Becca Ritchie - Addicted for Now

She loves me because I’ve become a better man through all of this.

“Lo,” she continues. “Whatever Emily said, I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here when you come home. There will always be an us.”

“A Lo and Lily,” I breathe.

“Or Lily and Lo."

I smile. “Thank you.”

She pauses. “Do I have to say the rest?”

“No, but you can if you want.”

“Don’t fucking drink, Loren Hale,” she says sternly, but it comes off more cute than rigid. It works all the same.

“I love you, Lil.” I straighten up and wipe my eyes with the back of my arm.

“Are you coming home then?”

“I have to make a stop first.”

She sucks in a worried breath. “Lo.”

“Trust me,” I say.

“I love you too,” she tells me.

I turn on the ignition and let those words carry me.

* * *

I don’t remember the office being this cold or dark, but I walk in with purpose. I’m no longer sorry or sad. I’m fueled by something else, something darker and stronger that begins to eat at my core. It’s a demon that my father carries, the one where anger turns into vile words. The one where we stop being pathetic and we start being mean. I thought being sober would change me. Make this part of me vanish. But I realize it’s not only alcohol that powered my hate. It’s programmed inside of me from years and years of being raised by someone like him.

“You’re finally back,” Brian says, lounging behind the desk with this nonchalance that has always dug under my skin. “Did you get tired of ignoring my calls?”

“You were nothing, if not persistent,” I snap dryly, slumping down into the chair. I met Brian in rehab, and we discussed my life in grave detail. He was supposed to be my outpatient therapist, and I guess I kind of fucked that up when I stopped going to our sessions. Even more so when I stopped answering his calls.

“So why are you here, Lo?” He leans even further back in his chair.

“How do you not fucking hate me?” I ask in confusion.

“I assume you had a valid reason for skipping the session,” Brian says calmly, “and if not, then that’s on you.”

“I’m not talking about skipping sessions,” I snap. “How can you sit there and listen to my problems and not roll your eyes every two seconds?”

“Why would I do that?” He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look confused or upset. Brian is a blank slate that bounces my words right back at me. All this time, I thought he stared at me like I was this royal douchebag—that I was some loser he had to stomach. But I know I was projecting. I wanted him to hate me. I was begging for it because I’m not worthy of anyone’s compassion.

“I have more money than you will ever have in your lifetime,” I tell him. “You have to sit there and listen to me bitch about stupid shit for hours on end, and then I return home to my nice house with my nice car.”

 “You think I should hate you because you have money and because I have to listen to your problems? Is that why you stopped coming?”

“No, I stopped coming because I couldn’t bear to stare at your ugly face any longer.”

He actually smiles at that. It’s genuine, which makes me feel like a bigger dick. He sets his pen on his desk and sits up. “I know you, Lo,” he reminds me. “We’ve talked for months, so I know that no one, especially your father, has ever told you this.”

“If this is your fortune cookie wisdom, you can save it.”

“Having money doesn’t make you an unfeeling automaton. You’re human. You can still have problems. The difference is that you have the ability to fix them. You just have to want to. Not everyone can receive the same help you can or afford the rehab facility you went to.” My stomach curdles at the truth. “But that doesn’t mean your recovery can’t be difficult. It doesn’t mean that what people say on TV or in the tabloids doesn’t hurt as much. You still bleed like the rest of us. You can cry. You can be upset. That right has not been taken from you.”

I stare dazedly at the ground.

“And Lo,” he continues. “I usually don’t offer my personal opinion to my patients, but I’m going to make an exception with you.”

“How kind.”

He doesn’t smile this time. “Underneath this rough, I-hate-myself-and-everyone-around-me exterior is a good guy. And I think that you have the ability to accomplish great things if you just start forgiving yourself.”

“For what?”

“I think you know what.”

“Well, you’re so keen on giving personal opinions, why don’t you tell me,” I snap.

He doesn’t. Instead he grabs his pen, leans back in his chair and clicks a couple times. “Sometimes the person we think we’ll become is the person we already are, and the person we truly become is the person we least expect.” He clicks his pen again and points it at me. “There’s your fortune cookie wisdom.”

I think he’s telling me that I have a chance. That the life I imagined—where I become the self-loathing man behind a desk, where I become my father—doesn’t have to be the one meant for me. I want to take the leap while my mind is clear, while I can see an alternative future that doesn’t look as grim. I want Lily. A house. The white picket fence kind of happiness. I didn’t ever think I deserved that, but maybe, one day, I can become the kind of person that does.

I shift in my seat, but I don’t break his gaze. “I went to see my mother. My real mother,” I tell him.

His head tilts, but his face has gone blank again. This time, I don’t feel like punching him for his lack of reaction. I just talk.

It pours out of me like I’ve carved open my stomach. Every word makes me lighter and freer.

I don’t stop.

The next morning, Lo and I head to his office. He shares all the details about his mother, and he lets me hug him whenever I reach out. While I can’t physically relate to a parent abandoning me, I understand what it feels like to want your mother to love you and not receiving the same affection in return.

He sinks into his leather chair, and I hesitate to bring up what happened with Dr. Evans so soon after his emotional reconnection with Emily. It’s why I didn’t mention it on the phone last night. Last thing I wanted was to instill guilt and have him break his sobriety. (He admitted to sitting in the parking lot of a bar—I knew it.)

