Becca Ritchie - Addicted for Now

I’m assaulted with so many emotions that I almost can’t see straight. I just keep nodding, trying to understand his point of view, trying to get it. “I need some space…” to think.

“I can’t leave you alone like this.” Ryke breathes heavily, and he hesitates to put a hand on my shoulder. If he sets one finger on my body, I’m going to jerk away. I’m so full of hate, resentment, and blackness—everything that normally sends me right to a bar.

 “I’ll go back to the room with Daisy,” I say. “You go find Melissa. You know, that girl that you came here with.” I don’t want to butcher him anymore, but it’s so easy to cut people, especially my brother.

Ryke takes the hit, not moving one inch. “You almost made Daisy cry. You really want to spend time alone with her?”

“It’ll give me a chance to apologize,” I say. “Either you take that scenario or I’m walking out of here on my own.” My hands shake, and I clench them into fists. Ryke would never leave me alone right now. I want to relax. To sit at a bar and just float away.

Ryke motions to Daisy, and she jogs over. When she stops by his side, he says, “Don’t let him drink.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates before heading farther down the beach. We walk towards the resort in a heavy silence that weighs on my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I end up muttering while we wait for the elevator.

“No, don’t be,” Daisy says. “You were right. What I did—it was wrong. Sometimes I just forget about money. I’m going to try to be better about it.”

“Yeah, but I do it at times too. And I’m not your dad. I shouldn’t be lecturing you.” Or anyone.

She smiles. “It’s nice to know you care.”

We stop on our floor and she walks in front of me, leaving me to think about that.

I do care. Is that because I’m sober or is it just because things have changed? I wish I knew.

Daisy waits by the door, and she suddenly pales with worry. “Are you going to tell Lily?”

She’ll ask me what’s wrong as soon as I get inside. We’ve been around each other enough to pick up body language, and mine says I’m losing my shit. I hadn’t intended on lying to her. “Yeah,” I say, “but I don’t think she’ll be mad.”

“Really? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lily in beast mode, like Rose’s eternal setting, and I’ve always been kind of scared to see that.”

I smile as I try to recall an angry Lily. She does kind of look like a little monster, but I find it more adorable than frightening. “You’ll be fine.”

I don’t know if Daisy thinks I’m actually this upset just because of the bartering, or if she realizes I caught onto her flirting with Ryke, both at fault, I believe. But I will never have that conversation with her. Lily can handle her sister, and I’ll handle my brother.

Daisy lets out a breath of relief before edging out of the way. I slide in the keycard, and we enter the room.

Rose refolds clothes on the nearest bed while Connor organizes various bags that surround the room. Between what Daisy brought and now what Rose purchased, I think we’ve officially clothed seven people for the week.

“How was the run?” Connor asks.

“Hot,” Daisy says.

I scan the room for Lily, unable to find her, and then I look through the glass door to the patio. She’s curled up on a chair, her legs to her chest, watching the birds or something.

I move towards the door, and Connor suddenly blocks my exit like he wants to have a conversation. All I really want to do is talk to Lily. I need to know if she knew about Ryke and Daisy’s... Jesus, I don’t even know what to call it.

“What?” I snap.

Daisy focuses on us, filled with curiosity, and this causes Rose to pat her mattress. “Daisy, come help me fold,” she insists.

Daisy answers her sister’s call—reminding me of what Ryke said about her. And I cringe a little, not wanting Daisy to be affected by her mother. All these girls have complexes, and I can see how most people would get one just from the freedom of our lifestyle and the pressure to maintain it. I feel like we’re all a little fucked up in our own right.

Connor leads me to the furthest wall from the girls. And I instantly understand what’s going on. He’s moving me away from Daisy so she can’t hear. Whatever Connor wants to tell me—it’s about Lily.

The worst thought crosses my mind.

She cheated.

She slept with some cashier at Bloomingdales.

She fucked another guy.

I feel the color drain from my face.

I feel my stomach roll in on itself.

My world slowly begins crashing down. I should have been with her. I try to move past Connor and reach the patio, wanting to talk to her, wanting to make this right, wanting to be alone again.

Connor steps in front of me once more and puts his hand on my shoulder. He reads the panic on my face, and says, “Nothing happened, not like that.” I don’t know Connor well enough to know what that entails and this just heightens my nerves.

“What did happen?” I ask quietly.

He stays resolute, calm, and for some strange reason it feeds into me. His casual attitude makes me believe it’s not that bad, and I wonder if this is a Connor Cobalt gift. To pacify people with his demeanor rather than words.

“Look,” he says easily, “Rose didn’t want to tell you, but I convinced her, I think.” He lets himself smile at the accomplishment. “She wants Lily to handle these things on her own. In a feminist’s perspective, I guess it seems like when you help Lily, you don’t give her a chance to be strong on her own.”

It feels like he knifed me, even though those are Rose’s words. “I’m not her fucking cure, I know that,” I say, trying to mimic Connor’s easy tone, but my voice comes out strained and edged. I’ve let Lily succeed on her own, but I am the person having sex with her. All I can do is tell her to stop, to guide her. She’s the one actively making the choice to ask me to have sex, to want to have sex, to give into cravings enough to let them control her thoughts. That’s on her.

