Addicted to You

THE NEXT FEW DAYS BLUR. I manage to avoid Lo each time I arrive and depart from the apartment. On the occasions that I sleep at the Drake, I wear earbuds to deafen Lo and Cassie’s love-making noises. Mostly, I spend the night somewhere else, any place that involves anonymous sex and the surprise of a mystery man.

My new discovery invades my waking hours. If I’m not scrolling through tons of unknown numbers, I research Craigslist for anyone willing to hookup. I have yet to use the online resource for a lay, but the allure brings me back. With only a screen name to go off of, I find myself imagining the person on the other end. What they look like. What I could do to them in bed.

The more Lo pulls away, the more I turn to sex, the only thing I can reach for. It feels like he’s wedging a large space between us. He hasn’t asked me for a ride in a whole week, and we’ve stopped discussing our nightly plans together. I used to be able to draw up his schedule as fluidly as my own. Now, I couldn’t tell you if he made it to bed last night without passing out.

I lie on my purple sheets, contemplating my very small existence and staring at the sun. It crests the sky, shining bright rays through the slits in my blinds. An arm drapes across my bare back. I don’t want to wake him. Hopefully his eyes will flutter open while I feign sleepiness. I’ve been up since five in the morning, thinking and gazing at the same spot. The sun. The window. My life.

Bang! The noise from my door jolts me. “Lily!” Lo knocks again, his fist slamming into the white wood.

My heart lodges in my throat. I put a pillow over my head, spinning and crashing in a post-drunk tidal wave. The door clicks, and I curse the fact that Lo has a key.

My groggy male guest props himself up. “Who are you?” he asks with a yawn.

“Don’t talk so loud,” another voice groans. What?! I did not…Did I? There are two guys in my bed! I didn’t…I couldn’t have had sex with both of them. I search my memories, but I blank when I reach my anonymous “date” at a bar. Booze forgives all transgressions, but it doesn’t help with the morning after.

My limbs have petrified.

“Both of you, get the fuck out,” Lo sneers. “Now!”

Quickly, the two guys shuffle for their clothes, pulling on articles while I disintegrate into my sheets and cower underneath another comforter. When they finally disappear, silence blankets the room.

Usually whenever Lo kicks a guy out in the morning, he’s so blasé about it. Sometimes he even offers the poor guy a cup of coffee before he leaves. This is not normal.

While I avoid his gaze, Lo paces, and I hear the crinkle of plastic. I peek from my sheet-cave.

He’s cleaning?

I use a part of the sheet to cover my chest and straighten up. “What are you doing?” My voice comes out small and choked. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stays focused on tossing the empty beer bottles into a black trash bag along with many articles of clothing. Boy clothing.

For the first time in days, I actually look at my room. Layered in different underwear, spilled with bottles of booze and tainted with white powder on my vanity—it’s disgusting. My floor hides beneath mounds of debauchery and sin. Half the sheets pile on the ground, and used condoms scatter my rug. It feels like I woke up in someone else’s bed.

“Stop,” I tell him, shame sending tears. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tosses an empty box of condoms into the bag before looking up at me. His expression remains inscrutable, scaring me even more. “Go take a shower. Get dressed, and then we’ll go.”

“Where?”

“Out.” He turns his back and continues trashing my things. I’ve cleaned his room countless times, but he was always unconscious to the world when I did it.

I wrap my purple sheet around my body and waddle towards the bathroom. After I shampoo my hair and lather soap on every inch of skin, I step out and pull on a terry cloth robe with slippers. I pad back. A full garbage bag sits by the open door, and outside the archway, I hear the faucet running in the kitchen.

I change in the closet, throwing on a comfortable black cotton dress, not knowing the proper attire for wherever we’re headed. I can’t make a guess on the destination either. My head sits as numb and cold as my body.

When I enter my room again, Lo stands by the door, the trash bag gone. He gives me a quick onceover while I tie my hair into a small pony, my fingers trembling. “Ready?” he asks.

I nod and follow him out, grabbing the keys. As I walk, I notice all my aches and pains. Blackish, yellow spots bruise my elbows and thighs, probably knocking into things last night and not remembering. My back hurts too, like I hit a doorknob or something. Tears prick my eyes, which stay nice and pink while I refuse to let the waterworks escape.

“Where are we going?” I ask again, sliding into the driver’s seat since Lo can’t.

“The health clinic. You need to get tested.”

My stomach caves. Right. Tested. “You don’t have to come.”

I watch him try to find an appropriate answer, but he ends up muttering, “Just drive.”

I put the car in gear and head down the familiar roads.

“When’s the last time you’ve been to class, Lil?” he asks softly, staring out the window, watching the buildings blink by.

“Last Wednesday.” I think.

“Yesterday?” The spot between his eyebrows wrinkles.

“It’s Thursday?” I say, startled. Why did I think it was Saturday? My hands begin to tremble again, and I tighten them on the leather steering wheel. Hot tears scald on their way down, betraying me. “I just got a little mixed up.” How did I even come to this place?

