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Last night I broke a rule. Why? I have a problem. Well, I have many problems. But saying no happens to be one of them.
Unless we want to say goodbye to our luxuries from our inherited wealth, we have to pretend to be together. And pretend that we’re two perfectly functioning, perfectly well-kept human beings. And we’re just not. We’re not.
Lo answers for me. He has always been a much better liar. I blame it on the fact that he’s constantly inebriated. I’d be a far more confident, self-assured Lily if I was downing bourbon all day.
Obviously he wants Nola to think he’s an upstanding boyfriend, but the only girlfriend Loren Hale will ever treat well is his bottle of bourbon.
Age five and timid. Pretty much sums up my first years of existence.
“You, shower. Me, pizza. Tarzan eat Jane.” He bites my shoulder. I ease back. “You mean Tarzan likes Jane?” I hop off the counter, about to go wash off the frat house from my skin. Lo mockingly shakes his head. “Not this Tarzan.” “Alcohol makes you mean,” I say casually. He raises his glass in agreement while I pad down the hallway.
The water washes away the smell and grime, but my sins are here to stay.
Sometimes I picture the future. Loren Hale working for his father’s Fortune 500 company, dressed in a tight fitting suit that chokes at the collar. He’s sad. I never see him smile in my imagined futures. And I wouldn’t know how to rectify it. What does Loren Hale love? Whiskey, bourbon, rum. What can he possibly do past college? …I see nothing.
“You’re wearing a robe,” Lo rebuts. “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times.” “When we were kids,” I retort. “And I’m sure your breasts haven’t grown since then.”
I’m an idiot. As I turn the knob, I inhale, trying to wipe my mind clean of the bad combo: sex and Loren Hale.
The door swings open, revealing Rose: two years older, two inches taller, and two times prettier. She waltzes into the apartment, her Chanel handbag swinging on her arm like a weapon. Rose frightens children, pets, and even grown males with her icy eyes and chilling glares.
“What about you? Did you lose your phone too?” “No. I just don’t like talking to you.”
“What is more important than accompanying your girlfriend to a family event?” Everything, I imagine him saying.
“Honestly, I don’t mind going.” He wipes his fingers on a napkin and picks up his glass. “Better your father than mine.” I nod. So true.
The last boy opened his can of Cherry Fizz and smiled mischievously. “Here,” he said, actually handing me the soda. “I popped your cherry.”
His addiction is screwing with my addiction. Alcohol trumps sex is this place, and that kills me. Or at least the part of me that needs a good lay, preferably one that lasts longer than five minutes.
Ditching on my family is a minor infraction. Ditching on his father is suicide.
he hates when I speak in my “normal” voice on bad mornings. Apparently it sounds like knives slaughtering baby pandas. His words, not mine.
His addiction scares me sometimes. Alcoholism can destroy livers and kidneys, and one day, he may not wake up from a night of bingeing. But how can I tell him to stop? How can I judge him when I am nowhere near ready to let go of my crutch? So for right now, this is the best I can do.
“Can you change yourself?” I ask. “I just want to limit the number of times I see your penis.”
“Resorting to food fights already, Loren?” Rose interjects. “The luncheon hasn’t even officially begun.” “Now you know why they don’t care if we bail for months,” he tells her. “Mystery solved.”
“Did Mom see this?” “Yeah, she suggested I try to book mature photo shoots. It’ll increase my value.” Her value. As though she’s a pig up for auction.
Her words defeated me, tearing down any ounce of resilience. I have nothing left to give, no comfort to spare. I feel like a shell, waiting for the hermit to return home.
My heart quickens at the images, but my stomach sinks at the answer to Lo’s question. In a hundred person class, I at least slept with two guys. What does that say about me? Slut, whore. I hear the condemnation.
“You’re too old for that.” She’s three and in the Calloway clan, potty training, walking, reading, spelling, writing must all be achieved before the average age, lest we turn into normal people.
Maria throws her ballet flat at me. Jesus! “Maria!” Poppy exclaims. Rose laughs loudly. I think this is the first time a child has made her smile. And it was by abusing me with a shoe!
Maria’s eyes widen and calms. I smile. “Are you sure she’s not Rose’s kid? Toss her some Prada and she shuts up.” Rose’s laughter dies down. “Funny.”
