Ricochet (ADDICTED SERIES)
Ricochet: Chapter 8

After more days filled with class, therapy and loneliness, winter break arrives. And every year with winter break comes Daisy’s birthday. Our mother asked her what kind of Sweet Sixteen party she wanted, and she chose to take the yacht around Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Samantha Calloway put her foot down almost immediately at the idea. Not because it’s too lavish but because she has a special brunch with her tennis ladies on Wednesday that she won’t miss. Daisy was asking for a week-long birthday, not just one night.

Our father has a business meeting, so he wouldn’t be able to make the trip either. But I stepped in and told my mother that I would chaperone. Since Lo’s call, I’ve been feeling better, and I kind of want to test myself—to see if I can hold myself back from doing something with a server. I know I can, and I’m ready to experience that personal victory. Dr. Banning even thought it’d be a good idea.

My mother was more than happy with these terms, but Rose wasn’t. She has an Academic Bowl competition all weekend. So does Connor. Her solution? The brunet, know-it-all track star.

Ryke.

He even went as far to personally ask Daisy if he could join her party because I would need some help. I was there when she told him that if he could handle a boat full of estrogen, she wouldn’t be one to stop him.

He choked on a dry laugh and said, “I think I’ll be okay.”

She flashed an equally tight smile. “Just warning you now.”

Daisy invited twenty of her closest girl friends from prep school who look like they’re used to getting what they want. He should be scared.

After a flight to the port, I wait by the dock while stewards collect our luggage to bring on the yacht. The sixteen-year-old girls pool out of two limos, adjusting their Chanel sunglasses and reapplying a sheen of lip gloss to combat the daylight. I feel a little underdressed in my jean shorts and halter top. These girls look like they took a pit stop in L.A. and went shopping: long billowing skirts and tight bandeau tops with designer bags on the hook of their arms.

They bring me back to my prep school days. I spent most of my time avoiding these girls, too scared about what I would be labeled if my secret was exposed. Lo was my only friend, and as a result I’m a bit socially inept when it comes to girls. This trip is going to be awesome. I just need to remind myself that I’m four years older. And even if they make me feel like a small shellfish…I am a shining sea star. Uh…I seriously need to come up with better confidence boosters.

Daisy sticks out among her friends at five foot eleven. When she spots me, she waves and her eyes flicker over to the handsome twenty-two-year-old beside me. Ryke wears black wayfarers and leans an arm on the dock’s post with such confident nonchalance that the rest of the girls begin to look over, eyeing the cut muscles of his bicep and the ridges seen through his green tank. It’s like a herd of lionesses stalking their prey.

I smack his stomach, my knuckles hitting the hardness of his abs.

His eyebrow quirks like I’ve gone mental. “What the fuck?”

I shake my hand off. “Stop doing that.”

“I’m just standing here.”

This is going to be a long trip. “Don’t stand like that.”

“Like what? Seriously, how the fuck am I supposed to stand?” He throws his hands up in the air.

“I don’t know,” I exclaim, glancing back at the girls. “Don’t lean on things. It looks sexual.”

“I’m not even going to ask how that’s possible. Besides, everything looks sexual to you,” he reminds me.

“They may look my age, but they’re all sixteen.”

He glances back at the girls who are still sizing him up from afar. “No shit. And let me guess, you think I’m going to hook up with one of them. I’m not you, Lily.”

Okay, that stings.

“Most guys would go for it,” I defend myself. “They’re cute girls and men usually think with their downstairs brain. I’m just telling your cock in case it has other plans.”

“Leave my cock alone,” he snaps. “And while you’re at it, leave your sexist attitude on the shore.”

Maybe I did generalize the entire male population as being horny, but I’m a little edged. The last time I was on a boat, I almost ruined my friendship with Lo and then I ended up forming a real relationship instead.

I think boats are my enemy. They make me kind of nuts.

I open my mouth about to tell him this, but Ryke cuts me off, “Get a grip, Calloway.”

He’s right. I take a deep breath and prepare for the worst. I can do this. It’s only a week.

I internally laugh. Yeah. Right.

* * *

While the girls are given a brief tour of the yacht by the chief steward, Ryke and I replace the lounge area with a shady overhang. I take a seat on the couch while a server brings us fresh orange juice. As part of the itinerary, my mother told the servers not to carry any alcohol onboard. Last thing she’d want is for one of the girls to fall over the rails and drown in a drunken haze.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Lo?” I finally ask. “You’ve been in contact with him. He said you’ve actually seen him.” The hidden truth doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Ryke is stable. Lo needs him. I can understand that.

Ryke hikes his feet on the coffee table while I tuck mine under my legs on the outdoor couch, holding a pillow on my lap. “I didn’t want to tell you because you would have started badgering me with questions the same way Lo does about you. The whole point of being separated is so you can focus on yourselves. If you’re constantly worrying about each other, then that’s not going to happen.”

All this time, I thought Ryke was one-hundred percent right. But Dr. Banning said that the solution for me isn’t celibacy but rather a focus on intimacy. And being intimate with my partner actually requires my partner. By the prolonged distance, I can tell she fears I’ll revert to porn, masturbation, or worse, other men, to fill the empty space. I won’t. She said I have willpower, and I’m trying to exert it to the fullest degree while he’s gone. And if he doesn’t want to come back to me, well…I’m also trying not to think about that.

I stir a cherry in my juice. “You don’t trust me, do you? That’s why you’re here.”

Ryke stretches his arms on the back of the couch, his muscles sharpening more than before. He looks like he owns the damn yacht. How do I get that type of confidence? I wish it could rub off on me. On second thought…maybe not. That would mean I’d have to get physically closer to him.

“Honestly, I’m worried about you. I’m hoping that if you have some sort of panic attack that I’ll be here.”

“Because you promised Lo that you’d look after me while he’s gone,” I say with a nod. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from having a better winter break. What would you be doing anyway?”

“I got an invite to go snowboarding in Aspen with some friends, but I already turned it down before Rose called me.”

I frown. “Why?”

“I was planning on rock climbing, and my friends don’t climb, so…” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

I’m still stuck on the ‘rock climbing’ bit. “You rock climb?”

“Since I was six. I loved everything about it, and I spent hours at indoor climbing gyms. I remember I’d beg my mom to let me go before school even though I spent all day there the minute the bell rang to release class. My mother hates it, so she put me in track to see if I’d stop, but I didn’t. I just found two things that I love instead of one. She was ecstatic when I told her I changed my plans this week.”

“Do you climb actual mountains?” I squint, trying to picture him harnessed and dangling from a slab of rock.

“Yes, Lily, I climb mountains.” He shakes his head like that’s such an inane question.

“What? You could have spent your whole days in the gym.”

“I would have been bored,” he says. “I climbed so much that I kept pushing myself for something new and challenging. That’s what my trip was supposed to be about. I was going to free solo climb Half Dome at Yosemite. I’ve free soloed El Capitan in the same National Park a couple times before, but never Half Dome.”

