Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(88)

“Are your boobs bigger?” I ask Lily. “Or are mine smaller?”

Lily blushes deep red, still not used to talking about sex and all that jazz. I was never really close to her like that growing up. I went to Rose for any female-related advice. “Uhhh…” She touches her cheek. “Am I red?”

“Yes,” Rose and I say in unison.

Lily glances at my boobs as I float. “Uh, yours are smaller. You got really skinny, Daisy.” She plops all the way in the water and actually hisses like a cat. “Cold, cold.” Her breath smokes the air and she clings onto a warmer rock for refuge. I’m sure she’s wishing for Lo’s body right now.

I could use a Ryke Meadows pillow.

I smile at the thought.

Rose hops into the water, keeping her underwear on. “Motherf*cker,” she gasps when she breaches the surface. Her glossy hair is wet around her cheeks. Her teeth chatter, and she nears Lily, who deserts her rock to swim closer to Rose.

“Huddle, huddle,” Lily says.

I laugh as they hold onto each other for warmth. I know they’re suffering through the cold for me, and I appreciate it a lot.

Rose looks at me, and her eyes land on my scar.

I stop floating and tread water.

“Are you worried about what mom is going to say?” Lily asks me first.

I tremble. I’m not sure it’s just from the cold. “I want to move on from this, and I’m afraid she’s going to turn it into such a big deal that I won’t be able to.”

“Tell her that,” Rose says.

“How?” I ask. “She won’t talk to me. I called her five times.”

Rose holds onto Lily like she’s her personal heating blanket, almost dunking her under the water a couple times. But Lily keeps her chin above the surface and elbows her. Rose concentrates on me, or at least tries to. “She doesn’t take change well,” Rose says. “By the time you go home, she’ll be ready to talk to you about your career change.”

“What if I don’t have a good backup plan?” I ask.

“You may need one,” Rose says honestly. “Mother likes plans, and if all you have is I don’t know, she’s going to start filling out college resumes for you.”

So in order to escape my mom’s control, I have to figure out what I want to do with my life. That shouldn’t be so hard, but it sounds terrifying to make that decision at eighteen.

I need like five more years at least.

Maybe ten.

A decade sounds good. A decade of preparing for what I’m going to do for the next fifty years. How do other eighteen-year-olds solidify their dreams and career paths right before college? How is it possible to know what you’re good at and what you love so young?

What if you never find out?

What if you spend a lifetime searching with no real answer in the end?

The future is depressing.

Maybe that’s why I’ve never thought about it before.

“You and Ryke,” Rose suddenly says, waking me up from my melancholy stupor. Maybe she realized the topic of our mom was a downer. “Have you f*cked yet?”

I gape. Wow, my sister said that so blasé-like. “We’re not together, so…” It’s weird. I’ve said these words before, but now they’ve become an actual lie.

Rose rolls her eyes. “When you do have sex, please make sure he’s safe with you. I would have a talk with him, but Connor forbade me. He said it wasn’t my place,” she scoffs. “You’re my sister. It’s most definitely my place to threaten his testicles and penis.”

Lily frowns. “When does Connor forbid you to do anything?” Rose does have equal footing in her relationship with Connor. Except probably in bed. God, I balk at the memory of him dominating her as they had sex. I restrain the urge to disappear beneath the water.

“He threatened to return all of the Hermes clothes he bought for me.” She inhales deeply. “It was low. But I’ve moved past it.”

“Right,” I say with a smile. “Well you don’t need to worry. I’m not having sex with him.” Yet.

This should be the moment where I open up about my very first orgasm, where I share all the details. I’ve told them about these troubles before, so telling them about my success would be natural. But I keep that inside. Not just because it involves Ryke but because it feels attached to more things I can’t express to them anymore.

Night terrors. Sleeping.

I have no more pain medication, which means no more sluggish sleep for me.

I’ll be taking Ambien tonight, a pill that combats my insomnia but brings me to a dark realistic dream-state.

I’m nervous about screaming in the middle of the night, waking and worrying them. How do I explain myself?

Do I say: I can’t sleep at night because I think about the man who crawled into my room to snap pictures. I think about the paparazzi who’ve cornered me. I think about all the friends who hate me, scorned me and terrified me. I think about all the men who believe I’m Lily. And you’re the cause, big sis. You’re the reason I can’t sleep. If it wasn’t for your sex addiction, I’d be free. So f*cking free.

You’ve hurt me.

I can’t say those words.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.