And it won’t come. Not until I wait longer. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.
“Look at me,” Lo says forcefully, his voice no longer as sweet-natured.
Just as I comply, someone knocks on the door.
“Someone’s in here!” Lo yells. And then he whispers to me, “I want this to work because if it doesn’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to have another Wednesday like that.”
I remember back to the beginning of the week, where Lo proposed, where I declared how much I wanted to follow the blacklist—the perimeters my therapist created: no public sex, stick to morning and nights, no nooners in sight. I’d never seen the list.
Until Wednesday.
We had possibly one of the worst fights in the history of our fights. It was about our fears. Like a revolving door, we were slammed with the same exact issues we’ve been dealing with for months.
I worry his needs aren’t being satiated.
He worries that I’ll turn to another guy to obtain what he denies me.
I remember his words so clearly. “This isn’t working, Lily,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. We wanted all of each other, but we were purposefully distancing ourselves so I wouldn’t become a crazy, compulsive beast.
The silent, excruciating statement clung to the air: We should break up.
We were both crying at that point, and I felt like it was the end, like someone gutted me. We were both on the carpet, and his arms were wrapped around me. Yet, neither of us could come up with a better solution.
Two hours later, sunken with this immeasurable grief that can’t be justly explained, he whispered, “Be with me.”
My heart clenched. “What?” My eyes burned all over again.
He held my cheeks with his two hands, his face full of pain and love, a twisted mix that reminded me of how wrong we are for each other but how right it felt. “No more rules. Fuck the list. You’re strong enough to handle sex when I’m aroused and maybe even in public too.” He wiped my silent tears that fell.
“How do you know that I’m strong enough?”
“Because you’re better now,” he said, almost convincing me. “And you have me—sober me. I’ll make sure you don’t spiral out of control.” His voice lowered, and his forehead touched mine. “I don’t want to live if you’re not living with me.”
I didn’t either.
And since Wednesday, our new system has actually worked, despite me struggling a few times—which I think is to be expected. But Lo hasn’t fed into my compulsions. Not once.
“I’m okay now,” I say, more assuredly. I can do this. Sex starts to drift in the back of my mind. I hear the phrase: I don’t want to live if you’re not living with me.
I can’t lose Lo. I just can’t.
He scans my features and then kisses my forehead before helping me step into my shorts. Another knock beats against the door. This time, it’s way angrier. “Someone’s in here!” Lo yells back.
The person calls through the wood, the rough voice too familiar, “Your food is getting cold.” I thought Ryke would say something like: You better not be screwing in there. But I remember that there are hoards of people outside, and he doesn’t want to air our dirty laundry.
“I’m still talking to my girlfriend,” Lo shoots back. “Start eating without us, bro.”
I imagine Ryke rolling his eyes. “Is that all you’re doing in there?”
“Yes,” Lo growls. “Fucking Christ, leave us alone for a goddamn minute.”
“I’ve left you alone for twenty minutes,” Ryke retorts, jiggling the knob. “Are you going to let me in?”
“No,” Lo snaps, now facing the door like he’s battling with it and not Ryke on the other side. “I’ll be out in a second.”
I finish dressing, and then I comb my hands through my post-sex hair.
“You have thirty seconds,” Ryke says. “And I’m actually fucking timing you.”
Lo clenches his teeth so hard, restraining from spouting off a string of insults. His hands ball into fists by his side, and it looks painful for him to just slowly turn around and face me, trying to be a better person and leave a fight behind.
My cheeks start to heat with anxiety. “You think they’ll ever find out?” I whisper.
With tension still constricting his muscles, he draws me to his body and wraps his arm around my bony shoulder. “We’re good at keeping secrets,” he murmurs. “How is this one any different?”