“I’m fine,” I whisper and cradle my phone in two panicky hands. I swipe the lock on my cell, and I’m met with a brand new text.
Have fun sucking cock in Cancun. – Unknown
I blink a couple times, the brightness from the screen hurting my eyes. Bile rises to my throat as I reread the words. I’m less affected by the “sucking cock” part as I am by the “Cancun” bit.
He knows where I am…
Quickly, I shut it off and swing my legs off the bed. My heart pounds in my chest, and I really just need to think for a second. I try to navigate the room in the dark, but I end up tripping on the end of the cot and fall to my knees.
“Fuck,” Ryke groans. “That was my foot.”
“Sor-ry.” My voice shakes and I pick myself back up, stumbling to the bathroom. I feel a hand on the small of my back as soon as I retreat inside.
Lo closes the door behind us, and I flip on the lights. He squints from the blinding fluorescence, and I splash some water on my face. The bright neon blue Cancun sweatshirt stops at my thighs and feels so hot on my body right now.
“What’s wrong?” Concern laces his voice. I haven’t told him about the texts. I meant to, but every time I’m about to mention it something else comes up.
Tears prick my eyes, and I manage to hand him my phone anyway. I turn back around to the mirror and the sink, not wanting to watch his face as he reads them. This already feels so out of my control. Every breath falls heavy against my chest. I just want to be unsaddled from this anxiety. Is that at all possible?
Yes it is, the bad part of me says.
I’m not wearing any pants or shorts, and my hand just seems to naturally direct itself to my panties. I slip my fingers below the hem while I have an elbow planted on the counter, hunched over with my forehead buried in my arm. Everything feels so, so, so wrong and out of my control and I just want to feel good again.
“Lil,” Lo says behind me. He drops my phone, the cell clattering to the floor. He instinctively grips my arm and presses his chest hard against my back. “Shh, you’re okay, love.”
I want to listen to his voice, but I’m more focused on how that feels, my ass rubbed against him. He removes my fingers from my underwear, and I let him bring both of my hands underneath the warm water. He washes them quietly.
I sniff a little, emotions bubbling, things I really hoped I wouldn’t feel at all on this trip. Guilt, shame—failure. He brushes the tears from my cheeks, and I finally hear his voice.
“We’re going to find this guy. You don’t need to worry about it, Lil.”
“He knows we’re in Cancun…” My voice comes out in a whisper.
Lo spins me around after he dries off my hands. He cups my cheeks and tilts my head a little to meet his eyes. “No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”
I love—more than anything—that he doesn’t bring up the fact that I just touched myself. That I fucked up in a tiny immeasurable way. He brushes it off, moves on, and makes me feel like I should too.
{ 19 }
LOREN HALE
“Just drink more water.”
That happens to be Ryke’s brilliant advice whenever I tell him that I feel like a car ran over me. This morning is no different. I stand on the patio, the crystal blue beaches in the horizon, but right below lies the congested pool. Sloshed college students splash in the clear waters to the beat of some techno rap remix. Amps sit beneath a white stretched canopy, shaded from the dangerously hot sun. Sometimes a DJ arrives to fuel the crowd’s drunkenness, but right now, the station stays vacant. The leathered skin DJ downs tequila shots at the tiki bar with two girls in G-string bikinis.
It’s definitely Spring Break.
I chug more water, but it doesn’t cure the pounding headache or the exhaustion that aches my muscles. By the time Lily and I went back to bed, it was near three in the morning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the text and calling my father. I replayed an entire conversation about what I would ask him. How I would frame my words…just to check up on the progress of everything.
“Are you okay?” Ryke asks.
If I say yes, he’ll know I’m lying. So I don’t know why he asks me. “I’ve had hangovers that have felt better than this.” I stretch my arms and legs, loosening up my joints.
Ryke sits on the patio chair and smears cream cheese on the bagel that he ordered from room service. “But this type of pain isn’t accompanied by horrible drunken memories. Consider yourself fucking lucky.”