye. “I sometimes think about it. Just packing up and hitting the road.”

“Would you take me with you if you do?”

“Would you want to go with me?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” She doesn’t look like she wants to. “Would you want me to go with you?”

“Maybe,” I say, but honestly I’m not sure. I really like her, more than any other girl out there, but there are times when I do think about leaving not just my life behind, but everyone in it.

“You’re such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take me with you.”

“I never said that,” I tell her.

“But you didn’t completely deny it,” she retorts.

Silence grows around us and she holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Okay, I take my ‘maybe’ back. I want to go with you but only so you can take me away from this place—my life.” Her voice is flat, saddened, devoid of any emotion. She gets this way sometimes when she’s talking about her life.

I kiss the top of her head. “What’s so bad about your life?”

“What’s so bad about yours?” she says, dodging the question like she always does whenever I try to dig deep into her psyche.

“Nothing, except that I don’t want it,” I reply, pulling her against my chest. “London, if you want me to take you with me then I will.”

“Okay, well, I’ll need notice before we go,” she jokes, the sadness leaving her voice. “And I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m really busy this summer.”

I pinch her ass hard and she squeals, backing away from me. She takes off running through the field and I chase after her, but somewhere along the line I lose track of her and the darkness swallows her whole.

“London,” I call out, but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laugh from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. “London…”

Someone is shaking my shoulder and I’m snapped out of my dream. I feel hot, burning up, like I have a fever and my heart is racing erratically.

“You’re totally a lightweight,” Lila says when I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, my head resting in her lap, my feet kicked up on the armrest.

I’m very aware how comfortable I am on the outside, but on the inside I’m a mess as memories of London float around in my head. Once again, I’m stuck somewhere between Lila and London and I don’t know how to get over London completely so I can just be just with Lila.

Lila hovers over me with a hurt look in her blue eyes, like she’s upset about something. “You passed out, like, ten minutes after it started.”

“I made it ten minutes?” I instantly crank up my humor, trying to shut down my thoughts of London as I blink up at Lila. “I should get a medal for that or something.”

She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch so that I can sit up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“No, it was terrible.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn as I lower my feet to the floor.

She watches me with this strange look on her face, like she’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “Who’s… who’s London?”

My heart just about drops into my stomach as a shock pulsates through me. “What?”

“London.” She repeats, relaxing back in the sofa, with an intent look on her face. “You were muttering it in your sleep.” The corners of her lips quirk, but it looks forced. “At first I thought you were saying my name and I thought, ew, gross, he’s having sex dreams about me. But then I realized you were saying London and I’m starting to wonder if you have a secret girlfriend or something.”

“She’s no one,” I snap, not meaning for my voice to sound so clipped, but I’ve never talked to anyone about London because talking about her makes everything real. “So don’t worry about it.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t get all snippy with me. You know a lot about me—things I’d rather you not know—and I think it’s only fair that I know a few things about you.”

“You already know things about me,” I say, trying not to snap, because it’d be bad, both for her and me. “Now drop it.”

She considers this and then her expression darkens in a very un-Lila-like manner. “No, it’s bullshit.” She inches closer to me on the sofa. “You’ve gotten into my head so much over the last few weeks and it’s not fair that I don’t know a lot about you.”

“You know enough.” My voice is tight and packed with a warning for her to not go down this road.

“Apparently not, since I’ve never heard of this London, yet she seems to be important to you.”

“Lila, drop it,” I warn, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Yes, I do.” I’m not sure why, but she seems like she’s looking for a fight.

Anger crashes through me, a ripple of fire, ready to burn anything in its path. I’m a very controlled person, except for that one time, right after I heard about London—the one time I lost it. The one time I turned into my father and shouted at everyone, broke stuff, showed my rage. “Shut the fuck up.” My voice is low, but the deep, heavy tone is worse than me yelling.

Her eyes water over, like she’s about to cry. “You shut the fuck up. I just asked you a God damn question.”