I have no idea what those mountains are or what they look like, but if he’s been climbing since he was six and for so many hours, he must be pretty good.

“My mother has been freaking out about it for the past month, but the weather turned out to be bad in California anyway. I would have had to reschedule, even if I didn’t come here.”

If I had a son, I would be freaking out too. “What’s free solo climbing?” I mean, obviously, solo entails being alone, which sounds dangerous enough. If I had the guts to shimmy up a mountain, I’d want someone there to catch me if I fell.

“No ropes,” he tells me. “Just me and the mountain and some chalk.”

My mouth slowly hangs. “Wha…that means…if you…no.” I shake my head at the image of Ryke losing his grip and splatting on the hard ground. “Why would you want to do that?” I pause in thought. “Is it the adrenaline rush?”

He shakes his head. “No, everyone asks me that, but I don’t get that feeling like I do when I run. If you have an adrenaline rush when you’re climbing, it probably means you’re falling off the mountain. When you feel fear, your chest constricts, and you’ll probably slip and die.”

I gape. “Are you serious? You don’t get scared? Not even a little bit?” How is that possible?

“Nope,” he tells me. “You have to be calm, and I love raising the stakes and trying to overcome them. Like I said, it’s a challenge.”

I stare at him like he’s an alien species, but I guess plenty of people free solo climb or maybe not. “Do many people die climbing without ropes?”

“Maybe a little less than half of people who free solo.” He shrugs again.

“You’re crazy.”

He smiles. “So my mother tells me.”

The pack of girls suddenly filters onto the deck in varying shades and styles of swimsuits. Most are string bikinis, but I see a few cut-out one-pieces that expose hips and lower backs. Half of the girls run to the padded chairs on the sun deck, trying to fight for ones with the best light. A few meander over to our lounge area and plop on seats around Ryke and me.

I’ve met most of the girls before since the majority have grown up with Daisy since preschool, but I can’t recall half their names. The strawberry blonde with fair skin and a light layer of freckles is Daisy’s best friend: Cleo. Then there’s Harper, the Native American girl wearing a black-studded bikini. I can’t place the third girl that sits with us. She’s already so tan that anymore sun may cause her instant skin cancer. She also wears bright pink lip gloss that matches her neon-blue string bikini, ready to be inserted into a Katy Perry video.

Daisy slides closer to me on the couch. I notice that she wears a string bikini with tons of layered straps, the dark green color matching her eyes. “We need to get some snacks. I’m starving.”

At the command, a female server in a white shirt and black pants peels away from the sliding glass door. She hands Daisy a menu with tons of items and a line at the bottom says: if it’s not on the menu, ask us and we may be able to make it.

“I want chocolate,” Cleo says to the server. “How about…chocolate covered strawberries?”

The server nods. “Anything else?”

“I can’t have chocolate…so…” Daisy hums to herself as she slides her finger down the menu. Her features progressively darken, as though frustrated with what she can and cannot eat.

I practically feel Ryke seething beside me. But he needs to shut his trap. She doesn’t want chocolate, and he shouldn’t pressure her to eat it like he did at the Fizzle event.

I do have some sisterly sway, and I know there are some foods that will be good for her to eat. I lean closer and point to a tuna sandwich. “That’s healthy.”

“Mom said no mayo,” she says softly.

“Well, Mom isn’t here.” Jesus, my mother has seriously crossed a line somewhere. It’s Daisy’s birthday. Does she expect her not to eat cake too? That’s sacrilege.

Daisy stares off for a long second, thinking about the consequences of cheating, no doubt. She’s already a size 2 at 5’11’’ which is fucking madness, but until the high fashion industry stops seeking these types of girls, I don’t see my mother changing.

“Get the fucking sandwich,” Ryke tells her. “You’ll burn it off swimming.”

“Don’t do tuna,” Cleo suddenly says. “Your breath will reek.”

“Yeah, I hate the smell,” Harper agrees.

I already want to strangle them.

Daisy tenses at all the voices. She hands the menu back to the server. “I’ll have the tuna, thanks. My friends will have to deal with the smell.” She shoots Cleo a look. “It’s my birthday, after all.”

Cleo shrugs. “Just trying to warn you. What if we meet some hot local boy? You’re going to scare him off with bad breath.” God, they’re already planning on picking up guys. This just turned from slightly fun to terrifying. I hope I’ll be equipped to handle them. Please, let me be equipped.

“Even better,” Daisy says. “The guy will run over to you. See, I did you a favor.”

Cleo purses her lips and then her eyes slowly trail over to me. “So Lily…”

I brace myself.

“…How did you get so skinny? What are you, a size zero?”

Great, she asks me a question I’m not really sure how to answer. The truth—I spend more time consumed by sex than I do taking care of myself. In my defense, I am short. If Daisy became a size 0, she’d fade away and need to be hospitalized.

“She’s always been skinny,” Daisy answers for me with ease.

“You know, I’ve never been able to tell if guys are into the whole size zero skinny look,” Cleo says with a false politeness. She might as well have said “emaciated” instead of skinny. She has to know her words are beyond rude.

Her pretty blue eyes flash to Ryke, who’s pretending to be busy watching a basketball game on the hanging television. “Right, Ryke?”

His eyes stay glued to the screen as he confirms with a simple “yep.”

Cleo holds onto the word like it’s bait. “Are you into size zero girls?”

This is so fucking awkward! I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and Daisy lets out a long exasperated sigh. “Cleo—”

“What?” Cleo says with a nonchalant shrug. “I just want a male perspective on the situation. I only have younger sisters, okay? I’m curious.”

Ryke turns a fraction, his gaze still hidden behind wayfarers. “My brother loves her, so obviously some guys are into skinny girls. Everyone has a different preference.”

Harper interjects with a little too much eagerness. “What’s yours?”

I imagine he’s rolling his eyes right about now. Damn, sunglasses, I’d actually like to see him break in front of a few girls. How is he going to handle all twenty together?

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I like women. Big breasts, curvy waists, an ass I can grab.” He keeps steady, unflinching. I am cringing inside and slightly aghast that he even responded back. Daisy’s friends look around at each other, realizing that they all have tiny hips, decent-sized boobs and no butt.

Daisy scrutinizes Ryke for a while and then says, “How big of boobs?” Ohmygod.

“How about we change the subject?” I say.

“Big,” Ryke tells her.

“You like to grab those too?” Daisy tries. Her friends literally gasp out loud.

Ryke’s lip twitches, but he holds back what I think is a smile. I’m glad he replaces this amusing. I do not. At all. This is like…no. If Lo were here, he’d have yelled at his brother for flirting back with an almost-sixteen-year-old. That’s what Ryke’s doing. Even if his intentions are to start an argument or make someone uncomfortable, it looks like flirting. “Only if I hear a woman moan when I do it.”