I can’t fit you into my schedule, not when it’s booked with sex, not when you wouldn’t understand.
“She’s going to ruin everything!” It hurts to see him with her, playing house. That’s our routine. I smack the button hard. Get me out of here.
I won’t make a mistake that can cost us what we have. So I pocket my phone, put my car in reverse, and make new plans. Ones that involve blank faces and unpainted canvases. Ones that don’t involve him.
What?! I did not…Did I? There are two guys in my bed! I didn’t…I couldn’t have had sex with both of them. I search my memories, but I blank when I reach my anonymous “date” at a bar. Booze forgives all transgressions, but it doesn’t help with the morning after.
Is this my ultimate low? I thought the pregnancy scare was the most terrifying moment of my life, but waking up in bed with two guys I don’t remember—that will haunt me. How can I be missing days? As if sex and liquor stole them from me…maybe drugs participated in the thievery too. I can’t even remember.
I’ve never had a problem unburdening myself on Lo. It’s what we’re both good at, but turning to anonymous sex felt like a natural progression once our dynamic started to shift. “Things were changing,” I mutter so softly that I think he’s missed the words.
That was the first time I realized I wasn’t just another promiscuous girl in school. I didn’t just have sex for fun or because it made me feel empowered. I liked the high, the rush, and how it seemed to fill an emptiness that kept growing inside of me.
I guess the only way to be close to me is to inject yourself in my world because I won’t make the move to enter yours. That’s horrible, isn’t it?
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks huskily, and part of me wonders if he’s talking about more than just the drink. Yes, I want all of it.
Lo dodges the pillow but it collides with a bottle of bourbon, knocking it over like a bowling pin and toppling it to the floor. Lo’s face darkens in contempt. “Watch it, Lily.” He picks up the bottle, unbroken, and reacts as though I hit his child.
“Why do you think this is your room?” he asks. “You don’t sleep here. You don’t fuck here. You don’t eat or drink here. What makes this yours as much as it is mine?” “You know why,” I breathe. We’re pretending, aren’t we?
When we were eighteen, he asked me what it felt like to go without climaxing for a day, and I told him it feels like someone is burying my head under the sand and pulling my limbs so tight they become taut rubber bands, waiting to be snapped and released. The cravings feel like drowning and being lit on fire at the same time. He said he could relate to the paradox.
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry that you can’t handle being touched by me. I’m sorry that the very thought of fucking me disgusts you. I’m sorry that every time you’re horny, I’m here.”
“He put it in my palm, and he asked me how it felt to hold it. You know what I said?” He glances at me. “I told him that I was scared. He smacked me on the back of the head and said, ‘You’re holding a fucking gun. The only people who should be scared are the ones on the other end of it.’”
“Are you withdrawing?” Lo asks, his eyes heavy with worry. “Do you need something? Like a vibrator?” That’s not awkward…
Even if monogamy scares me more than anything, I would try it. For the whole purpose of having Loren Hale. I think I’ve always wanted it. With him. But I’m not so sure he feels the same.
We stay like that for quite some time. And I start to fall back asleep, my eyes heavy. And then I hear his voice, so soft, that I think I’ve made up the words. “I should have just had sex with you.”
I frown and glance at the right side of the bed. Empty, except for an unmistakable butt print. He has a good ass. I stuff my face in the pillow and groan louder. I hate that I think that.
Even after applying SPF 15, I know I’ll roast in the heat. And I secretly hope I’ll burn. Maybe it’ll get me off this fucking boat.
Rose and Daisy have both earned official Brutus badges for tricking me when Rose announced my “pregnancy” scare secret, and my mother keeps shooting me sharp looks. She probably hopes I’ll turn to stone.
“We had a fight.” “You and Lo?” Her eyes harden. “What’d he do?” I shake my head. “I’m not even sure.” Tears build again. “That asshole,” she says
“I don’t hate him,” she refutes. “He annoys me, but I don’t hate him. Maybe dislike.”
“But Lo and I…” I try to find the words. “We may not be good for each other, but sometimes I feel like he’s the only guy who could ever love me.” And that’s the truth. Because who would love this? A girl who sleeps around. A whore. A slut. Trash to be disposed. That’s what everyone sees.