I take a few deep breaths, and then I stand up. “I’m going to my room.” As I walk toward the hall, she watches me, looking enraged, irritated, and the slightest bit hurt, just like how London looked the last time I saw her, the last time I walked away from her.

But I can’t bring myself to turn back to her. I’m too worked up over London, and the emotions surfacing inside me make me want to run out and find someone to fuck. But I can’t. God, I haven’t been able to since the incident on the strip, and honestly I’ve been pretty content about it until now.

My head is in such a weird place right now over the dream. I try not to think about London, but she always catches up with me, whether I’m awake or asleep. Plus, Rae won’t stop texting me, so that doesn’t help. Three to four times a day, every fucking day, she texts me or leaves me a voice mail. I’ve been screening her calls, refusing to answer until I’m certain about what I want to do.

I lock myself in my room and do the only other thing I can think of to try to clear my thoughts. I write.

I’m afraid. More than I want to admit. Fear has never been a feeling I have been comfortable with. I always adopted the artificial, subdued, and in-control demeanor, because I don’t think anyone needs to know what really lies inside me. Like the fact that I still feel torn apart, ripped in half, my soul split, because the only girl I thought I wanted to be with is an outer shell that still exists in every aspect down to the mole she has above her lip. That’s still there, along with her hazel eyes and the scar above her mouth. Her skin is still flawlessly smooth. Her looks still exist, but she doesn’t. The London I knew—the London of the past—is no more. She’s forgotten her life, and life for her now is only about the future. Everything else is lost to her.

But what I really worry about is if I do go and see her, I’ll finally have to let her go. Forever. And the scariest thing is I both do and don’t want to. I want to move on, maybe with Lila and yet I want to hold on to London because it’s easier than feeling everything that comes along with letting go. But deep down, I’m realizing that eventually I’m going to have to finally say good-bye.

Chapter Twelve

Lila

It’s been a little over a week since I brought up this London person and Ethan will still barely talk to me. He avoids me most of the time, but when we do cross paths, he keeps it very businesslike, as if we’re only roommates and nothing more. Whoever this mysterious London is she obviously means something to him. At first I thought it was just a secret girlfriend, with the way he whimpered out her name after he fell asleep on the couch. It hurt. A lot. I’d always been okay with him sleeping with women, or at least I could live with it. But a girlfriend? The idea was clawing at my skin like overly manicured nails.

When I started questioning him about it, though, the spark of anger and discomfort and pain in his eyes led me to believe she might have been someone he loved. But getting to the bottom of it seems nearly impossible when all he’ll say to me is hello. It’s annoying me a little, because he knows so much about me. But when I think about it, Ethan’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and he keeps a lot about himself to himself.

I got the job at Danny’s and I’m still figuring out if I like it or not. Honestly, it hasn’t been too bad, but then again, I haven’t gotten up on the bar and danced yet. Today is supposed to be the big day.

After I check out my reflection in the mirror for what seems like ages, I finally head out. Ethan is sitting on the couch, watching the news, although his glazed-over expression means he’s probably daydreaming about something other than the weather. He’s got no shirt on and a torn pair of cargo shorts. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red, like he’s high, but I know Ethan enough to know he’s not.

I collect my purse and a jacket off the table and his eyes wander over to me. Usually, he immediately disregards me, but tonight my outfit sets him off, which I expected.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He sits up, giving me a dirty look as he takes in my tight white tank top that shows off my stomach, my breasts, and the leopard-print bra I wear underneath. I have a pair of really short cutoffs on that reveal the bottom of my ass when I bend over, which one of the waitresses told me I’ll be doing a lot since the guys usually throw the tips onto the floor.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I retort, swinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “There’s a thing called a shirt, you know.”

He narrows his eyes. “What the hell did I do to you?”

“Besides ignore me for the last few weeks?” I say, jerking the front door open. “Nothing.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he calls out. “I’m just opting not to spend time with you. Something roommates do a lot.”

I stick my head back in the door. “You’re being an asshole and I don’t know why. I didn’t even do anything to you besides ask a God damn question.”

