*
Now that my high has vanished, my whole body feels sore. He took me from behind, much harder than usual, and I liked it. When it happened. I regret the position, his intensity, and giving him the idea to be here in the first place.
“What time is it?” Lo asks, grabbing the clock on the nightstand. “Fuck.” He hurries off the bed, the comforter on the floor, the sheets twisted in odd ways. “Get up, Lil.”
I lie with my head on the pillow, unmovable. Maybe I can disintegrate into the sheets.
Lo leans over the bed and tilts his head so he stares directly at me. “Get. Up.” He tosses my dress at my face.
I hold the fabric and straighten to a sitting position. I try to tug the material over my head, but my sore arms barely allow me the strength.
Lo hops into his pants and then finds his white button-down.
I wish we could stay here, but that would have been old Lily and Lo. We’re improved now. I struggle with the fabric and finally poke my head through the hole of my dress. And then, I see the open mini-fridge. Maybe not that improved.
“Lo…” My voice sounds small.
He pockets a mini-bottle of tequila. Why is he doing this? Everything was fine. Wasn’t it? Except for this morning and this afternoon and now…
“Lo, have you been drinking?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. “It’s fine. I’m not going to drink at all tomorrow. I just need something—”
“Lo!” I shout, springing from the bed, sans underwear. I struggle to steal the liquor from his pocket, and he clenches my wrists tight.
“Lily, stop!”
“You stop!”
We wrestle standing up until we fall on the bed. He pins my arms on either side of my body.
“Lo!” I shriek. “You can’t just give up like this!” It’s my fault. Deep in my heart, I know I led him here. It was all me. I burst into tears, adding to the dramatics of the night. And he gently eases off of me.
“Please stop,” he chokes. “Lily…” He lightly kisses my lips, my cheek, my nose, my eye and chin. “Please, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“I did this,” I cry.
His lips return to mine, and he tries to make me focus on the kiss rather than my pained thoughts. If I was right in my own mind, maybe I would throw him off. Maybe I would tell him to stop. Maybe I’d do something that would benefit both of us instead of continuing our destructive cycle.
His fingers slip into me, and I clutch the sheet and wrap an arm around my eyes that alternate between something good and something bad.
He pushes in, and I let out a sharp gasp at the sudden fullness. His lips find mine again, and he kisses me as he rocks slowly, as though telling me everything is right, everything is okay. He’s here. I’m here.
That’s all we need.
It’s our greatest lie.
*
I stand numbly in the elevator as it drops towards the first level and the grand ballroom. We’ve missed the dinner portion of the Gala, and I almost want to ditch the reception and go to the Drake to curl in my bed and wallow. But I’d rather find Rose. I need her.
Lo loops his tie around his neck, staring at the numbers as we descend. Wide space separates us, and so does the emotional sex and his drinking. I couldn’t stop him from downing that little bottle of tequila or pocketing another one. If the alcohol made him at ease, it doesn’t show. His muscles tense, and his neck barely moves, locked straight ahead.
“Where are you going when we get down there?” I ask.
“I need to talk to my father.” His eyes narrow at the glowing numbers.
“Maybe you should find Ryke first.”
“That’s not necessary.”
I swallow hard, and the elevator dings, the doors sliding open. Lo walks briskly towards the ballroom, and I struggle to keep up with his long legs. I skid to a stop by the door, struck by the bright, twinkling chandeliers and busy room with people milling about everywhere. A Christmas tree towers in the center, draped in gold tinsel with apple ornaments. Two screens on either side of the stage remind everyone the benefactors of the event. Hale Co. and Fizzle. I pass a server who carries a tray of pink champagne.
Lo plucks one off, downs it in one gulp, and sets it back. I can’t leave him. Not like this. I weave in between bodies and mutter “excuse me” hundreds of times, trying to tail Lo. He strides towards a certain spot with purpose and determination, ice crystalizing his amber eyes.
“Lo,” I say, grabbing out, but his hand drifts away from me.
I’m afraid to look for Rose or Ryke in the crowds because I may lose sight of Lo. Just by glancing over my shoulder, he gained considerable distance ahead of me. By the time I catch up, he stands in front of his father who wears a tux and a stern expression.