Ricochet (14 page)

He cups the back of my head and holds me as I shudder in
euphoria and bliss and the high that turns me into a wild beast.

It only takes a couple minutes before it flits away, leaving
me with a sinking feeling. Without the urges, my mind clears and the enormity
of what I just did hits me cold. I break away from Lo, refusing to meet his
eyes that follow me in utter concern.

I quickly grab my phone on the table.

“What are you doing?” he asks, insecurity bubbling in his
voice.

A lump has taken residence in my throat, but I manage to
mutter, “Nothing…just…clothes on.” I motion to his pants on the floor. I can’t
look at him nearly-naked. I don’t trust myself anymore.

He fumbles around with his clothes while my heart beats
wildly. And then…I find it.

“I think we just had sex,” I say in horror, staring at the
small screen on my phone.

“What?” He frowns and walks over, still shirtless but at
least he has his pants on.

I hold up my phone. “
Non-penetrative
sex
,” he reads and then licks his bottom lip in thought. His eyes meet
mine. “That’s not
real
sex, Lil.”

“That’s not what this says.” I continue reading.
“Outercourse.
I think we had outercourse!
Oh
my God.”
My heart is going to detonate. I crossed a line. I let myself
get caught up in all the mixed up feelings and I crossed a fucking line.

“Whoa!” Lo puts his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look
at him. “Take some breaths.” He waits for me and then says, “It’s Wikipedia.
Not the fucking Holy Grail. You get to choose what you consider
real
sex for
you
. Okay?” His eyes look a little guilty, and I feel even worse
for making him remorseful for something that I clearly wanted.

“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Then that wasn’t real.
Outercourse doesn’t count.”

Relief fills him.

“But,” I continue. “I don’t think we should do it again.” I
don’t trust myself.

He drops his hands from my cheeks. “That’s fine,” he says,
sounding a little detached. “I just…” he shakes his head. “It’s Valentine’s
Day.”

“I know.” I can’t let him go with that. “And it was the best
present I’ve ever gotten. Honest.”

He smiles and kisses me lightly on the temple before picking
his flask up on the desk.

I let out a deep breath.
Never again
.
But as I remember
the way he looked at me, commanding and determined and so very powerful, as
though making me cry was his sole goal in life—well, I know I may never find
that with someone else.

Never again
is a
very, very large price to pay.

But we’re not really together, after all. We’re just two
friends playing make-believe.

{6}

A couple months at Princeton and I stopped going
to class again. Seeing people walk around campus with smiles and laughs puts
knots in my stomach, so I’ve been doing all the course work and attend only for
the exams. I’ve been pulling Cs, which is better than failing.

Rose scolds me when I sit at home, moping again. I guess I
just feel like February has turned into Day 1 without Lo—all the pain that
crushed me from the first moment he left swallows me back in its dark, black abyss.
I kept hope that he’d email me by now. And he hasn’t.

But my vibrator keeps me company. My fantasies do too. But I
rarely climax. It’s like my sadness has eked out any possibility of feeling
that high again.

To keep me busy and to lift my spirits, I decide to change
my ways a little. For the past three days, I’ve consumed my time at Calloway
Couture, making good on a bet that I lost with Connor. I promised him that I’d
help Rose at her blossoming fashion company by being her assistant.

Which I’ve quickly found out just means being the errand
bitch.
 

Although I do have my own desk that sits off to the side in
a spacious city loft, the room decked out with racks of dresses, blouses,
coats, boots, and handbags. Rose glances from her computer in her dictatorial
office—a glass cubical that literally overlooks the whole room. She has two
other girls manning desks near me in the center. They’re in charge of social
media, websites, and inventory.

While they’re productive members of Rose’s company, I’m more
like a little hamster running along a stationary wheel. I fetch coffee and file
notes. Busy work. But it beats masturbating for a whole two hours without any
sort of release. I did that yesterday. Not fun.

After a short minute, Rose exits her office and struts over
to my white desk. “Did you get the business card I left you?” She made me a
whole box, as though solidifying my position as “Assistant of CEO” for the
future.

