Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(54)

“You okay?” Ryke looks over.

My cheeks heat, and I roll over like a burnt hotdog, still clenching the vibrator in my palm and stuffing that hand into my blanket. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryke sitting up and staring at me like what the hell.

I glare now, propping my elbow on the floor for support. “I’m a sex addict,” I tell him. Saying it feels good. “Maybe you shouldn’t be sleeping in here.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically and plops back against the chaise. “I can handle you. I have a greater chance of getting raped outside this room.”

“You honestly believe they’ll rape you?” He’s being ridiculous.

“She basically already molested me, and guys can get raped too, Lily,” he says. “I thought you had to pee.”

I don’t, but I desperately need to reach the sanctuary of the bathroom. Standing up feels like a chore, so I end up army-crawling with my blanket around me. After I slide into the tiled room, I kick the door closed and stand on my knees to lock it. Then I collapse on my comforter and stare up at the ceiling. I drop the vibrator on the floor and it moves a little on the marble tiles. I should roll it in a towel and stuff it into a drawer, wash my hands, and go back to bed.

I know this.

But I don’t do it.

I feel like I can’t.

In a quick motion, I grab the device and put it back in. The pulsing kicks up my cravings, making all my nerves stand still for a brief moment. I want more. My fingers skim down my belly and slowly descend over my throbbing clit, and I start all over again. A cycle I just can’t seem to quit. I shut my eyes and my breathing quickens. I block out everything from tonight, and I lose myself to pleasure instead of worries and time and even this place. I am nowhere but here.

My body shudders, and I rub harder with mastered urgency. I wantwantwantwantwant. No. I needneedneedneedneed. PLEASE!

A moan escapes my lips, and my eyes flutter back. The sudden, quick release electrifies my insides.

And poofs away within a few seconds. I pull out the vibrator, and lie motionless on the floor. Tears sting my eyes as my actions swim up and infiltrate the sane part of my brain.

What the fuck did I just do?

Dr. Banning flat-out told me that recovering from sex addiction does not mean eliminating all sex. Just the unhealthy kinds. The things that bleed into my daily life, disrupt my routines, and turn me into a compulsive animal. Some addicts can handle self-love. I suddenly realize that I can’t.

My chest hurts as tears spill down my cheeks. I don’t understand why I can’t masturbate like a normal person. Why do I have to take everything to extremes? I press my palms to my eyes and cry harder. The situation feels too big for me. Everything seems too far out of my control.

I haven’t cheated on Lo. I’ve abstained from real sex, but does it even matter anymore? I’m addicted to masturbating. When do I get a break? I know the answer. And the tears pour full force now, my nose running, my eyes burning. This battle is a forever sort of thing.

On my hands and knees, I ditch my comforter and crawl into the bathtub, shivering a little as the air nips by bare legs and arms. Wearing nothing but cotton panties and a tight tank. I sink against the porcelain and clutch my arms to my chest, curling into a ball. I physically try to hold myself together. But I still feel as though I’m breaking apart. Shattering. Into small insignificant pieces.

No porn. No sex. No self-love. What else is left?

Maybe people would find me dramatic and stupid for feeling so empty without those three things. Maybe they’d laugh or spit at me in scorn. But I have no energy left to explain how sex fills a deep hole in my chest. How for a single instant, it seems to take everything bad away.

Breathing hurts. Each inhale is like a knife stabbing into my ribs. I shudder against the cold tub and kiss my knees, shutting my eyes tight. I am losing my grasp on everything that has ever made me feel okay. Sex and Lo—they have vanished and left me so very alone.

My head lolls to the side, drifting. My body feels heavy and my tears grow silent, but the pain in my chest intensifies. I’m not even sure what will make me feel better. Not sex. Not Lo. Nothing can make me whole again. The thought steals my breath.

“Lily!” Ryke bangs on the door. “Come on out. You’ve been in there long enough.”

I can’t move. I can’t speak. My lips have frozen with my hope. Why would Lo even want to return home to me? He just escaped hell, who would want to enter another one?

“Lily! I’m not playing around. Open the fucking door.”

I open my mouth to reply, but words stick in the back of my throat, too strenuous to produce. Speaking takes strength that has eked away with my confidence. My bottled insecurities attack me like a parasite with no thought but to destroy until I’m weakened, withered and dead.

Moments later, I hear the door unlock. I assume he grabbed a key from somewhere. Maybe a steward.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses and kneels beside the bathtub. I blink slowly, still drifting. My cheek presses to the lip of the tub, but my arms still wrap around my chest. My last safety blanket is myself. Right now, that’s not very reassuring.

I listen to Ryke’s voice as he dials a number on his cell. “Dr. Banning?” What? Rose must have given him my therapist’s number. “I’m Lily Calloway’s friend…I found her in a bathtub. She’s unresponsive, and…” His usual stoic voice falters just a little. It should pull me up from my stupor, but I am so, so very lost. I just need to return home somehow. I need to find a reason to get up. “…I’m worried about her. Can you talk to her for me?” He pauses. “I don’t want to touch her, but I don’t see blood. I don’t think she hurt herself.”