Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(29)

“The party was pretty lame,” I muttered under my breath.

“Apparently enough to make you cry,” Lo said bitterly. He cringed at the sound of his own voice and took a swig from the bottle. Then stepped forward, eyes softening as he rubbed his mouth. “You know you can tell me anything, Lil. I’m not going anywhere.”

Lo knew most of my dirty secrets by then. The sex. The porn. The constant self-love. But telling him about this had been the hardest part of our friendship. It felt like admittance to something unnatural.

I sank down on the mattress while Lo stood holding the bottle by the waxy red neck, waiting for me to start.

“It was fine. The sex was fine.”

Lo rubbed his temple in distress. “Lily. Spit it the fuck out. You’re driving me crazy.”

I stared down at the floorboards, unable to meet his eyes, and said, “Afterwards, I thought it would be the same. But as I was grabbing my clothes, he stopped me.”

I glanced up and Lo’s cheekbones looked like sharp glass. I continued quickly before he cut me off with a slew of vulgarities. “He didn’t hurt me. He just asked me a question.”

I took a shallow breath and twisted the bottom of my shirt in my hands. Then I opened my mouth and struggled to produce the rest, eating air.

“Should I guess?” Lo asked. His chest rose and fell with hurried concern. Before I could respond he was pacing the length of the room and spouting off questions. “Were you a virgin? Have you done this often? Do you want to do it again?” He stopped and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What the hell did he ask?!”

“Want to fuck my friend?” I said in barely a whisper.

Lo dropped the bottle and it landed in a loud thunk on the hardwood floor.

“I thought it would be fun. He left and his friend came in. And that was that…” My bottom lip quivered as the shame wedged a crevice in my heart. “Lo,” I choked his name. “What’s wrong with me?”

He came closer and bent down to my height on the bed. Carefully, he cupped the back of my head, his fingers intertwining in my brown locks. His deep amber eyes filled mine. “Nothing is wrong with you,” he said. He brought my head to the crook in his shoulder, his arm encasing me in a comforting hold, and held me for a while.

When he pulled away, he brushed my hair behind my ear and asked, “Are you scared of getting hurt?”

“Sometimes. But it doesn’t stop me.” I blinked back tears. “Do you think…do you think I’m like you?”

We had never openly acknowledged his dependence on alcohol before, or how he abused the drink more than any average teenage boy.

He slowly ran his finger over the lines in my palm before he looked up at me with haunted eyes. One kiss on the head and then he straightened up. With a tight voice, he said, “I found my old Amazing Spider-Man edition the other day. We should have a reading marathon.” I watched him tensely walk to his cedar chest, unclasping the brass locks.

That night, he never truly answered me.

But I got it anyway.

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.





{9}



At night, I return to clubs and bars, my regular dwellings, without formulating anonymous meetings. Surprisingly, Lo accompanies me most of the time, drinking at the bar while I sneak to the backrooms or toilet seats to hook up. Still, I crave the adrenaline rush and thrill of daytime anonymity. I fear these past weeks pushing my addiction to a new extreme has ruined me a little.

I try though. I’ve deleted all my unknown numbers and anytime the urge to log into Craigslist surfaces, I think about the terrible morning waking up in bed with two faceless men. It helps.

I zip up a black nighttime romper when my phone buzzes. Normally, I would chuck it at my pillow and let the ring die out, but this is Lily 2.0.

So I press the green button. “Hey, Daisy.”

“Lily!” She sounds as shocked as I am that I answered.

“What’s up?”

“I need a favor,” she hesitates to continue.

I guess I’m not really the go-to sister for favors. Rose would be the first one to call, literally willing to drop her entire day’s plan if we need her to. Then Poppy, almost as sisterly, but she has a daughter that eats her time and blocks out her schedule. I’m the least reliable, least available, least everything-sister.

“So,” she eases in, “Mom and Dad are going at it. They’ve been screaming about the decoration budget for the Christmas Charity Gala. I know Mom’s going to come up and start rehashing their argument to me, and I’d rather not be involved.” She pauses. “Do you think I can come over and stay the night in the guest bedroom?”

I frown, wondering if she already asked Rose, or even Poppy and Sam who have plenty of extra space. Will it be rude to question? I think it will, especially if she’s reaching out to me. I take a trained breath. “Sure.”

She squeals. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ll be over in a half hour.” That soon? The line clicks, and I glance at my room…the guest bedroom. Where she’ll be sleeping. Shit.

“LO! LO!” I scream, frantic.