“Yep, they’re pretty.” They’re even “lily” scented. I asked
her if her cards smelled like roses and she shot me a cold look. Apparently,
Mom had the idea to scent the business cards, and Rose had to go along with it.
Our mother has her claws in Rose’s company in more ways than just one. Rose started
the business at sixteen, too young to realize that our mother would deem
herself co-founder. She acts like a silent partner, but Rose would rather she
wasn’t involved at all, considering the only contribution she makes is painful
irritation. She’s a nosy gnat, but she’s also someone easy to love if she
agrees with you.

“No, not those cards. The therapist.”

“Oh…yeah, it was taped on the computer screen. Pretty hard
to miss.”

“Have you called?”

I lick my dry lips. “No, not yet. I thought you were still
researching.”

“No, I’m done. That’s the one. I know she is, but if you
don’t like her, then I’ll keep looking. But you should meet her at least. She’s
a lovely woman.”

I inhale. “Okay, yeah. I’ll meet her soon.” Maybe she’ll
prescribe me some drugs and take these feelings away. That sounds nice.

As her heels clap back to her office, I Hulk-grip the mouse
and click my way through Microsoft Excel with efficiency. Rose has detailed my
tasks and their importance by numerical code. I realize that calling my
therapist is number one. Checking shoe sizes for shipment to Macy’s is number
thirty-five.

Just as I reach for my phone to make an appointment, it
buzzes on the desk, vibrating across the glass surface. I frown and check the
screen, an unknown number popping up.
Could
it be…?
I frantically pick up the cell, my heart hammering. If it’s him,
what do I say? I hesitate, words coursing through my brain in overdrive. I
don’t know if there’s any right way to start a conversation. Maybe it’s not
him. Maybe it’s just hopeful thinking. He’s not even supposed to be calling
until March. Isn’t that what Ryke said?

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

“Not Ryke?” I wonder.

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

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

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

I bite my thumbnail. “What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you met anyone?” I try again.

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

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

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

I smile. “You’re sitting on a penis?”

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

“Yeah?” My stomach clenches.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I give into Ryke’s constant pleas. I let Lo off the hook.
He no longer needs to be my rock. I’ll have to find another one or maybe I’ll
be able to stand up on my own.

“Yeah,” I say, my heart constricting as I restrain a wave of
emotion. “I’ve been doing
really
great.
I have this new therapist, and I threw out all my porn.” Silent tears begin to
brew, and they slowly streak my cheek, but I keep my voice steady so he can’t
tell. “I even stopped using toys.” He’ll believe the lie, but I doubt he would
if I added,
and I stopped masturbating.

“Really?” His voice breaks, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Yeah, really. I’ve never felt better.” I bring the speaker
away from my mouth, the lie crushing my chest.

After a long moment, he says, “Good, good. I’m glad.” He
inhales another sharp breath. “I don’t have much longer—”

“Lo,” I interject.
Please
don’t leave me just yet.

“Yeah?”

“I’m waiting for you.”
I
love you.

I imagine a smile spreading across his face. Even if it’s
sad, it’s still one that I’ll hold onto in my dreams. “I knew you could.” He
pauses. “I have a meeting with my counselor in a couple minutes. I’ll call
again…”

I want to leave him with something better, something more
satisfying. “You’re officially in my spank bank.” I fantasize about Lo every
day. He’s my number one, go-to image.

“You’ve always been in mine.”
Ohhh…
“Talk to you later, love.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Me too.” With this, we hang up at the same time, and I
stare at my phone, as though the conversation I just had was all constructed
from my mind. I have to double check my recent history to verify.

Yes, it was real.

And what’s more than that—it’s going to happen again.

{7}

I sit in the therapist’s waiting room with Rose by
my side. She skipped all of her classes for the day to be here with me. I’ve
thanked her about a hundred times. My eyes dart between the exit and the door
to the office. Fleeing sounds tempting, but with Rose here, I stay situated to
the white couch cushion and refrain from biting my nails. A window overlooks
the New York skyline, the interior just as modern with glass bookshelves and
purple orchids.