“Ryke!” I shout at him. I mouth, enough. My eyes widen to emphasize the severity. I know he’s not intentionally trying to flirt back, but he’s about to cross a line. And I suspect he knows it exists, and that he’s crossed many in his life. Maybe he thinks traditional rules don’t apply to him. Or maybe, he just doesn’t care.

Daisy opens her mouth to say something back, but he cuts her off, “There’s your male perspective.” He turns back to the television, closing off to the girls.

Cleo isn’t finished harassing me though. “About Loren Hale, he’s in rehab, right? My parents heard from some family friends.” She nods to the Katy Perry girl. “You remember Greta? Her parents found a dime of coke and she got sent to rehab. It’s like they don’t understand that we’re young, and we want to have some fun. They’ve done it before.”

“Yeah,” Katy says. “It’s so hypocritical.”

I hate that they’re comparing Lo to a teenager screwing around. That’s how it starts, sure, but his problem has exceeded a small dose of adolescent rebellion. It’s not a shame that he’s in rehab. It’s what my father said…admirable.

“He chose to go,” I defend my boyfriend, heat gathering in my eyes. “He wants to get help.” Which is a better place than where we were before.

The lounge silences in this awkward layer, and Cleo presses her lips together, avoiding my narrowed gaze. Thankfully, the snacks parade over on a tray, rescuing me from the tense situation. The girls start chatting again, and I look to Ryke. He gives me a supportive nod, which means more to me than I’ll ever let on. I want to do this right. I want to be strong and fight, and being on this boat is a big step.

Last time I was here, I was a mess. This is my redo.

Daisy grabs her sub, and her long hair sticks to the tuna that squeezes from the sides. She plops the sandwich back on the tray and uses a napkin to wipe the strands. “I hate my hair,” she mutters under her breath.

“Ever heard of a ponytail?” Ryke says to her. His antagonizing is not helping. After New Year’s I realized her “signature trait” brings up insecurities.

“Yeah,” Daisy snaps back, “want me to put your hair in one?”

Cleo shakes her head. “He doesn’t have enough hair for that.” She bites into a strawberry.

“You could always make really tiny ones all over his head,” Harper chimes in.

Ryke keeps his gaze trained on Daisy. “You shouldn’t bitch about something that you can change.”

Daisy’s lips form a tight pout. She pulls the hair band off her wrist and gathers her long locks into three sections, braiding them easily. “Happy?” she snaps back.

“Only if you are,” he says. “It’s not my hair.” He returns to his basketball game where he rightfully should stay. He’s making me paranoid. I do not want my sister to grow attached to him or think that he’s giving her attention for the wrong reasons.

Cleo crosses her ankles, sitting on an ottoman that faces us. Her baby blue bikini washes out her fair skin. “Aren’t you going swimming?” she asks me. “Where’s your bathing suit?”

“I’m going to put it on later.” Though I am not looking forward to swimming with Daisy’s friends. Cleo’s stares have given me a third degree burn. She does not like me. Her hatred could stem from anywhere—like the fact that I’m the only one who brought a guy on the trip, or that I’m four years older—so I try not to waste my time questioning it.

“What about you?” Katy asks, scooting closer to Ryke on the couch. “You swimming with us?” Her long lashes flit over the curvature of his body, the angles of his muscles that cut so supremely. Of course he rock climbs. His muscles scream, “I scale mountains!” Not just “I run a shit ton!” I should have known. Silly me.

“I’m going to finish watching this game first.” His voice tightens, and he sits more rigid than before.

I want to laugh, but I can’t because out of the corner of my eye on another ottoman, I see Harper pulling out a travel-sized vodka bottle, dumping the contents into her virgin daiquiri.

“What are you doing?” My brows pinch. Is she serious? I’m sitting right here. Am I not that threatening? My mother specifically said no alcohol. They all heard her warning before she sent them off in the limo.

“Your boyfriend may be an alcoholic, but I’m not,” Harper tells me with a dry smile.

“Harper, that’s so fucking rude,” Cleo says in this pretentious tone that makes it seem like…well, not that fucking rude.

I can’t take anymore. “I’m going to go put on my bathing suit.” I shoot up from my seat, and Ryke, surprisingly, follows suit.

Daisy mouths an apology as we go inside. I shrug my shoulders to try to tell her that it’s okay, but my nerves still vibrate in not only frustration but severe anxiety. Ryke shuts the sliding glass door behind us.

“Afraid of being alone with them?” I ask.

“I’m more afraid of you being alone by yourself,” he tells me.

Oh. He has zero faith in me. “I’ll be okay. We should get our bathing suits on.”

“Sure.”

We head to our bedrooms, and I manage to keep a safe distance from all the male servers. If Lo is hounded about being in rehab for alcoholism, how would people react to rehab for sex addiction? I can’t even imagine. Maybe it’s a good thing that in-treatment facilities turned out to be a bust for me anyway. I wouldn’t want to shame my family with the news—that their daughter or sister is some freak.

I close the door to my bedroom, one of the larger ones with a fancy gold bedspread, a fur throw, and a granite-topped dresser. A Victorian cream chaise rests against the right wall, gold-stitched pillows decorated on the buttoned cushions.

I slip on my simple black bikini and comb my fingers through my short hair before taking a quick peek in the mirror. If I inhale a deep breath, my ribs stick out. I feel low, and to combat this sinking emotion, I’d normally jump on my bed and replace porn to watch. Masturbate until everything washes into bliss.

Things need to change, I remind myself. So I back away from the bed and stop fiddling with my fingers.

A knock sounds on my door. “You naked?” Ryke asks.

“No.”

He walks in. “You okay?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I wish Lo was here. He’d make me feel better. Maybe not even with sex. He’d just smile, kiss me, tell me I’m beautiful and say, “Fuck them.” Because at the end of the day, we were the only thing that mattered to each other. All I needed was him.

“I hate people,” I blurt out. Lo and I used to shun the entire world because we were scared of the ridicule. Of how people would perceive us. We created this bubble around ourselves, filling it with lies and misery, until it eventually popped.

“So now you’re generalizing the entire world for three catty girls?” He picks up a sailboat decoration on the dresser, overturning it as he talks. “Four girls, if you want to include your provoking sister.”

“I exaggerate a lot,” I tell him. “And if anyone’s provoking it’s you.”

Ryke lets out a long, dry laugh. “That’s funny considering your boyfriend is ten times worse with his words. If anyone can poke at someone’s soul, it’s him…and probably my father, but that’s another story, isn’t it?” His lips form a pained smile.

“So you don’t hurt people with your words?” I question with raised brows.

“You want to know the difference between Lo and me?” Ryke asks, leaning his elbows on my dresser, nonchalant and assholish all in one swoop.

“Sure.”

“You remember the Halloween party? Lo stole liquor from the house, and he barely admitted that he took it. Before you came out there, he spent about five minutes telling them all the ways in which they were complete fucking morons. It wasn’t even close to being funny, especially not when he told Matt that guys like him are worth nothing in life. That they’ll take shit and eat it until they fucking die. It was cold and cruel.”

