Sounds like something he’d do. “I’m not a good writer either.” I glance up at the glass office, and Rose busily talks on her own cellphone, back turned to me. Good. “I’m glad you called.”
“Yeah?” His voice breaks a little, and my breathing deepens. I want things to go back to normal. I don’t want our relationship to change, but I know it has to. I just hope it’s better than before. Not worse.
“What have you been doing there?” I ask “Are you going to come home early? What’s it like? Have you met anyone else? How’s your counselor? Is the food any good?” All these questions tumble from my lips, and I stop for a second, wondering if I scared him away.
“It’s been all right. I’m not done with the program, so I’ll be here for a while still.” He clears his throat. “So, how are you doing?”
“Have you met anyone?” I try again.
“Lil,” he says, pained. “You’re killing me. How are you doing? That’s not such a hard question to answer, is it? Just give me something.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “What are you doing right now? Where are you?” I want to paint a picture of him, not have prison be the backdrop to our conversation.
“I’m sitting on this giant orange chair that looks like something from an Austin Powers movie. It’s so fucking ugly. And then last week some guy drew a penis on it with a magic marker.”
I smile. “You’re sitting on a penis?”
I can almost sense a grin stretching his face. “You would find that amusing.” He pauses. “I miss you, love.”
“Yeah?” My stomach clenches.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me more.”
“I’m using the facility’s phone in their rec room. There’s a pool table, a couple Fizzle machines, beanbags and a huge television that’s always on ESPN. Most people are eating lunch right now, so it’s pretty quiet.”
Lunch. I glance at my clock. It’s noon here. His rehab is probably located somewhere with the same Eastern Time zone. Maybe he’s close… I shouldn’t ask. Not when we agreed to keep the information a secret. I don’t want to be tempted to drive out to him. I really will be the pathetic girlfriend then.
“I…” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I tried to ask Ryke about you a few times. He won’t tell me anything. It’s so fucking annoying; you have no idea.” The bitterness seeps from his tone.
I let out a weak laugh. “I think I do.”
“Yeah?” Lo inhales, as though preparing himself for the next batch of questions. “What have you been up to?”
“I’m helping Rose,” I tell him, nodding to myself. “It’s not so bad. She’s been keeping me busy…it’s…it’s worked out for the most part.”
“That’s…good, Lil. So you’re really doing okay?”
My throat begins to close, swollen with a lump. I don’t want him to spend his days worrying about me. Ryke has infiltrated my mind, and I hear him whispering, “You’ll ruin his progress by saddling him with this large burden. You have to separate yourself from him, Lily. Let him go.”
All I’ve ever wanted was for Lo to be happy. I just never thought his happiness would coincide with my depression. It seems stupid and moronic, but in order for him to become healthy, he needs to stop focusing on me so he can worry about his own problems. That’s what Ryke keeps telling me, right?
So I give into Ryke’s constant pleas. I let Lo off the hook. He no longer needs to be my rock. I’ll have to find another one or maybe I’ll be able to stand up on my own.
“Yeah,” I say, my heart constricting as I restrain a wave of emotion. “I’ve been doing really great. I have this new therapist, and I threw out all my porn.” Silent tears begin to brew, and they slowly streak my cheek, but I keep my voice steady so he can’t tell. “I even stopped using toys.” He’ll believe the lie, but I doubt he would if I added, and I stopped masturbating.
“Really?” His voice breaks, sounding on the verge of tears.
“Yeah, really. I’ve never felt better.” I bring the speaker away from my mouth, the lie crushing my chest.
After a long moment, he says, “Good, good. I’m glad.” He inhales another sharp breath. “I don’t have much longer—”
“Lo,” I interject. Please don’t leave me just yet.