His eyes soften and I think he’s going to apologize as he stands up and struts over to the door. But then he says, “You look like a whore.”

That strikes a nerve, severing my connection with him. I raise my hand to slap him or shove him—I’m not even sure which. But then I decide against it and, shaking with rage, I walk down the stairs. “I don’t even know what I did!” I holler, unconcerned that I’m making a scene. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to make a scene and I’m so sick and tired of it. Nothing feels right anymore.

“You didn’t do anything… This is all my fault… I’m sorry,” Ethan calls out after me, but I’m already running across the parking lot so his words hit my back.

I have no traveling option other than to take the bus or walk. It’s a long walk, so I take the smelly, gross bus. I sit in the back, stewing in my anger, zipping my jacket up over my slutty clothes. I’ve never cared that I was a slut before. I’ve been called it since I was fourteen. But that God damn word—whore—sends me back to a time I’ve tried to forget.

“Just lie down on the bed,” Sean says in a sultry voice that makes me feel warm and loved inside. “I promise, Lila, it’ll feel good.”

He’d just put the platinum ring on my finger, saying that he was waiting to give it to someone special. My head feels a little hazy, due to the few shots I had before I came to his place. I hate drinking, but my friends told me it was necessary for tonight, especially if I was going to lose my virginity. All the cloudiness evaporates as I blink up at him and I can see the love in his green eyes, even if he hasn’t said it aloud yet. I know he loves me, because no one has ever looked at me like that—like they want me.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispers, leaning in to give me a soft kiss on the mouth.

I nod as he leans away and I start to unbutton the crisp white shirt I have to wear every day at school. I keep my eyes on his as I fumble with the buttons, both loving and fearing the hungry look in his eyes.

“You have such gorgeous eyelashes,” I say as I slip my arms out of my sleeves and let my shirt fall to the floor. I’m standing in my plain white bra, plaid uniform skirt, and knee-high socks, the standard New York Reform School attire. I’ve never been topless in front of a guy before, but Sean isn’t just some guy. I gradually walk toward him, trying to look sexy and confident, but my nerves are bursting inside. I slide my fingers up the front of his shirt, feeling his rock-hard chest beneath it, pretending that I’m not terrified at all of what’s about to happen—pretending I’m more experienced than I really am.

His muscles constrict as I reach his neck and for a flicker of a second the caring softness I’ve always seen in his eyes ices over. But the oddly cold look quickly vanishes as he reaches up and places his large hand over mine. “Guys don’t want to be told they have gorgeous eyelashes, Lila,” he says in a blank tone. “Think of something better.”

I swallow hard, worried I’m turning him off. I wrack my brain for something to say to him—anything that will get him to stop looking at me as if I’m just an inexperienced, naïve girl. But I can’t seem to think of anything witty and sexy through the massive sea of alcohol in my head.

Sensing my panic, he gathers my hands in front of me. “Relax, Lila. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I never said you were.” I sound choked and I know he can feel my pulse pounding through my wrists that he has pinned beneath his hands.

He smiles, glancing around his dimly lit bedroom. He has candles burning on the nightstands and in the windowsill, creating the perfect glow and lavender scent to make love in. The bed is decorated with rose petals, there are chiffon curtains enclosing the elegant four-poster bed, and soft music flows in the background. Everything is perfect. Perfection. I can feel it, which means this is right. The thing I’m supposed to achieve. I have the perfect guy, older and more mature, with stubble and a firm jawline, and he’s wearing a fancy suit. These are the things my mother always told me to look for in a guy. Yes, he’s been a little rough with me, and when we’re around other people, he ignores me, but only because he has to because he’s older.

He strokes his finger delicately down my cheek and all my reservations melt like the wax dripping from the candles around the room. “You trust me, right?”

I nod, gazing up at him. “Of course.”

An artful smile curls at his lips. “Good.” He leans in, putting his lip to my ear, and breathes on my skin. I try not to shudder because I know it will make me seem immature, but I can’t help it and my shoulder drifts upward. “Lie down on the bed for me,” he says softly and then grazes his teeth across my ear.