I skim the comic books on his shelf while he works on a couple contracts. A guy who runs another indie publishing company has been giving Lo advice, so every week Lo grows more confident about the job. He even talks about hiring a partner to help with all the areas he’s weak in. And that idea, of asking someone for help, doesn’t make him balk in detest.

I’m supposed to be unpacking boxes downstairs at Superheroes & Scones, so my lingering presence must catch Lo’s attention. “You okay, Lil?”

I pull a She-Hulk comic off the shelf and focus on the cover while I speak. “I actually decided to go back to Allison for therapy. And my father is okay with it. He says it won’t break the deal.” He also told me that he’ll be filing a lawsuit against Dr. Evans. Hopefully, I helped some other girl that could have been harassed.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I forgot to ask you about your last session with…” He trails off, and I meet his eyes that have grown as big as saucers.

“I’m glad I went,” I tell him. “I would have never fired him otherwise.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

I hug the comic to my chest like a pillow, letting it give me some sort of strength. “He wanted me to masturbate while he shocked me,” I say very quickly.

Lo grips the table, his eyes turning into pure fury.

“But I said no! And then he didn’t like that so he unzipped his pants.”

Lo jumps to his feet. I drop the comic and rush to stop him from leaving the room.

My hands press to his chest. “I said no, Lo,” I say proudly. “I screamed it, and then I screamed for Garth. Everything worked out fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” Lo tells me, hurt caressing his amber eyes. “Fine would be you never having to deal with that sick fuck.”

“It’s over,” I say. “My father is handling it. I don’t want to keep dwelling about every bad thing that happens to us. I want to move on. Don’t you?” I’m ready to start the newest chapter of our lives. One where we’re not assaulted by our vices. One where we’re happy.

His shoulders slacken and his hands rise to my cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asks, searching my eyes for the truth.

“I feel strong,” I say. “I know that’s probably weird.”

 He shakes his head and his eyes seem to say no, not at all.

“There’s something else,” I start. Worry shrouds his face. “Not like that. It’s a good thing, I think.” I take a deep breath and his hands fall to mine. “I’ve decided that I don’t want to see the blacklist of what I can’t do…sexually, I mean.” I grimace. Really, Lily?

Wrinkles crease his forehead. “Why?”

“I realized that it doesn’t matter what I can’t do with you,” I say. “We’re together…for real this time. No piece of paper or list can tell me what I’m missing. I have everything I could want.”

I can’t even blink before his lips are on mine, before his arms have pulled me to his body. I am cloaked in Loren Hale. He brushes his hand against the back of my neck before ending the kiss, but he doesn’t retract fully. I’m still very much in his arms.

And then he lifts me up with two hands firmly planted on my ass. My legs swoop around his waist instantly. Obviously my limbs are processing what’s happening faster than my brain.

His eyes melt into mine as he slowly carries me backwards and sets me down on his desk. My heart beats like a drum at this—a fantasy I’ve imagined since I was in high school. Desks. Sex over them. Sex on them. Sex near them. Of course I can make furniture into something stimulating.

Is this really happening or is it all in my dirty mind?

The corners of his lips rise at my confusion and anticipation. His amusement only riles my cravings, but I try to push them back, not wanting to turn into a compulsive monster.

His hands run along my thighs, my legs still tight around his waist. “How many times have you pictured this?”

“On this specific desk?”

He grins and kisses me again. I deepen it and hold onto the back of his hair, gripping tightly. He groans a little as he pulls away, and then he tugs off my shorts with ease. I’m about to swoop my legs back around his waist, but I stop myself. Shockingly, I even stop him, planting two firm hands on his pecs. Oh, those are nice.

“Lil?”

Right, focus. I meet his perplexed gaze. “I’m not stupid,” I say.

His frown morphs into hurt. “I never said you were.”

I shake my head. This is all coming out wrong. “What I mean is,” I start again, “after all those times you denied me sex on the beach, in the car, basically anywhere but our bedroom and bathroom, I’ve figured out that public sex has to be on that blacklist.”

He takes a step back and the distance hurts more than I thought. I reach out and grab onto his hand for some sort of connection. He lets me hold on tight. “You said it doesn’t matter what’s on it,” Lo reminds me.

“It doesn’t,” I say. “It doesn’t, I promise. I just don’t want to break it.”

My words appease him enough to walk back to me, to slip his hand from mine so he can place both on my cheeks. “I won’t let you break any of those rules. That’s my promise to you.”

“But—”

“It’s my office,” he says with a humored smile. “It’s my private place.”

Ohhhhh. YES! I bite my bottom lip to try and hide my grin.

“So you’re all smiles now?” he asks. “You know what I think about smiles?”

I shake my head, still smiling as his hands make their descent down. His fingers teasingly slide just beneath the hem of my panties.

His lips brush my ears. “They’re not nearly as sexy as this.” He slips his fingers inside of me and presses against a tender spot. My face instantly contorts into one of sheer pleasure, my mouth opening and my eyes fluttering. A noise escapes my throat.

He looks all too pleased. “Who’s smiling now, love?”

Definitely you. I grab onto his shoulder as he replaces his fingers with his hard cock. I have the urge to rock against him, but I make myself stay still as can be. I want to show him that I have control. That I’m trying.