My chest hurts because I believe every word Ryke is telling me. I’ve heard Lo tear down people in prep school until they cried, not because it made him feel better but because they hurt him first and it was his greatest weapon of defense.

“He walks away sometimes,” I say in a small voice. “He’s not always like that.” I defend him because he’s not here to speak for himself. And what I said is partly the truth too. Lo knows when to walk away. Like the first time we were at The Blue Room. If someone’s harassing him back, he won’t stand there and take it for long. He’s too used to verbal abuse, and I think he’d rather not be weakened and drained by it. He’d rather just get out of the fucking way.

“Okay,” Ryke says, “but in the context of the Halloween party, he didn’t.”

“And what would you have done, Ryke? Not stolen the liquor? Not started the fight? Congratulations.” Rehashing the past puts a bitter taste in my mouth. We can’t change that event. Talking about it rubs my skin raw.

“I would have punched him,” Ryke says easily. “I would have decked the little shit in the face. That’s the fucking difference.” He straightens up, and my jaw slowly unhinges, not expecting that.

“You don’t seem like a fighter.”

“I don’t?” Ryke says, his eyes pulsing with something fierce. “If someone is giving me shit, I’m not going to stand there and take it. Maybe Lo was defenseless all his life, but I wasn’t.”

“And then what? It would have been four to one at that party. You would have gotten your ass handed to you.”

“I never said it would be the right thing.” He shrugs. “It’s just a different kind of wrong.”

His wrong. And Lo’s wrong. Neither are better or worse, I realize. Their dissimilar upbringings make them react to situations in opposite ways. That’s what he’s telling me.

It also makes me incredibly sad. Because he basically admitted to being as damaged as his brother. I picture his fist flying into Matt’s face before awful words are spewed, impulsive and brash.

Only it’s a different kind of damaged.

Just as he said.

* * *

I float on a yellow inner tube in the crystal blue ocean. The girls, Daisy, and even Ryke rest on their own brightly-colored tubes, each round floating device tied together by a rope so we don’t drift from the boat or each other. I catch Harper swigging from another mini-bottle of liquor she smuggled on the boat.

Dear God, please don’t let one of my little sister’s friends drown to the bottom of the ocean because they’re so fucking intoxicated. Thanks.

The first five minutes were actually fun. I took a nap and listened to music playing from the boat’s speakers, and my feet skimmed the cool water.

However, five minutes later, and the girls become so damn restless that their shouts and high-pitched voices scar my eardrums and wake me up.

“Oh my God! Something touched me. Was that a shark?!” Katy screams in fright. She latches onto Ryke’s tube, and he nearly topples into the water. Her palm plants on his bare abs to catch herself, but clearly, her grabby hands are no accident. She has been eying his chiseled muscles since he strutted off the deck like he built it with his bare freakin’ hands. It’s mildly infuriating…and also scarily accurate.

“Relax,” Daisy tells her. “It was probably just a fish.”

Ryke tries to disengage from her, but she clutches to his bicep now, her panicked eyes darting from him to the water, two seconds away from shrieking, “Save me!”

He carefully pries her fingers off his arm. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Oh…yeah. Right.” She raises her chin and situates back on her pink tube.

Ryke unhooks his green inner tube from the pack and paddles with one hand to my lonely rope on the end. He clicks it in and rests his wayfarers back over his eyes.

“Smooth,” I whisper to him.

“That’s how it’s done,” he agrees.

I roll my eyes and sink back into my tube, my butt skimming the water underneath. Ready for nap number two. Naps are great. When I’m asleep, I barely have the urge to jump from the water, go to my room, and perform some self-love acts.

“Seriously, is that even possible?” I hear a girl ask curiously. Now I’m curious.

I listen closely.

“I swear on my life it was four fingers,” Katy says. “I was really sore afterwards.” Whaaat?

I glance quickly at Ryke, but with his sunglasses on, I can’t tell if he’s hearing what I am. Fingers. Sore. This is sexual. I know it’s not just my perverted mind.

“How could he do that though? I mean, how would they fit?”

“They wouldn’t,” another girl adds. “I definitely don’t believe you.”

Daisy stays quiet in the middle of the pack, kicking the calm ocean with her feet.

“Let’s ask Lily,” Cleo offers. “She’s older and has a boyfriend. I’m sure she’d know. Lily!”

The nearest girl splashes water on my chest, and I hesitate before sitting up to face the string of girls. I really, really don’t want to talk about sex with Daisy’s friends. This whole trip was about me not thinking about sex, and yet, it still surrounds me, even when I don’t bring it on myself.

Harper, the closest to me, explains their debate. “Katy says that her ‘boyfriend.’” She uses air quotes. “Put four fingers inside of her. Is that possible?”

I squirm a little, my float knocking into the unflappable Ryke who gazes up at the sky, sunbathing during this debacle. While I’m here, two seconds from unclipping my tube and floating down the ocean as far away from this boat and conversation as possible.

“Ummm…” My arms turn into a giant red welt. “Everyone has different bodies.”

“Did you just call my vagina loose?” Katy snaps at me. What?!

“No!” I say. “Of course not. His fingers could have been small.” I cringe. That wasn’t better. Ohmygod. If I dive from my tube and go underwater right now—will that be really weird?

“Well how many fingers does Lo usually use?” Cleo asks. I must turn a darker shade of red because Cleo adds, “Don’t be embarrassed, Lily. It’s just sex. How else are we supposed to figure all this stuff out if we don’t talk to each other?”

Daisy straightens up in her tube, dropping her feet in the middle and resting her chin on the teal plastic. “How did you learn about sex? Did Poppy and Rose talk to you about it?” She sounds a little bummed, as though she missed out on some monumental sister-bonding experience by being the youngest.

She’s mistaken. Poppy never talked to me since she was so much older and spent more time with boys on her own than she did teaching us about them. And Rose—I always believed she’d judge me for sleeping around. Not talking to her may just be my biggest regret.

I learned from the internet, porn, and gossip magazines like Cosmo. Wikipedia helped too. I wonder if it would have made a difference if Poppy or Rose talked to me. Maybe I wouldn’t be so ashamed, but then again, maybe nothing would have changed. I’ll never know. As much as I hate to even think it, Cleo’s right. Girls shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex.

“Who cares who she learned it from,” Katy snaps before I can replace a suitable reply for Daisy. “I want to know more about Lo. Have you done it doggy style? I heard it feels better.”

“Ew, isn’t that, like, in the butt?” one girl cringes. “That’s supposed to hurt.”

“Doggy style can be in the vag too,” another girl pipes in. “Duh.”

Secretly, I give Ryke’s inner tube a little nudge. He sways and grabs onto mine to steady himself. I face him and hiss, “Save me.”

He rests his head back on this tube, ignoring me.

I feel myself being left out to dry. “I. Will. Drown. You,” I whisper.

Suddenly, he sits up. “I’m going to get some food.”