When the door finally opens, I spring to my feet as though
the couch electrocuted my butt. And the therapist greets me with a warm,
sincere smile. Looking in her early forties, her chocolate brown hair bobs at
her chin, and she wears a black skirt, fitted jacket, and a cream blouse. With
her heels, she just barely reaches my height. She must be super short then.

“Hi Lily, I’m Dr. Banning.” She holds out her hand, and I
shake it, momentarily embarrassed by my sweaty palm. When she lets go, I’m
surprised she doesn’t wipe her hand on her skirt like she caught something
infectious.

She gestures to the office, opening the door wider for me.

I look back at Rose.

“I’ll be right here,” she assures me. I try to soak in some
of her confidence, but unfortunately, it’s never really been contagious.

I raise my chin, pretending to be strong, and enter Dr.
Banning’s office. A few glass bookshelves line the walls, and her cherry oak
desk sits off in the corner. In the center lies a white fur rug and two pieces
of furniture: a brown leather chair and an identical brown leather couch.

“Take a seat,” she says, motioning to the couch.

I rest on the edge of it, my foot bouncing in anxiety. I
glance out the large window, a park in direct view, the patch of green actually
calming me a little.

Dr. Banning holds a notebook in her hands, and my eyes
transfix to it for an extended second. My problems will be documented within
the pages for (hopefully) only her to see.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m like this?” It’s the very
first thing I ask. Not even starting off with a cordial ‘how’s your day?’ Nope.
I begin by blurting out my biggest insecurity:
what the hell is wrong with me?

“Maybe in time. Why don’t we begin by getting to know each
other first?”

I nod. Oh my God. I even do therapy wrong…I can’t do
anything
right.

“I went to Yale for my PhD, and I’ve focused primarily on
addiction, especially sex addiction. Now, tell me a little about yourself. It
doesn’t have to be related to sex.”

This should be the easiest question she’ll ask, but my
tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” She stands and goes to her mini-fridge that
sits beneath a Vincent van Gogh painting. When she returns with a bottle of
water, I take a long minute to spin off the cap and sip.

“I…um, I grew up in a suburb outside of Philadelphia. I have
three other sisters.” My eyes flicker nervously to her. “You’ve met one.”

Dr. Banning smiles encouragingly. “And your other
sisters—are you as close to them as you are to Rose?”

“Not really,” I say. “Poppy is married, and she has a little
girl. She’s much older than me, so I didn’t really grow up with her. And
Daisy’s a lot younger, and when I entered high school, I kind of went my own
way.”

“What were you like in high school?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I was the quiet girl. No one
bothered me unless I was pulled into Lo’s fights. Normally, no one ever really
acknowledged me, except when there was a group project. I was kind of…just
there.”

“Did you have any friends?”

“Yeah, Loren…my boyfriend. He, um, is in rehab.” I scratch
my neck.

“It’s okay, Lily,” she says easily. “Rose explained your
situation. We’re going to talk about him in time.”

I’m suddenly afraid she’s going to say that he’s the root of
all of my problems. What if she tells me to never see him again? What if
that’s
the solution? My chest thrums
with rapid anxiety that I end up blurting out, “I know that I have an unhealthy
relationship with him, but there has to be a way that we can be together and
work through our problems. Right?”
Please
say yes. Please don’t end this for me.

Dr. Banning inspects me for a long moment and tucks a piece
of her bob behind her ear, but it pops back out, so thick and so much volume that
it won’t stay in place. “For now, I want to concentrate on your addiction,
Lily, and then we’ll talk about how your boyfriend plays into it. You don’t
need to worry, okay? We’re going to try to work through this together to find
the answers you want.”

I relax only a little and slide further back on the cushions
to refrain from bolting out of the office. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she nods and glances at her notebook. “Let’s go back
a little in time. I want you to tell me about your relationship with your
parents. How did they fit into your life? And how do they fit into your life
now?”

