Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(39)

I drown my insecurities and put the receiver to my ear. I inhale a deep breath before saying, “Hello?”

“Hi.”

He called me. Lo called me. I let the words sink in with the sound of his deep voice. I lean forward on the desk, putting a hand to my eyes to shield any tears that’ll threaten to fall. I’d rather Rose not see me from her office and end the call before it even starts.

I’ve thought about all the things I would say to Lo in email and on the phone in March, but they’ve breezed out of my mind since the first ring. I’m left with a not-so eloquent reply. “You called.”

I hear him shifting, as though adjusting the phone and holding it up with a shoulder to his ear. I picture one hand on the wall and a long line of guys waiting behind him to use the black cord phone. Sort of like prison. I don’t know why I relate them. He’s not in jail. He’s in rehab. The latter of which will help him. I’m sure my new therapist will psychoanalyze that comparison.

“I’ve been doing well, so they’re letting me get in touch with my family.” He pauses. “You’re the first person I called.” He lets out a weak laugh, and I imagine him rubbing his lips. “Hell, you’re the only one I’ll probably call.”

“Not Ryke?” I wonder.

“I’ve seen Ryke,” he explains quickly, brushing over the topic. “How have you been?”

“Why didn’t you email before? Ryke said you’d be able to this month.” Yes, I dodged the question about me. I need to hear him explain this before I can quantify anything going on in my life.

He pauses for a long time. “I planned to. I sat down at the computer and stared at the screen for a full hour.”

I bite my thumbnail. “What happened?”

“I’d write a couple sentences, reread them, and delete. Everything sounded so fucking stupid. I mean, I’m not a writer. So by the end of the hour, all I had was ‘hi’ and I was so pissed that I just walked away.”

Sounds like something he’d do. “I’m not a good writer either.” I glance up at the glass office, and Rose busily talks on her own cellphone, back turned to me. Good. “I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah?” His voice breaks a little, and my breathing deepens. I want things to go back to normal. I don’t want our relationship to change, but I know it has to. I just hope it’s better than before. Not worse.

“What have you been doing there?” I ask “Are you going to come home early? What’s it like? Have you met anyone else? How’s your counselor? Is the food any good?” All these questions tumble from my lips, and I stop for a second, wondering if I scared him away.

“It’s been all right. I’m not done with the program, so I’ll be here for a while still.” He clears his throat. “So, how are you doing?”

“Have you met anyone?” I try again.

“Lil,” he says, pained. “You’re killing me. How are you doing? That’s not such a hard question to answer, is it? Just give me something.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “What are you doing right now? Where are you?” I want to paint a picture of him, not have prison be the backdrop to our conversation.

“I’m sitting on this giant orange chair that looks like something from an Austin Powers movie. It’s so fucking ugly. And then last week some guy drew a penis on it with a magic marker.”

I smile. “You’re sitting on a penis?”

I can almost sense a grin stretching his face. “You would find that amusing.” He pauses. “I miss you, love.”

“Yeah?” My stomach clenches.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’m using the facility’s phone in their rec room. There’s a pool table, a couple Fizzle machines, beanbags and a huge television that’s always on ESPN. Most people are eating lunch right now, so it’s pretty quiet.”

Lunch. I glance at my clock. It’s noon here. His rehab is probably located somewhere with the same Eastern Time zone. Maybe he’s close… I shouldn’t ask. Not when we agreed to keep the information a secret. I don’t want to be tempted to drive out to him. I really will be the pathetic girlfriend then.

“I…” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I tried to ask Ryke about you a few times. He won’t tell me anything. It’s so fucking annoying; you have no idea.” The bitterness seeps from his tone.

I let out a weak laugh. “I think I do.”

“Yeah?” Lo inhales, as though preparing himself for the next batch of questions. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m helping Rose,” I tell him, nodding to myself. “It’s not so bad. She’s been keeping me busy…it’s…it’s worked out for the most part.”

“That’s…good, Lil. So you’re really doing okay?”

My throat begins to close, swollen with a lump. I don’t want him to spend his days worrying about me. Ryke has infiltrated my mind, and I hear him whispering, “You’ll ruin his progress by saddling him with this large burden. You have to separate yourself from him, Lily. Let him go.”

All I’ve ever wanted was for Lo to be happy. I just never thought his happiness would coincide with my depression. It seems stupid and moronic, but in order for him to become healthy, he needs to stop focusing on me so he can worry about his own problems. That’s what Ryke keeps telling me, right?