“O-okay,” I say breathless.

He leans back and his eyes almost look black in the inadequate lighting as I back toward the bed and he slowly drinks me in. My knees are shaking as I sink down onto the mattress, remaining on the edge.

“Do you—do you want me to leave my skirt on?” I sound so nervous, but he’s so experienced and I’m not and I’m doing a terrible job of hiding it.

He walks back and forth in front of the foot of the bed, tracing his finger along the footboard. “Leave it on for now.” As he reaches one of the bedposts, he stops and begins unwinding a frayed rope I hadn’t noticed was there until now.

My eyes are fixated on it, my body filled with uncertainty as he unravels the rope from the bedpost and winds it around his hand. “You look nervous,” he observes, rounding the bed back and coming to me. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I-I do,” I stammer, unable to take my eyes off the rope. “You just seem different tonight.”

He puts a finger under my chin and forces me to look up at him. “Lila Summers, listen to me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, understand?” He pauses, waiting for me to nod, and I do, almost certain that I mean it. He smiles. “Good, now lay down for me please.”

I obey, telling myself I love him, even when seconds later he calls me his little whore as he ignores my pleas for him to stop and he ties me to the bed…

I jump up from my seat, even though the bus is stopped nowhere near my destination. The doors open and I rush out into the heat and dusty air, trying to shake my head of thoughts of lavender and the aching memory of how the rope felt. I make a right instead of a left, heading toward a house I know I shouldn’t be going to, but it’s hard—too hard. Remembering the things I’ve done—the dark things I did—is making a vile feeling pollute my stomach.

The house is located a few blocks down from where I got off the bus. The neighborhood is nice, homey, each two-story stucco house surrounded by lush green lawns dotted with plants and small trees. Each two-car driveway has a midsize sedan, sleek, but not too sleek. There’s an illusion of middle-class perfection in this neighborhood, but behind some of these closed doors lives a darker way of life. I know because I’m headed to one of them.

At the end of the street, I make my way up the driveway and rap on the door that has a decorative wreathe on it and a welcome mat below. I fidget anxiously as I wait. My phone goes off, notifying me that I have a text message, but I reach into my pocket and silence it. I want one thing right now and only one thing and when the door swings open, that’s what I say.

“I need one right now.” I sound panicky and it’s going to give Parker all the power, but I don’t give a crap at the moment. I just need to feel okay.

He leans against the doorway, looking handsome, his sandy-blond hair perfectly in place, the sleeves of his black button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows. He has dimples and his smile is flawless. He seems perfect with his charm and a PhD. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Isn’t this what my mother wanted for me?

“You know instant hits cost more than a blow job,” he says, nonchalantly leaning against the doorway. “But I guess you do know that, since you were pretty much a little whore for our entire relationship.”

I want to tell him a thousand things, like how I hated every second we dated. Or how I wanted to break it off with him after our first date, thought about it a ton of times, but the fact that he could write prescriptions kept me coming back. But saying so would piss him off and I need him happy at the moment.

“I know what it costs,” I say, letting the foul feeling take me over because I know it’ll be gone soon. “But can we make it a quickie? I’m in a hurry.”

He grins like a freaking greedy, disgusting thief and I both hate him and love him for it. Hate him because of what he’s making me give him but love him for what he gives me in return.

Ethan

I know I’ve messed up, yelling at her like that just like my father always did with my mom, but it wasn’t to belittle her or to purposely hurt her. I told her she looked like a whore, which she did, but I hated that she’s dressed like that and how good she looks dressed like that. I hated that every guy in that damn place she works at is going to be thinking the same things as me.

I’ve been doing my best to keep my distance from her, especially after she mentioned London’s name. I’ve never talked about London with anyone and suddenly Lila was asking me to talk about her. It scared me because I was afraid of what I’d say, that I miss her, but not really, that I feel guilty for walking away from her, but I don’t want to, that I want to let her go and move one—move on with Lila.