“I know.”

I inhale a strained breath and turn the car down a couple more streets before parallel parking. I lean over to open the door, but Lo puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Can we talk for a second?”

I tense back into the seat. My eyes glue to the unlit dashboard. Is this my ultimate low? I thought the pregnancy scare was the most terrifying moment of my life, but waking up in bed with two guys I don’t remember—that will haunt me. How can I be missing days? As if sex and liquor stole them from me…maybe drugs participated in the thievery too. I can’t even remember.

I wish I was Lo. I don’t think that often, but right now, I envy his ability to be a “functioning” alcoholic, one that doesn’t get aggressive or physical or lose memories. He drinks all day and all night, only suffering the repercussions when he surpasses his tolerance and blacks out.

He keeps his narrowed gaze on me and lets out a heavy breath. “You remember when we first arrived at Penn and we both went to that freshman pajama party?” Ah, yes, the Pajama Jam. The blistering memory brings a heavy frown to both of us. “You found me blacked out on the floor in the morning.”

He censors the image. Where his cheek was covered with vomit. Where I lifted him in my arms and thought, for the most horrifying moment, that my best friend had finally succumbed to his greatest flaw.

Lo’s voice deepens. “All I can recall is waking up in the hospital, feeling like a fucking twenty-ton truck ran me over.”

“You just had your stomach pumped,” I remind him.

Lo nods. “I could hear you arguing with the nurse about calling my father. You insisted that she keep the matter private since I was eighteen.”

I had to pretend to be his sister just to enter his hospital room. So stupid. Everything. That whole night. Right now. But to rectify what’s been done, what we’ve solidified, is beyond my power. Part of me will always believe that we’re past change. Maybe we’ve already accepted that this is how we’ll live and this is how we’ll come to die.

My eyes burn at the thought of the two guys in my bed. But I don’t want this to happen again. That, I do know.

“We made a deal after that, remember?” he continues, carefully choosing his words. “We said that if this is going to work—you and me, Lo and Lily doing whatever we want, being who we are—then I’d have to know my limits and never exceed them. I honestly never thought…I never thought it would be a problem for you too.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know that sex addicts could have limits, Lily, but somewhere…somewhere you crossed a line. And you’re scaring the shit out of me. I haven’t been able to get ahold of you in days. When I pass out, you’re not home. When I wake up, you’re usually gone. This was the first time I’ve seen you, and…” He rubs his mouth and looks away.

My heart beats so fast. I don’t know what to do or say. Tension stretches between us, not the good kind, and it hurts to touch it.

His voice lowers while I press my palms to my hot tears. “I don’t have any right to tell you to stop. That’s not what I’m trying to say, but for this arrangement to work, you have to know your limit. This, hooking up with guys in motels, not answering my calls, and…” he stumbles on the words again, “fucking…two guys. That has to end. What if they hurt you?”

I close my eyes, the tears spilling out the creases. “I don’t remember them.”

“You were drunk,” he realizes, his features darkening. “What’s after this? Orgies? Sexual humiliation?”

“Stop.” I rub my eyes, cringing at the images.

“Where’s your head at?” he murmurs.

I can’t do this again. “I’ll stop, not the sex, but the motels, the unknown texts, Craigslist—”

“Craigslist?!” he yells. “What the fuck, Lily? You know who solicits for sex on those things? Child molesters and perverts, not to mention it’s fucking illegal.”

“I didn’t use it!” I shout back, my cheeks flaming. “I was just looking.”

He holds his hands out, takes a deep, meditative breath, and balls them into fists. “Did you feel like you couldn’t talk to me?”

I’ve never had a problem unburdening myself on Lo. It’s what we’re both good at, but turning to anonymous sex felt like a natural progression once our dynamic started to shift. “Things were changing,” I mutter so softly that I think he’s missed the words.

When he doesn’t ask what I said, I suspect he heard. “I know I can be a royal asshole. But I love you. You’re my best friend and the only person I’ve ever told that I have a problem. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a fucking fake relationship. We’re supposed to talk to each other. Come to me before you go off the deep end, okay?”

I wipe the last of my tears and sniff. “How’s Cassie?”

“She hasn’t been in the apartment in days, Lily,” he says, reminding me of all the time I lost in my hazy state.

“What happened?” My chest lightens, and I hate that I’m taking pleasure in his aloneness.

“There’s this girl who ran out of my apartment.” He pauses. “She looked like a bat out of hell. She barely combed her hair, not unusual for her”—he shrugs—“but she seemed pissed, and the only difference in our relationship had been this new blonde girl on a bar stool. So I dumped her, figured it may solve a problem or two.” He waits, tilting his head at me while I process what he just said.

My chest swells.

“Did it?” he asks.

I should be the better person and say no, let him have a normal life with a beautiful blonde bombshell. But I’ve never been good at the morality bit. “Maybe.”

He actually smiles and rests a hand on my neck. He kisses my forehead before I can form thoughts, and when he pulls away, his lips brush my ear. “I’m here for you. Always.”

