Ryke stands tensely, holding the clothes. He edges towards Lo and whispers to him, “Your girlfriend is upset, Lo. Can’t you see that?” He’s trying to guilt him into sobriety. I doubt that’ll work.
“Don’t act like you know her.”
“I know her enough.”
“You don’t knowshit. You’d be fucking spinning if you did.” He motions to the shirt that Ryke wears. “Keep my clothes. I don’t need them.”
“Fine. I’ll see you soon.” With this, he makes his exit, the door slamming shut.
Lo wipes his mouth and says, “I’ll be in my room.”
My chest caves. We should talk, but what do I say?Lo, I wish you would stop drinking.And he’d say,Lily, I wish you’d stop having so much sex.And then we’d look at each other and wait forthe other to sayokay, I’ll change for you.But there’d be silence so deep and cutting that I’d feel ripped open and bare. There’s no coming back from that.
I respond in the only way that makes sense to me. “I’m sorry for putting you in that situation. I’m really, really sorry, Lo.”
His muscles tense and he runs a hand through his hair. “I want to be alone right now. We can have sex in the morning, okay?” He leaves me. And I sink into the couch and listen to the ticking of an old, expensive clock on the bookshelf.
I curl up in a blanket, so hollow inside.
Minutes pass before I actually start crying, the messy tears that scrunch up your face and cause snot to run.
At least no one can see me, but I know I’m not alone in my misery.
Morning sex is hard and rough and so emotional that my head starts whirling. I’m so dizzy by the end of it that I rush to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet.
“Lily,” Lo calls, pulling up his boxer-briefs as he hurriedly enters the bathroom. He kneels behind me and rubs my back. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.
I dry heave for a full minute before I calm down, my trembling hands gripping the toilet bowl.
“What happened?”
I keep my back to him. “I was dizzy.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, my voice raw and scratchy. I stand to brush my teeth. I shakily find my toothbrush and some paste.
“Lily, talk to me,” he says from behind me. He sets a gentle hand on my hip while I spit into the sink.
When I finish, I turn around and lean my backside against the counter. “Do you want to break up?” I say bluntly.
His breathing shallows. “No. I love you, Lil.” He holds my hand. “Look, I’ll try harder. We both will.” I’m not surprised by the sudden proclamation. We fight one minute and then try to make up the next. It’s why we’ve lasted so long. And I suppose, the fear of losing each other is always stronger than the pain we cause.
“Try harder to do what?” I want clarification of where we stand.
“I’ll drink more beer. Ryke was pissing me off yesterday, so I chose hard liquor.” He pauses and eyes me hesitantly, about to turn the tables. “Lily…I love having sex with you, but the past two weeks, you’ve been crazy. I can barely even think.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” But I’ve been like that to stop him from drinking. I guess we need to work on fulfilling our compromises, which means I need to stop trying to force him to be sober by diverting his attention elsewhere.
Ryke will be disappointed, but this is the best I have without shoving Lo away. I need him more than he needs me. His vice is a bottle of whiskey. Mine is his body. So when we fight, I’m the one who loses out in the end.
“Doyouwant to break up?” he offers me the same out.
It’d be easier to let him go, to return to our regular rituals, but now that I’ve had him, I can’t imagine not being swept in his arms and being fulfilled to the highest degree. He’s my drug that I gladly consume, and I think that’s what he fears most. He enables my addiction. Always has. And the longer we’re together, he always will.
“No,” I whisper. “No, I want to be with you.”
He draws me close and kisses me on the forehead. “We’ll do better.” His lips brush my ear. “Next time you feel sick, please tell me.”