“I’ll join.” I suppress my smile, and after a short paddle, we end back on the yacht. I spread a towel across one of the lounge chairs on the sun deck and lie back to dry off.

Ryke rubs a towel through his hair and then tosses it on the adjacent recliner. “You sure know how to avoid people. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m trying to be better about it, but some things still make me uncomfortable.” Especially since Lo isn’t here to help ease me into this new, terrifying social world. Having him by my side would make for a smoother transition. I wouldn’t feel so…unhinged by people. “And how can you not be uncomfortable by that?”

“It takes a lot for me to get rattled. I wasn’t about to swim away from them.”

“You just did.”

“Because you asked me to.” He sets his feet on the deck, sitting and facing me while I relax long-ways on the lounge chair.

“So you really would have stayed there while I described sex with Lo?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re forgetting that I basically watched him grope you,” Ryke reminds me. Yeah, I remember now. When Ryke first met Lo it was under odd circumstances. “I’m a journalism major. In my profession, I can’t be turned off by weird or uncomfortable situations. I just have to fucking deal. And that’s something I’ve been pretty good at most of my life.”

I thought this trip would do a lot of things. Make me confront my insecurities and by the end, boosting my confidence for the future. Never did I think it would help me understand the shadowy mysterious figure that is Ryke Meadows.

“Hey,” Daisy climbs on the deck with a towel wrapped around her waist. She sits on the lounge chair opposite mine and holds a decorative pillow to her chest, covering herself while Ryke stays seated in between us.

My stomach lurches. “Are your friends coming up too?” I’m afraid of seeing the mob of girls swarm the deck area and prod for more details about my sex life.

“No, they said they wanted to stay out there a little longer.” She stares at her toes for a moment, her nails painted a turquoise blue. “I’m sorry about them. I didn’t know they’d nag you. It’s stupid anyway.”

“What is?” I ask.

“Sex. Who cares how many fingers a guy put in Katy?”

I really, really don’t want to talk about this in front of Ryke, and I can tell he’s biting his tongue. He wants to say something, clearly, but he needs to hold it inside for two seconds. Please. Is that at all possible?

She elaborates before I can reply. “I can name about three things that are better than sex. People make it seem like it’s some terrific experience, and in the end, it’s just super lame.”

Ryke rubs his lips, curious. Don’t take her bait, I urge with wide eyes, but he’s not looking at me. “What three things?”

Daisy crosses her arms, building up defenses for when he attacks back. He always does. I should end this before it starts, but I see their battle beginning, and I really don’t want to be hit in the crossfire. “Oxygen, chocolate and freefalling. There you go.”

“Sex is definitely better than chocolate, and Lily would make a strong case that it’s more sufficient than oxygen. And when have you been freefalling?”

“Last year, I skydived for the first time.”

He nods. “Okay, well, hate to break it to you, but sex is ten times better than skydiving.”

“No it’s not,” she rebuts.

Ryke leans forward on his chair a little. “Then whoever fucked you didn’t do it right, sweetheart.”

Her cheeks heat, flushing red, but not nearly the same burnt color mine become. Thank God, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “There’s no wrong way to have sex,” she retorts.

Ryke looks to me for backup on this question, as though I’m the sex guru. I guess…I kinda am. I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. “There can be bad sex,” I tell her. “It’s possible that he wasn’t very good.”

“I’m pretty sure he was as good as any other guy.”

Ryke interjects, “And do you have another experience to compare it to or are you going on one guy and one time?”

Daisy stares at him with hard eyes, unwavering. “One time, but still, I can’t imagine it being any better than that.”

“Let me ask you this then,” Ryke continues to poke. I want to stop him, but every time I open my mouth to intervene, he speaks and cuts me off. “Did you orgasm at all?”

Daisy’s brows cinch as she tries to remember. “I’m…I don’t know.”

“You didn’t then,” Ryke says.

He pulls his wayfarers up on his head so she can see his deep brown eyes, honey flecks swimming in them. He actually looks like he comes in peace. Which is nice. But still, he shouldn’t be having the conversation with anyone. What did he tell me before she got up here—oh yeah, that very little makes him uncomfortable. Maybe that’s a problem!

Interrupting them and ending this severely awkward talk has flashed out of my mind. Mostly because my sister doesn’t seem to think it’s that awkward, and the last thing I want is to embarrass her or treat her like a child. I’m sure our mother does it enough.

“But I was…” she trails off in thought.

“Wet?”

“Yeah…” she says softly. “…wait, no, I wasn’t.”

Ryke’s eyes narrow, pissed all of a sudden. “This was your first time?”

She nods and then shrugs. “No big deal.”

“Yeah, that’s a fucking big deal,” he tells her. “What kind of asshole enters a girl on her first time without getting her aroused first? It probably hurt like hell.”

“Not really.”

“I don’t believe you.” He points at her. “In fact, you should stay away from any guy who doesn’t make you come at least twice before he fucks you. Keep that in mind.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not going to have sex again. I have more important things to do. Like wash my hair.” She flashes him a dry smile.

“That’s a shame then,” he tells her. “You’d probably enjoy it with the right guy—maybe even realize that it’s better than fucking chocolate.” He smiles a little. “That’s cute, you know, you should tell that to the next boy you meet.”

“Sure,” she says, her tone still skeptical, probably knowing that Ryke isn’t flirting with her now. “Maybe I’ll even tell him to try out four fingers.” She shares his smile for a brief moment.

“That, I would not advise,” Ryke declares, leaning back on his recliner. “But I’m also not a girl. Lily?”

My turn to interject? Oh goodie. “Yeah, no,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t either.”

“Noted.” She stands and tells us thanks before she goes inside to use the bathroom.

I immediately spin around and confront Ryke. “In-appropriate,” I break up the words for emphasis.

He slides his wayfarers over his eyes, leans back, and rests his hands underneath his head. “I was educating her.”

“You were embarrassing me.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Anyway, I’m better than Connor Cobalt. Imagine him here diagramming the reproductive system for her. Would you rather have that happen?”

“No, no, I’d rather all penises stay a thousand feet away from my little sister, that’s what I’d like.”

“Not going to happen, Lily. She’s almost sixteen. She’s already had sex. And she’s a fucking supermodel.”

“High fashion.”

He laughs under his breath. “Whatever. She’s gorgeous, looks older than you, and plenty of guys will see that if they already haven’t. She shouldn’t be uncomfortable talking about sex just because you are.”

Ouch. I let it go because…he’s right. I cringe as I think it. “Don’t tell me you like her.”

“Did I mention that she’s sixteen?” he snaps.

“Just making sure.” I relax a little.

Maybe I’m going about everything the wrong way. Sex is okay to talk about. Sex is not something to fear or to condemn. I just need to replace the healthy way to do it. With Lo, of course.

And then, everything will be okay.

