The only other time I brace the weather is for my therapy sessions with Dr. Banning. Today went decently well, I think. I feel like I’m on the road to uncovering why I have this addiction, and she gives me some much needed perspective and guidance.
To preoccupy my thoughts and not obsess over sex, I watch a romantic comedy on Netflix in my bedroom. I closed my canopy so I feel a little like I’m in a jungle, my net keeping me safe from mosquitos. Which is kinda fun. I’d make some safari jokes, but I remember that I’m alone. And no one is around to appreciate them.
The laptop rests on my stomach while I munch on a Twizzler. After abstaining from self-love, I’ve turned to sugar and sweets and generally anything that will rot my teeth. It barely helps, but it’s better than succumbing to the urges.
My phone rings, and I wiggle from my Marvel throw blanket. When I grab my cell, I notice the unknown number on the screen. My chest lightens as I mute my computer and press the receiver to my ear.
“Hey, it’s Lo.”
That’s enough to make me grin from ear to ear.
“Lo who? My boyfriend’s name is Loren.”
“Your jokes have gotten progressively less funny without me.”
I mock gasp. “No way. You should have been here when I made the best giraffe joke. It was hilarious.”
“Doubtful,” he says, but I can sense him breaking into a smile.
I bite a Twizzler, trying to contain my own silly look, even if he can’t see me. “What are you doing? How’s rehab?” Before he called, I made a plan to ask more about him. Last time, the conversation revolved around me, and I don’t want that to happen again. Even if my recovery takes effort from both of us, it doesn’t make his any less important.
“It’s fine,” he says. I imagine him shrugging. “What about you? Did you go to therapy today?” So I have a boyfriend who doesn’t like to talk about his problems. This may be harder than I thought.
“Don’t change the subject. I want to know how you’re doing.” I braid three Twizzlers together to form a giant, delicious piece.
“My life is boring,” he sighs.
“No, it’s not,” I refute. “You’re probably doing all sorts of cool things. Like talking to people. And…playing pool. And…” I have no idea what the hell he does in rehab, which I think is the problem.
“And nothing fun,” he tells me. “I’m not there. I’m not with you.”
“I thought you said we have to start talking,” I emphasize. “That goes two ways you know. We can’t just discuss my addiction and not yours.”
Silence bleeds through the receiver for an excruciatingly long moment before he says, “I was talking to Ryke the other day…he asked me who Aaron Wells is.”
My Twizzler slips out of my hand. I feel like Lo is deflecting, and it’s kind of working considering Aaron Wells makes my stomach curdle. And I was planning on never telling Lo what happened at the Fizzle soda unveiling, especially while he’s in rehab. I didn’t want to give him a reason to turn to booze.
Lo says, “I asked him why he wanted to know. And he wouldn’t give me a straight answer—just said something about how he went to a family event with you. And I thought, why the fuck would she ever want to bring that douchebag to a party? And then I remembered your mother and how she used to set you up before we were dating.” He pauses. “Something happened, didn’t it? Aaron knows I’m in rehab. He probably decided now was a good time for payback, right? You’re defenseless while I’m basically trapped here.”
“You’re not trapped,” I say. I don’t want him to think of rehab as a prison. Not when it’s helping him.
He groans, and I picture him rubbing his eyes warily. “I want to be there with you,” he says. “I don’t want Ryke to be the one to protect you. That’s my job, and I plan to be a hell of a lot better at it than before…” He trails off, and I read the rest: before you almost got raped. Yeah, he was a little too consumed by alcohol to come to my rescue that night. Thankfully I escaped that, but it still hurts to think about. I’ve tried to avoid public restrooms since then, and I try not to be plagued by the fear of being assaulted. Sometimes it creeps in, and I sink into myself in large crowds, but I’ve always been a little recluse in that sense.
I wish I could reply back I didn’t need protection. But that would be an utter lie. Aaron was aggressive that night, and I did need some sort of reinforcement to help me. “Ryke didn’t protect me,” I say softly. I open my mouth to elaborate, but Lo has already jumped to conclusions.