I squint, processing these relationships that I desperately
tried not to quantify for the longest time. “When I was younger, my father was
always busy. He still is. I’ve never hated him for it. His success has given me
a lot of opportunities.” Hell, I wouldn’t have been accepted to Princeton or
the University of Pennsylvania without my family’s prestige.

“You’ve never been upset that he couldn’t spend more time
with you?”

I shrug. “Maybe when I was little and didn’t understand how
his hard work paid for our house and our nice things. But now, I only wish he’d
retire so he could have more time to himself.”

“And your mother? She doesn’t have a job, does she?”

“No,” I say. “My relationship with her is…” My brows furrow,
trying to put to words how my mother used to treat me compared to the other
girls. “…I’m not sure how it was. But now, she leaves me alone. We talk briefly
here and there, but that’s about it. It’s probably mostly my fault. I just
haven’t been around much.”

“Why is that?”

When I got to college, I started going to less and less of
the weekly family luncheons. Then I just kind of stopped all together. It was
really the only scheduled “family time” and I always found a way to bail. For
sex.

I take a shallow breath before saying, “I didn’t find them
all that important. Not compared to my own stuff, I guess.”

“Your own stuff being sex,” Dr. Banning clarifies for me,
her tone clinical.

I nod once. “It sounds awful, doesn’t it?” I mutter, the
shame slithering in like a virus.

“It sounds like you have a problem, and you’re seeking help
for it. That’s a monumental step.”

“I just want it to stop,” I confess.

“Be more specific. What exactly do you want to stop? The
sex?”

I shake my head. “Not all together. But my brain feels like
it’s going to explode sometimes. Even if I’m not doing it, I’m thinking about
it almost every minute of the day. It’s like I’m stuck on this loop and I don’t
know how to get off it. It’s exhausting.”

“It’s normal for addicts to be consumed by their addiction,
especially sex addicts where a large portion of the obsession is in terms of
fantasizing. How have the fantasies changed since Lo left? Are they less
frequent?”

I pause and think about this for a moment. “I think so,” I
say with an unsure nod. “I spend more time missing him. So maybe, yeah.” Of
course that might change if he returns to me. He’ll be home and I’ll have more
energy to fantasize. God, I hope not. I just want my brain to
stop
.
 

I take another sip of water. “Are you going to ask me about
sex?” So far, I feel like we’ve been beating around the topic. Aren’t
therapists supposed to be direct?

Dr. Banning tilts her head a little, and I’m lost to her
pretty brown eyes that remind me of Loren. Only, his have amber flecks that
resemble his favorite alcohol. “Of course. Do you feel comfortable enough to
talk about it? Rose says that the topic makes you nervous.”

She told her that? I wonder how transparent I am in front of
my sister. “What do you want to know?” I ask.

“What does sex mean to you, Lily?”

I’ve never been questioned about sex before. Lo even dodged
the topic in order to avoid the subject of alcohol in return. “It makes me feel
good.”

“In your questionnaire, you wrote down that you like having
sex in public places. Why are you okay with this, but you’re not comfortable
with ménage or voyarism? Take your time to answer. I know you probably haven’t
thought about this before.”

She’s right. I haven’t. And for some reason, my muscles
begin to loosen at her words. I don’t feel as though she’s judging. She
genuinely seems to want to help me. Kind of like Rose. “I like doing it in the
bathroom or somewhere besides my apartment because it’s easier to get away
afterwards. The moment can start and end with the sex, and I don’t have to wait
to talk to the guy.”

“And when you’re with Lo?”

His name causes my cheeks to flush. “It adds to the
excitement.” I remember the gym locker room. Where he grabbed my wrists and
forced them above my head. I had a leg hiked around his hip while the other
struggled to stay on ground, but he lifted me off the floor with each thrust
inside. He filled me until I nearly burst at the seams. All the while, some guy
could come around the corner and catch us. The alarm bristled my nerves and
heightened the tension. I was on fire, flying seven feet above the ground with
a high so natural that I nearly collapsed at the end of it.

“And why not the other two?”