“I know, and Lily will never be completely on her own. That’s what I told Rose. You’re sleeping with her, and sex addiction is a two-person recovery process. She sided with me on this one.” I think he keeps gloating to postpone the news.

“Connor. Just tell me.”

He nods. “I noticed that Lily can sometimes zone out,” he says, “and I actually thought she was just a little slow. But then I found out she was a sex addict, and I know fantasizing can be a huge issue with the addiction.”

I know where this is headed, and I shouldn’t be relieved. But a pressure lifts off my chest. “And?”

“And it was fine. She zoned out a couple times and Rose would reengage her with conversations. Then Rose had to try on practically every pair of heel in her size, and we both forgot about Lily…until we heard her.”

What? She wouldn’t masturbate in public. That’s beyond what she’s ever done. My chest starts to hurt again. “Heard her? Was she masturbating?”

“No,” Connor says quickly. “No. Not at all.”

Good.

“But we heard her orgasm.”

What? “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“There have been numerous studies about the female orgasm. It’s not fully understood, but many scientists have shown that it can be brought on by thought alone.”

She fantasized and had an orgasm. Out loud. In a fucking store. I know how embarrassed she must feel and it floods me, seizing my ability to even form words right now.

Connor takes my silence as an opportunity to keep speaking. “Rose made her call her therapist.”

I nod, but my feet are glued to the floor. I want to go outside and be with her, but Rose’s words…or Connor’s reiteration of them haunt me. I want Lily to be strong on her own. I can see her through the blinds, hiding in her body, and it doesn’t seem like she’s looking at the birds anymore.

She’s looking for a way out.

I turn to Connor, suddenly so relieved that he’s here. That I have someone that I can ask this, “Should I go out there?” I want someone to tell me what’s right. To put me on the correct path. I don’t want to keep making bad decisions.

“She needs you,” he tells me in a single breath. “Just don’t have sex with her. Easy enough, right?”

“Yeah, it’d probably be difficult on that chair,” I say, trying to smile, trying to lessen how much I empathize with her hurt.

“Not for you two.” He taps my shoulder, unfreezing me from my state and I find myself moving onward. Towards the door. Towards her.

The door opens and I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t speak. I want to disappear from this chair, this country, this planet.

Lo walks in front of my view of the balcony ledge, where I had literally considered testing my ability to fly. He’s shirtless, but not even the curve of his abs could entice me right now. He remains a few feet away from me, not closing the distance that draws tension like a black hole.

I finally look up to meet his gaze, my body numbing.

His eyes have become glassy, and he grips the railing behind him for support. On a normal occasion, before rehab and before recovery, he’d be sweeping me up into his arms. I’d wrap my legs around his waist and wish for sex to take away my humiliation, to remind myself that I’m good at something. I’m not worthless or alone. With every thrust and every climax, I’d be gone.

But now, the thought of doing that drives a hammer into my heart. I know with certainty that it’s wrong. I wonder if he’s keeping distance, afraid of that path that I might choose for us.

I don’t want it.

So I say, “I don’t want sex.” Tears gather in my eyes. “I just want you to hold me.”

They are magic words.

In one quick motion, he is in front of me and then I’m in his arms and on his lap. He blankets me with his body, wrapping his arms around my small frame. I bury my head into his chest, the tears pooling out as he rubs the back of my head. I feel safe here.

We sit like that for a good while, until his heart steadies and my breathing evens. What happened feels like a failure on my part. I screwed up and let my addiction win.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Lil.”

“I feel like I let you down…let us down,” I admit. “We’re supposed to be getting better.”

“And there will be roadblocks and setbacks,” he tells me, “just because you hit one doesn’t mean you let me down. If anything, I’m proud of you for handling it like this.”

“Because the alternative is me attacking your body.”

He smiles. “Something like that, yeah.” He tucks an escaped piece of hair behind my ear. “What did your therapist say?”

Connor must have told him more than I thought. I’m glad. It saves me from reiterating the most embarrassing moment of my life.

“She said that I need to start coming up with ways to stop myself from fantasizing. Like focusing on homework or American presidents.”

“Basically what every teenage boy does to avoid a hard-on.”

I frown. I didn’t think about it like that. “I guess…” Then I shake my head. “But it doesn’t sound that simple. I understand how to stop myself from looking at porn and from self-love, but how do I stop myself from thinking. How does someone control that?”

“Practice,” Lo says. “I’m trying too. Believe me.”

I nod, knowing it can’t be much easier for him. At least thinking about booze doesn’t lead to an involuntary orgasm. I flush at the memory and groan into my hands.

“Maybe I’ll just remember the look on Connor and Rose’s face. I think that will keep me from fantasizing about anything for the next solid two-hundred years.”

He pulls me closer, rubbing my back soothingly, and then he kisses my lips in one quick second, testing it out.

We’re worse together when things are out of control, and during these moments we have to be careful. It’d be so easy to enable each other just to make us feel better again, but being a couple also means being intimate. Comforting someone normally involves touch—a hug, a kiss, a hand on a leg—things that send me off the deep end. We just have to find a balance.

“How was that?” he asks.

It felt simple and right. “Good.”

“I have a question, and I want you to know that I won’t be offended if the answer isn’t what I want it to be. I just…I’d like the truth.”