* * *

I usually pop a sleeping pill to battle my warring thoughts, but I do as Dr. Banning suggested and stay far away from prescription drugs. Instead, the darkness and quiet begin to open the doors to my suppressed emotions. I curl up in my bed—the ocean waves not enough to rock me to sleep. I end up staring at the empty place beside me, wishing for the warmness of another body.

Being away from Lo for three months is extremely difficult, but over time, it’s become manageable. The part where he returns freaks me out the most. All this anticipation courses through me, and I imagine the moment where he’ll stand in my doorway and gently tell me that we’ll have to break up for good. That he’s moved on, reached a healthy stasis, and figured out that I’m the giant cancer in his life.

I press my forehead to my pillow. Don’t. Cry. I force, but hot tears seep in the creases of my eyes. I take two trained breaths the way Rose showed me.

Lo made me promise to wait for him. Maybe I should have made him promise to return to me. At least to give me a fighting chance.

Ten minutes later, sex invades my mind like a relentless enemy. These feelings will float away with a better high, and my nagging thoughts will tumble and fall. I welcome the urge, too emotionally drained to care about anything other than drifting away from this state. I crawl off my bed and zip open my suitcase, rummaging around the bottom before I replace my black travel bag of toys. They’re all the same brand from a luxury line, and it kind of reminds me of Lo’s preference for expensive liquors. Great…

Quickly, I pick a small pink bullet vibrator and hop back on the bed. I wiggle my black cotton panties to my ankles and then slide the device inside. I debate on whether to concentrate on Lo. On one hand, he’s the sexist guy in my spank bank. On the other hand, tears build whenever I imagine his amber-colored eyes staring at me, with his body thrumming on top of mine. I just end up missing him and wishing he was here. In the flesh. Holding me.

I settle on clicking the remote and clearing my mind of everything. I massage my breast underneath my gray cami-tank. Running my finger over my nipple, I pulse my hips rhythmically against the device. Heat gathers across my arms and legs, and my body throbs for a strong release. I slide my hand along my stomach, past my belly button and to my swollen and tender spot that aches to be touched. My fingers rub against my clit, causing my hips to buck and my breath to catch. Yes.

Please make me come. Please make me come. I chant over and over in my head.

Please. I alternate between rubbing slow and fast and speeding up the vibration of the bullet with my remote.

I turn my head and cry into the pillow. Please. I beg my mind. Lo… Too gone to this hunger to think about the sadness that accompanies his name.

Please. And then my insides writhe, my toes curl, and my head floats, a balloon ready to drift away and pop. I pant heavily and stay still for a little bit. The high begins to leave, and I desperately want to catch it—to bring it back and relive it all over again.

It was too quick, too fleeting, too insignificant to replace the hole in my heart.

So I start again.

An hour later and soaked in sweat, I am in no hurry to stop. Each time I come down from an orgasm, I wait a couple minutes and crave the next one before I start again. I’m dripping and wet and sore and none of those things wills me to quit. I just kind of want to exhaust myself so much that I pass out.

An urgent knock sounds on the door, and my heart drops. I fumble with the remote, trying to turn off the vibrator, but it slips from my fingers and onto the floor. I lean over to grab it without uncovering my lower half with the plush comforter, but as I reach, my fingers brush the remote and knock it underneath the bed. Ohmygod.

“Lily!” Ryke says loudly. “I’m coming in. You better be fucking decent.”

I am not decent. I am not even three-quarters decent. I am semi-freaking-the-fuck-out decent.

“Wait!” I scream back. I have no time to think. I straighten out my tank, covering an exposed breast that somehow popped out. Oh shit. The door opens before I can even search for my underwear beneath the depths of the huge gold comforter. I hug it to my chest and gulp as Ryke walks in.

I try to give him a glare, but my paranoia ruins its full power. Why didn’t I lock my door?!

The bullet vibrator silently buzzes inside of me, and my embarrassment hits a new peak. I never thought that was possible. I catch the distressed look on his face as he runs two nervous hands through his brown hair, a little thicker than Lo’s. I frown at his rare expression. Something has unsettled him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Is it Lo? What if something happened in rehab? What if he’s hurt? I straighten up, my pulse hammering.

He crosses his arms over his bare chest and leans his spine against my dresser, slumping forward a little, his eyes darkening. “One of the girls just crawled in my bed.”

Not Lo, but this is still pretty disturbing. “What do you mean?”

“I woke up,” Ryke says angrily, “to a sixteen-year-old groping me.” His fingers go through his brown messy hair again. “I can’t deal with that shit. I trust myself not to do something with a high school girl, but I don’t trust them. I almost got raped, Lily.”

I can’t help but snort.

“It’s not funny,” he says flatly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” But this…was kind of unexpected.

He goes to the Victorian chaise and squishes a pillow in his hands, tossing each one on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I squeak out. He cannot be staying here. I need to pull this vibrator out. I need privacy.

He keeps one of the softest pillows on the head of the chaise. “I’m not going back there.” He lies on his back, wearing no more than a pair of drawstring pants that show a little too much definition in the crotch. Seriously, why do Lo and his brother wear those things to bed? They’re so…sexy…leaving my imagination to roam towards bad, bad places.

He fidgets a little, smashing the pillow to get more comfortable. This can’t be happening.

The vibrations make me lose focus. I can’t just sleep here with this inside me all night. Action must be taken. Even if it will be the most awkward (possibly embarrassing) moment of my whole life.

I manage to reach down under the covers and hook my finger on the string to the vibrator, pulling it out and cupping it in my hand. I can’t leave it on the bed, not when it makes noises, and in the silence of the night I’m too terrified that Ryke may hear and think I intentionally tried to get off with him in the room.

So now comes the hard part, I try to feel around for my panties without being too obvious. When I touch the fabric, I pull them up around my thighs, trying not to wiggle so much. When they’re on, I mumble, “I have to pee.”

I grab the plush comforter that weighs a freaking ton and wrap it around my body like I’ve seen in all the movies. Only when I crawl off the bed, the heavy comforter takes the sheet and an extra blanket underneath it. Basically, I just stripped my bed. Good job, Lily.

I’m not smooth at all. I must look like a snowman wrapped in a cocoon. At least it hides my half-waddle and the vibrator in my left hand. Ryke says nothing about my strange behavior. Maybe he’s fallen asleep from his traumatic event or I’m stealthier than I think.

Then…I face plant.

“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 replace 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 replace 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.”

I wouldn’t. Would I? No…

I feel the cold phone being pressed against my ear.

“Lily?” Dr. Banning’s calm voice fills my head. “Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Everything. This. I pray for strength, but it won’t come. I want to stand, but my legs won’t move. I need a reason to continue… “I’m sorry I woke you up,” I barely whisper. The words burn my throat, and I shut my eyes as a couple tears escape.

“Don’t be sorry, Lily. That’s what my emergency line is for, okay? Can you talk to me? What are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed.” I squeeze my eyes with two fingers. I’m so ashamed of what I am and what I do. How can I ever stop? It seems…like a mountain I have not been tasked or equipped to climb.