“Two guys at once…” I cringe, remembering that happening one
time. “Lo…he looked at me funny when I
thought
I slept with two guys. I drank too much, so I can’t recall the moment,
but…I don’t want him to ever see me like that.” I bite my nails, catch myself,
and bring my hand down quickly. “I can take the judgment from other guys, the
‘slut’ and ‘whore’ but I couldn’t have my best friend looking at me like that.
And maybe for another girl, it would have been okay to reach those points, but
I knew for me, my addiction was progressing to new extremes. And I couldn’t let
it go there.”

She nods. “That’s good. So your boyfriend helped you realize
what was considered safe for you personally and what was not?”

“I guess so.”

“And you had the willpower to stop.”

I shrug. I never thought I had much of anything other than
hope.
Willpower—that seems like a strong
word.

“You don’t think you have willpower?” She must see my hesitation
and insecurities. My weak shrug must have given me away.

“I’m not any better, am I?” I tell her. “I let Lo sleep with
me during Christmas Eve, and I knew he shouldn’t have. I masturbate all the
time, and I
just
threw out my porn.
I’m not even sure how long that will last.”

“Lily,” she says, edging forward on her seat. She stares at
me for a long moment. “You wrote on here that you’ve been monogamous the entire
time you solidified your relationship with Lo.
That
is an achievement that you can claim. I have patients who’ve
spent years with multiple partners, and they still struggle to stay faithful.
You spent those same years with different men, and yet, you’re here, telling me
that your problem is
not
cheating but
rather compulsive masturbation, pornography, and intercourse. That is a huge
hurdle.”

My chin quivers. No one has ever told me that I’ve done
something good. This whole time, I thought I failed Lo in a huge way, I thought
that my problem hindered my ability to help him. Maybe it still did, but Dr.
Banning is telling me that I tried to be healthy for Lo. And I succeeded in a
large way. “Oh,” I mutter under my breath, not able to form any other words. I
wipe my eyes before the tears come.

“You love him,” she tells me. “But your situation is incredibly
delicate. Rose tells me that he’s enabled you your whole life, and in turn,
you’ve enabled him.”

I nod, pain weighing on my chest. “I’m going to change.”

“Good. In order to become healthy, you’re going to have to
do the reverse. Instead of enabling each other, you’ll need to help each
other.”

The only problem that stands in my way now—I’m not so sure
Lo’s willing to come back and help me. What if he’s set on his own path that no
longer involves me? I won’t force him to be a part of my life if he chooses not
to be in mine. Even if…even if it kills me a little, I’d do anything that Lo
wanted.

Obviously that’s been our problem so far.

This isn’t going to be as easy as it seems, I realize.

“Was Lo your first sexual encounter?”

“What…what do you mean by that?”

“Was he the first person to touch you?”

I cringe a little, trying to draw my brain back to those
early memories. “Yes…we, uh…were nine, I think.” We played “doctor” and I
sprawled on the leather couch in his game room. Naked, not knowing any better,
I suppose. But maybe we did…we knew a little about sex by nine. He touched my
breast. I touched him. And then I grabbed his hand and put it in between my
legs. We separated after that and never played the game again. Buried the
moment like it was some embarrassing story. I explain this to Dr. Banning.
Briefly.

“It was consensual from both of you?”

“Yes. Is that weird?”

“It’s a little old for children to be playing doctor,” she
informs me, “especially since, by that age, you have somewhat of an understanding
of sex or at least sexuality. I would call it experimenting. Did anyone
interrupt you?”

“No one ever came in. Lo’s nanny was kind of a flake. She
used to sit on the couch and watch soaps all day. So…it’s not abnormal?”

“If something like this happens, it’s best if the children
get caught and then hopefully the parents can sit down with them and explain
appropriate behavior. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t have that guidance, but
I wouldn’t fixate on it too much. Between nine and twelve sexual experimentation
is a normal part of child development. You and Lo are roughly the same age,
neither of you were coerced or forced into it, so I wouldn’t consider it
abnormal.”