My jaw unhinges. “What?” I say in a small voice.
Rose punches him in the side, and he feigns wincing, incensing her more. “I was trying to be brief about it,” she says. “You didn’t need to tell her word for word.”
“I hate paraphrasing. To use your vocabulary, it chaps my ass.”
Rose holds up a hand to his face, ignoring him and telling him to shut up in one swift motion. Her eyes meet mine and they soften considerably. “I learned later that he had never treated a female sex addict before. I’m trying to find a woman who understands your condition. And I promise, she will not only be respectful but she’ll be intelligent and know more than Connor and me put together.”
“That’s impossible,” Connor tells her. “We’re the two smartest people in the entire world. You put us together, and you get a superhuman.”
Rose rolls her eyes dramatically, but she’s actually smiling. “You’re an idiot.” She nods to me. “Okay?”
I believe Rose. I trust her more than anyone else in the whole world, maybe even more than Lo. He would be so offended if he heard me say that, but in this moment, I think it’s true. He’s not here. But I have her.
There’s something beyond comforting about that. “Thanks, Rose.” I give her a hug and hope that no matter how horrible I am, no matter how much I bitch and regress, she’ll forgive me.
2 YEARS AGO
My wedges dangle in my hand. My bare feet touch the dirty sidewalk. I’m running. Well, more like chasing. As I try to catch up with Lo, a freshman dormitory looms in the background, cop cars swarming the brick building. Underage drinkers cuffed or given a not-so pleasant citation.
Lo spins around, slowing and shuffling backwards at the same time. He’s so good at running away from things. At eighteen, I still struggle to keep up with him.
“Faster, Lil,” he tells me, but he has a goofy smile on his face. As if this could be considered a new adventure. Racing from the cops during our first week of college. Me, chasing after him.
“We’re…going…up a…hill,” I huff, my pace between a walk and a jog. Something sticky glues to the bottom of my foot, and I cringe with a downturned frown. I hope that was just gum.
“I’m going to leave you,” he threatens, but I hardly believe him. Especially with the way he nearly laughs at me. And then he picks up speed again, sprinting forward, hoping that I’ll gain the strength to finally reach him.
I never do. But it’s a nice thought.
My knees bend beneath me, and I use the last ounce of my energy to dart towards him up the steep hill, traffic on the left side of us as cars return from the clubs and bars. The dorm party we attended wasn’t even that fun. The beer sucked, as Lo put it. There was no room to move, and the halls were so crammed with people that a weird smell permeated in the air. Like weed and sweat mixed together. Gross.
But I don’t regret it. Because Lo was there, and we’ll have something to laugh about later.
His black shirt begins to mold to his taught back and chest and arms, outlining the shape of his lean muscles, giving me an idea of what lies beneath. When he runs, he looks beautiful. As though no one can touch him, as though he’s leaving behind a burning world and heading towards a peaceful one. His cheeks will sharpen; his eyes will narrow in determination. Of course I can’t see any of that.
I just have a nice view of his ass.
That’s not too bad to look at either.
And then I begin to fall. Pain shoots up my ankle so excruciating that I let out a cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I sit on my butt and inspect the bone. It’s not protruding from my skin, but the muscle feels tight and strained.
“Lil?” Lo rushes back to me, nearly skidding down the hill with a face full of worry. He bends to my ankle, and inspects the bone just as I did. His fingers lightly touch my skin. “How bad does it hurt?”
“Bad.” I grimace.
“As bad as when you broke your arm?” he asks, reminding me of the bully on the playground when we were little. Harry Cheesewater.
I shake my head, and he puts his hands underneath my armpits, hoisting me up like I’m a little doll. I try to put some pressure on my foot to test it, but the pain intensifies like a thousand sharp needles. My eyes begin to water, and I wipe them with a furious hand. Pissed that I fell. Especially with police sirens blaring in the distance.
Lo does not need to be thrown in jail. The last time he was in there, his father threatened to ship him off to a military academy. The only thing that changed his father’s mind was my promise to help “fix” Lo, which was solidified with our fake relationship. Even if I wanted to help him, I can’t. He glared at me tonight just for suggesting he should switch to beer. I still wonder if he would have left me alone at the party if I told him to stop altogether. The best I can do is try to convince him not to drink an extra bottle. That’s in my power, and I use it as often as I can. But the only way he’ll truly get better is if he wants to first.