After I call Lila a whore and she runs off, I realize just how badly I’ve been fucking up for the last week. The look on her face was toxic. Dangerous. I need to make it right. I need to not screw up again. I try to text her a couple of times and finally decide just to go down to her workplace, hoping I don’t have to see her dancing up on the bar. I need to apologize for messing up.

When I arrive, however, I can’t find Lila anywhere. The place is filled with ogling guys, drooling all over themselves as they stare up at the half-dressed women shaking their asses on the bar. It’s the first time I’ve showed up at a place like this not looking for entertainment and it’s strange seeing it from an outsider’s point of view. It makes me think kind of poorly of myself for being here and loathing myself for letting Lila work in a place like this. Why didn’t I stop her? Sure, she needs a job, but not like this.

I stop one of the waitresses as she whisks by wearing a see-through dress and carrying a drink tray. “Hey, there’s a girl named Lila who works here. Have you seen her?” There’s panic in my voice.

She looks me over from head to toe and then tries to dazzle me with a grin. “No, but whatever you’re looking for, I can sure as hell give it to you.”

“No, thanks,” I say, walking away from an open invitation. And I haven’t had sex with anyone since Lila moved in twenty-two fucking days. Jesus, I’m getting blue balls.

I’m making my way to the bar when my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I reach in and take it out, checking the text message.

Lila: I messed up.

Shit.

Me: What happened?

Lila: I did something bad… I think I might need your help.

Me: Where r u?

Lila: At work.

I glance around at the packed tables, the dancers, and the crowded bar area.

Me: Where?

Lila: In the bathroom.

I scan the room until I spot the restroom sign. I shove through people, pushing anyone who gets in my way. Finally, I stumble into the hallway and the voice and music quiet down a little bit. I walk up to the bathroom door and text Lila.

Me: I’m right outside.

Lila: Why???

Me: Because I wanted to see if you were okay.

Lila: Okay… can you come in here then… I need u…

Need. It’s a very strong word. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. There are two women fussing over their reflections in the mirror. When they spot me, their eyes widen.

“Ladies.” I grin charismatically at them.

They seem unimpressed and scurry for the door, one of them calling me a pervert, but I ignore them. I scan the stall doors, all of them shut.

“Lila,” I call out.

It takes a second before I hear her muffled voice. “I’m in here.”

It sounds like she’s in the last stall. I make my way over and when I put my hand on the door, it swings open. She’s sitting on the grimy floor, hugging her legs to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. She’s still wearing the outfit from earlier, but she has a jacket pulled over her.

“What are you doing?” I ask, cautiously stepping inside the stall.

“I messed up,” she mutters, frowning at the floor.

I take another step in and shut the door behind me, gliding over the latch to lock it. “Did you… did you take a pill?” My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her answer.

She glances up at me and her eyes are red and swollen, like she’s been crying. “Would you hate me if I did?”

I crouch down beside her, brushing her hair out of her eyes, trying to get a good look at her pupils so I can get a better assessment of her state of mind. “I could never hate you, Lila. I… I already told you that I messed up while I was trying to recover, too, but it’s important that you tell me the truth so that I can help you.”

She takes an unsteady breath and then her hand trembles as she removes it from around her leg and stretches it out in front of her. Inside her palm is a tiny white pill.

“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair, relief rushing over me so powerfully it’s hard to stay upright. “Did you… did you take another one?” I’m afraid to find out, fearing that we’re going to have to start over.

She shakes her head, her whole body quivering. “N-no but I want to take this one. So bad, Ethan. I can’t even…” Her chest heaves up and down as she fights to breathe. “It’s driving me crazy, it even being in my hand.”

Blowing out a breath, I take the pill, pinching it between my fingers as I straighten my legs and stand up. She doesn’t say anything, fiddling with the ring on her finger as I make my way over to the toilet, but her eyes are fixed on me.

I hold my hand over the bowl, waiting for her to yell at me, but she just watches, horrified and relieved at the same time as I open my hand and let the pill fall. When it hits the water, I flush the toilet and then turn back to her, finally able to breathe again.