“What else?”

“Tired. Ashamed. Upset.”

“You’re going through a lot right now, Lily,” she tells me. “It’s normal to feel these things, but you have to stay strong. Before you feel out of control, you need to talk to someone and tell them what’s bothering you. It doesn’t have to be me, but I’m always here. How did this start? Is it about Loren?”

“Yes. No…I don’t know,” I mutter. I pause and open up a little, forgetting that Ryke squats by the tub only a foot away. As I talk, a weight begins to slowly (very slowly) rise from my chest. It’s still there, but it lessens just a little. “I’m going to have to stop masturbating, aren’t I?” I lick my chapped lips and cringe at my own words.

“Do you think it’s unhealthy or a gateway into other compulsions?” she asks, her tone serious.

“I do it,” I choke, “and I always want more. It’s never enough.”

“Giving something up isn’t the same thing as losing control. It’s the opposite, Lily. You’re taking back control.”

I try to relax by her statement. While powerful, the full force of it breezes through me and then drifts away. I imagine Rose saying something similar. I hear them. I see the strength in the words. I feel it, but I can’t hold onto it and believe it the way they can. I don’t know why that is.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she emphasizes. “I know it may not feel like that right now, but in time, everything will be okay. You have to start believing you can make it there.”

“I know.”

“Okay, good. Can you give the phone back to your friend?”

Ryke peels the phone from my ear and presses it to his own. I watch his face as he listens to Dr. Banning. I can sit up now. Even if everything still hurts, I try to numb the pain with her encouragement. Be strong, Lil, Lo would tell me. When I come back, I’ll be strong with you. I wipe the rest of my tears, imagining those last words. Praying that’s what his response would be and not the awful your problems are too much for me right now. God, please, let him come back to me.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Ryke nods, his eyes falling to the tiled floor. “He’ll answer. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. You have no idea.” He hangs up the phone.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small, tired voice.

Ryke raises his hand. “I’m going to call Lo. You cannot start crying and have a breakdown over the phone. He can’t do anything to help you right now, and you know how much that’ll kill him.”

I nod wildly, my heart lifting at the very idea of speaking to him. “I promise.”

He hesitates before dialing.

I lean my arms against the bathtub rim, nearly falling over to be closer to the receiver—to hear his voice.

After a couple rings, Ryke says, “Hey, did I wake you?” He rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fucking smartass…yeah, well, I have someone here who wants to talk to you.” He pauses and then glares at the ceiling. “No, she’s fine. She just finished talking to her therapist.” He rubs his jaw and then nods to himself before holding out the phone to me.

I grab it quickly, but once I have it against my ear, my thoughts start to sink somewhere foreign. I forget what I planned to say. Maybe I had nothing to tell him. Maybe, I just wanted to hear his voice. I whisper, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Lo replies back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryke kicking my comforter back into the living room. He avoids the vibrator and doesn’t ask questions about it, but my cheeks flush, mortified all the same. I sink lower in the tub.

“It’s Daisy’s birthday,” I tell him. “I’m in Mexico.”

“Ryke told me already.”

Oh.

Ryke props the door open against the wall and nods to me. “Don’t close this.” He heads to his chaise, plopping down with an exhausted sigh.

Long, silent tension pools over the phone, and I lose track of what I should say. I’d rather not bring up the fact that I’m sitting in an empty bathtub after an emotional meltdown. I don’t want to give him another reason to avoid me when he returns home. Because who in their right mind would want to take care of this?

I’m about to mention how we’re all going ziplining tomorrow at Daisy’s request, but he beats me.

“So what happened tonight?”

Shit.

“Nothing really, and I don’t think we should talk about it. You’re all the way over there.” Wherever there is. No one will tell me his exact location. He could be in Canada for all I know.

“If Ryke handed you the fucking phone—someone who definitely disapproves of our relationship—then I know it had to be bad. I want to know, Lil.” This is not how I imagined our conversation. I thought we’d avoid the topic like we’ve always done in the past. He briefly mentions alcohol. I’ll say a little bit about sex, but when things become messy and truly focus on our addictions, we abort.

“It wasn’t bad,” I mumble under my breath. “Ryke told me not to bring it up. I think we should talk about something else. You need to concentrate on your recovery, not worry about me.” I hesitate from going further. Dr. Banning invades my mind, and I can almost hear her saying that Ryke is wrong. That separating from Lo isn’t the answer. Finding a healthy way to be together is.

But does he still want me? I’m not so sure. I wipe my eyes.

He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to be worrying about it all fucking month, Lil. And Ryke hasn’t fully comprehended the fact that I’m going to eventually come home. And when I do, I’m going to be with you again. We’re going to have to start talking and reforming a better relationship. If I can’t handle this shit over the phone when I’m sober in rehab, then I shouldn’t be returning home anytime soon.”

All I hear is: I’m going to be with you again. I bring the receiver away from my mouth and wipe uncontrollable, silent tears that stream down in an avalanche. A huge pressure rises off my chest. I feel like I can breathe again.

“Lily?” he says in a frantic voice. “Lily, you there? Lily, dammit…”

I put the speaker back. “I’m here.”

I hear him exhale and breathe heavily. “Don’t do that. And don’t make me fucking guess what happened.”

I rest my back against the tub. “It’s embarrassing,” I admit.

“So?”

“So you really want to do this? To talk and stuff…”

“If we want to stay together, like really stay together and not go back to enabling each other, then yes, we’re going to have to talk. I need to know when you’re freaking out, and you need to know when I am so that we can stop each other from doing stupid shit.”

“Like the opposite of what we’ve been doing.” Dr. Banning said as much.

“Basically. Look, we’ve spent so much energy hiding each other’s addictions from our families. If we put that into helping one another, we just might be able to make this work.”

I like the game plan. It starts clearing that haze that has been clouding my future for so long. A picture begins to form of us when he returns. And I’m more overwhelmed by the fact that there will be an us after a three-month separation.

I finger the hem of my shirt. “We divorced,” I mutter. “I thought you weren’t going to want me back.”

His voice lowers to a pained whisper. “Why would you think that?”

I lick my dry, chapped lips again. “Couples who divorce usually don’t get remarried.” Of course, we’re not actually married. But he’ll understand the metaphor. He’s used it before when we were teenagers. We played house most of our lives. It’s kind of fucked up, but I guess that’s just us.

“I’m remarrying you, Lil. Fuck, I’d remarry you a hundred times until it stuck.”

I pinch my eyes again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I make you miserable?”

There’s a long pause before he murmurs, “You don’t make me miserable. You make me want to live. And I want to live with you.”

My throat closes for words. I sniff and rub my nose and wipe the last of my tears.

“Okay?” he breathes. “So about tonight, you need to tell me what happened.”

I nod to myself. Right. “These past couple of months, I’ve just been masturbating a ton. And this boat trip was supposed to be better than last time. I wasn’t supposed to turn into this compulsive monster.” I fucked up. But telling him this is easier than I thought it would be. Probably because we were always best friends before we ever became a real and true couple.