I take a deep breath, his words enough to guide me into the clinic with my head upright and my shoulders back. I’m going to be okay. Whatever happens, at least Lo will stay by my side.

After the health clinic, Lo mixes himself a drink at the counter while I make plans to study for an upcoming exam, popping open my laptop and spreading out my notes on the bar. Once I find two weeks of neglected practice problems for economics, I realize how far behind I truly am.

There is an upside. I’m clean. Free of diseases and complicated decisions. Like rehab or abortion clinics. I choked Lo to death when the test came back, hugging the life from him as I cried in relief. I don’t know what I would have done if he didn’t know my secret—if I was alone with the knowledge of my problem.

Long before we started our fake relationship, I helped hide Lo’s addiction on every occasion. I would smuggle him into one of my guest bedrooms at Villanova until he slept off a hangover. I’d kick bottles of Jim Beam and Maker’s Mark underneath his bed before the maid lurked around and his father inspected the stateliness of his son’s things.

Back then, he would lie to my sisters about my weekend plans. Most were spent at parties hosted by public school kids. Screwing boys from different schools helped diminish rumors about me at Dalton. I was calculated in the selection.

Then one chilly night in October, I crawled through Lo’s window. With Jonathan Hale at a conference in New York, I could have used the door, but ever since I watched Dawson’s Creek I believed there was only one way to make a proper entrance.

I was seventeen and tear-streaked, and I just had sex. Lo sat on the hardwood floor, his phone in one palm and a Glencairn whiskey glass in the other. He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw my matted hair and smudged mascara.

“Who was it? Did he hurt you?!” Lo frantically scanned my body, looking for wounds.

“No,” I said with a grimace. “He didn’t…it’s not him.”

Leaving Lo confused, I walked to his desk and picked up the bottle of Maker’s Mark. He grabbed it from my hand before I could even uncap it. “This is mine,” he said.

“So now you don’t share?”

“I never do.”

I rubbed my arms, feeling empty and cold. He kept staring at me as if his intrusive gaze would open me up. I guess it kind of did.

“The party was pretty lame,” I muttered under my breath.

“Apparently enough to make you cry,” Lo said bitterly. He cringed at the sound of his own voice and took a swig from the bottle. Then he stepped forward, eyes softening as he rubbed his mouth. “You know you can tell me anything, Lil. I’m not going anywhere.”

Lo knew most of my dirty secrets by then. The sex. The porn. The constant self-love. But telling him about this had been the hardest part of our friendship. It felt like admittance to something unnatural.

I sank down on the mattress while Lo stood holding the bottle by the waxy red neck, waiting for me to start.

“It was fine. The sex was fine.”

Lo rubbed his temple in distress. “Lily. Spit it the fuck out. You’re driving me crazy.”

I stared down at the floorboards, unable to meet his eyes, and said, “Afterwards, I thought it would be the same. But as I was grabbing my clothes, he stopped me.”

I glanced up and Lo’s cheekbones looked like sharp glass. I continued quickly before he cut me off with a slew of vulgarities. “He didn’t hurt me. He just asked me a question.”

I took a shallow breath and twisted the bottom of my shirt in my hands. Then I opened my mouth and struggled to produce the rest, eating air.

“Should I guess?” Lo asked. His chest rose and fell with hurried concern. Before I could respond he was pacing the length of the room and spouting off questions. “Were you a virgin? Have you done this often? Do you want to do it again?” He stopped and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What the hell did he ask?!”

“Want to fuck my friend?” I said in barely a whisper.

Lo dropped the bottle and it landed in a loud thunk on the hardwood floor.

“I thought it would be fun. He left and his friend came in. And that was that…” My bottom lip quivered as the shame wedged a crevice in my heart. “Lo,” I choked his name. “What’s wrong with me?”

He came closer and bent down to my height on the bed. Carefully, he cupped the back of my head, his fingers intertwining in my brown locks. His deep amber eyes filled mine. “Nothing is wrong with you,” he said. He brought my head to the crook in his shoulder, his arm encasing me in a comforting hold, and held me for a while.

When he pulled away, he brushed my hair behind my ear and asked, “Are you scared of getting hurt?”

“Sometimes. But it doesn’t stop me.” I blinked back tears. “Do you think…do you think I’m like you?”

We had never openly acknowledged his dependence on alcohol before, or how he abused the drink more than any average teenage boy.

He slowly ran his finger over the lines in my palm before he looked up at me with haunted eyes. One kiss on the head and then he straightened up. With a tight voice, he said, “I found my old Amazing Spider-Man edition the other day. We should have a reading marathon.” I watched him tensely walk to his cedar chest, unclasping the brass locks.

That night, he never truly answered me.

But I got it anyway.

That was the first time I realized I wasn’t just another promiscuous girl in school. I didn’t just have sex for fun or because it made me feel empowered. I liked the high, the rush, and how it seemed to fill an emptiness that kept growing inside of me.