I have more problems than I can solve in one night. I shut my eyes, willing on sleep. But it stays locked away. Great, I’ve conquered getting into bed but now I can’t even sleep.
I roll onto my side and pull down the top pillow in my pillow-barricade. It’s enough to see Lo’s face. He turns a fraction, and with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I can see him pretty clearly. “Did you learn a trick to fall asleep?” I whisper.
“Don’t think about anything.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Then try picturing a fuzzy television.”
“Do you not remember The Ring? If I try that then a girl is going to crawl out of the imaginary TV and slaughter my subconscious.”
I expect him to laugh but his voice turns serious. “How did you fall asleep when I wasn’t here?”
I go quiet. It varied nightly. Some were spent crying myself to sleep, others I masturbated until I passed out. When I gave up self-love, it took me hours to doze off the proper way, and in the end I resigned to fantasies to distract me into a light slumber.
“Normally,” I end up saying, even if the word reminds me of Connor and Rose’s argument earlier. “It just takes me awhile. I’ll try the fuzzy television trick. Maybe it won’t be so scary.”
We roll away from each other again, and I close my eyes. I can’t picture the TV long enough to stop my thoughts. I remember how easily it is to fall asleep after some self-love. It’s the best natural sleeping pill in the world.
My hand rests on my stomach, and I lower my fingers until I touch the hem of my pajama shorts. The impulse bites me and writhes in my belly. I hear that little voice telling me it’ll be okay. That I can do it this once and Lo won’t even know. I’ll stealthily slip my fingers into my panties and just rub my clit until everything feels better. I’ll climax and then fall asleep.
The steps prepared for me are just so easy to follow. My fingers slide beneath my cotton shorts and onto the top of my underwear. I flick my fingers up and down outside of them, trying to gain the courage to go further…or stop. But I somehow always remain in purgatory, fighting for one side or the other.
This is wrong. I know this is wrong.
“Lo,” I say very softly, thinking maybe he’ll still be asleep. Maybe it’s fate.
“Lil, you say something?” he whispers back.
I don’t move my hand. Hell, I don’t even blink. Words tumble in my head like a Bingo machine and I can’t seem to connect them together to form sentences.
I must hesitate too long because he flips on the lights, and my eyes shut quickly. I freeze, hoping he won’t notice anything under the covers. He can’t see my hand in my shorts after all. As soon as he goes back to sleep, I’ll stop myself from going further. I’ll make this right. I just don’t want him to think that I didn’t conquer anything while he was away. I was strong, dammit. I stopped looking at porn. I stopped with the self-love, and I never once cheated on him. But he’ll only see this. And I can’t fix the immediate assumptions. That I’m no better than I was when he left.
Silence bleeds into my head, and I almost think I’ve succeeded. And then cold air prickles my skin, the blanket leaving my body. Oh shit.
My eyes shoot open. Lo has invaded my territory, knocking over the pillow-barricade and gripping my covers. His eyes target my lower-half, where my hand disappears into my shorts. This is so not good.
{ 5 }
LOREN HALE
Here’s the thing about Lily Calloway. She’s obsessed with masturbating. Not the I-love-to-get-off-before-I-sleep or jerk-one-out-in-the-shower kind of self-pleasure. She fucks to come, and if that means fucking herself every minute of the day then she gets it done.
Regrettably, I even facilitated her habit. I thought that every video I bought her was one less dick she would ride. One less risk of disease and guilt. I was so stupid.
I grip her wrist tightly. When she told me that she stopped masturbating for a full month, it was difficult to believe. I’ve watched her hide in a bedroom for hours on end just to please herself. Quitting seems like the biggest accomplishment she’s ever had. Now, I’m not so sure it’s true, even if Rose vouched for her progress.
I slowly shift the hem of her pajama shorts. My shoulders drop in relief. Her palm rests above her panties. Maybe Rose was right. Maybe she did stop masturbating, but obviously it’s harder for Lily when I’m here.
I’m her drug, her means to a high. But I see the life she’ll lead if I’m gone—really gone and never coming back. She’ll return to strangers, to sex with random men. She may even venture into the dangerous side of her addiction—chat rooms and anonymous sex. I can’t let her go down that road.