“Compulsive how?”

“I couldn’t stop. I was using my vibrator and then Ryke bulldozed into my room because he was scared he was about to get raped by a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Seriously?” he says in disbelief. I’m not sure what he’s referring to, and so my nerves jostle.

“What? Which part?” I scratch my arm.

“The part where Ryke is scared of a high school girl. What a pussy,” he says with a laugh.

I relax. “That’s mean to say about your brother.”

“Half-brother,” Lo snaps back. Okaaay. Obviously there’s some issue going on that I’m not aware of.

“I thought you guys were cool.”

“Oh yeah,” Lo says sarcastically, “I just love being the bastard.”

I guess before Ryke showed up, Lo thought he was a child caught in a nasty divorce between his parents. Come to replace out, he was the cause of their separation: a product of infidelity.

He sighs heavily. “Look, I can forgive him for lying to me because he’s been supportive of my recovery, and besides you, he’s the only person who knows what it’s like to be around my father. But he can be so fucking abrasive.”

I smile, glad we agree on something. “I know. He bugs me all the time, but I kind of have to put up with him.” Because he means well. And he’s one of the reasons we’ve reached this place. If Ryke hadn’t injected himself in our lives, I’m afraid we would have continued to enable each other.

“About that…” Lo trails off, trying to pick his words carefully. “I’m not feeling particularly loving towards him when I’m stuck here and he’s over there…” He refrains from adding with you, but I hear it anyway. “It’s just not an ideal situation.”

“You wouldn’t want to be here anyway,” I tell him. “Daisy’s friends talk nonstop. Your ears would start bleeding.”

“But I would still be with you,” he says and then lets out a frustrated groan. “I just want to hold you right now. It’s killing me.”

“Not as much as me,” I breathe.

Lo pauses. “What happened after Ryke walked in on you? He didn’t see you naked, did he?”

I blush. “No, no…” I quickly explain my comforter snafu and waddling to the bathroom. “I should have stopped, you know. That was the point where I should have ended my self-love for the night.”

“But you didn’t.”

I bite my fingernail to the bed. “Afterwards, I got sad. I broke down. Ryke came in and called my therapist. I talked to her and managed to stop crying. That’s it. That was my glorious night.”

“I thought you got rid of all your toys,” he says, confused. I imagine his brows furrowing and his forehead wrinkling in a bit of disapproval.

Shit. I did tell him that the first time we talked. Along with trashing my porn (which was the truth), I told a lie about ditching my sex toys.

“I lied,” I blurt out the truth. “But I really did throw out my porn.”

“No more lying,” Lo says roughly. “Not with each other and not with our friends. We have to do better.”

“Yeah, I know. I will. That was…that was all before I met my therapist.”

I hear him shift a little, the chair creaking.

“Are you on that ugly orange chair?” I ask.

“No, I’m in my room at my desk.”

“Oh…” I try to picture his room, and just when I’m about to ask, he pipes in.

“What did your therapist say tonight?”

I cringe. “No more self-love for me.” I press my forehead to my knees. “I think it’s going to be impossible though until you get back. It’s been so long; I can’t even imagine…” Not touching myself? Not reaching that high just once….it seems infeasible.

“How old were you when you started touching yourself?”

I kiss my kneecaps, knowing the first moment well because Dr. Banning made me dig through my memories and give it to her. “Nine, but I started doing it to porn at eleven after I found that magazine at your Dad’s place.”

“Okay, that’s disgusting,” he snaps. “Please never mention how you masturbated to my father’s porn ever again.”

“It was yours, you jackass,” I say lightly, not as offended as I should be I think.

“How do you know?”

“It was in your shoebox of porn on your shelf and in your closet.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

I smile. I miss talking to him, even if our conversations aren’t normal on any standards. I don’t think we’ve ever been normal. Maybe that’s why it works.

“Well, that sounds like a solid plan,” I say. “I’ll try to minimize now, but completely eliminate self-love when you return home.”

“That’s the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“What?” I frown. This is not normal. He usually agrees with me.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. If your therapist doesn’t think it’s a good idea, then it’s probably not one.”

“But that means…I won’t be able to have any kind of sex until you come home…” My pulse speeds up in sudden fear. I know Lo is cutting alcohol completely from his life, but my therapist said that recovering sex addicts shouldn’t strive towards celibacy forever. It’s an impossible standard to maintain. Sex is a part of human nature.

“Unless it’s with me,” Lo adds.

Now I’m really confused. “I don’t understand. You’re not here. Unless you’re going to mail me a dildo of your dick,” I say hopefully.

“Uh, no. I’m not letting anyone mold my cock for your pleasure. You can have the real thing at the end of March.”

“Then how am I supposed to have sex?”

“What about phone sex?” Ohhhh. Wait…

“Isn’t that the same thing as me masturbating?”

“Not if you’re doing it to my voice and only my voice. That way, you know when to stop, and it’ll set up a system for you. The hardest part about recovering from sex addiction—for you, I think—is going to be establishing limits, right?”

It sounds like a really good idea, and I’m kind of surprised he came up with this on his own. “Yeah, how do you know so much about it?”

“I’ve been talking to some counselors who know a lot about addictions, some have worked with sex addicts before. They’ve been giving me some advice.”

I smile. “So can we have phone sex now?”

“No.”

“What? But you just said—”

“You have to earn it.”

Huh… “That’s kind of mean.”

“I never said I would be nice. I’m done enabling you, which means we’re not going to have sex whenever you want it. You’ll have to replace the strength to hold out until the time is right.”

“And you get to choose when the time is right. How is that fair?”

“I’m not the sex addict.”

Touché. “Jeez. I thought sober Lo would be nicer.”

“I’m nice when it counts,” he says. “You love me anyway.”

“I do,” I agree. “But if you wait another month before we have phone sex, I might hate you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ryke knocks on the door frame, and I jump at his sudden presence. I forgot he was even still here. “You done? You’re killing my battery charge.”

He hates that I’m talking to Lo, but I actually feel a thousand times better. Dr. Banning must have known that he’d be the one to say the right things and in the right way to make me believe the words. He’s given me hope again. That I’ll kick this addiction. And I won’t have to be alone when I do it.

“Lo, your brother wants his phone back,” I tell him.

“Half-brother.”

I smile and climb out of the bathtub.

I needed this.

“I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“Love you too.” I hand Ryke the phone with an added glare.

He touches his chest. “Hey, I called him for you.” He snatches the phone. “You shouldn’t be scowling at me. You should actually kiss my toes.”

“With this,” I say, pushing past him into the room. My comforter lies in a ball at the base of my bed. I tug the tangled blanket out and wrap up in it, hopping on the mattress. I close my eyes but can’t seem to wipe the silly grin off my face.

No more self-love, sure. I’ll probably be in a world of pain tomorrow, but for right now, I feel like I’m in the clouds.