She nods, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
I squat down in front of her again, needing to get closer to her, like a magnetic current is guiding me to her. It’s overwhelming how much I want to be close to her and how much I regret driving her to this place on the floor. It’s all my fault and I know it. I fucking screwed up and now I need to fix it.
I look her in the eye so I can see what she’s feeling, let her know what I’m feeling. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who yelled at you.”
She lets out a sharp laugh as tears slip out of her eyes. “Didn’t do anything? I went over to my prescription-writer drug dealer, or whatever the hell you want to call him, totally ready to fuck his brains out so I could get one single pill.”
My heart tightens in my chest and it feels like a knotted, warped, thorny vine is winding through my body and stabbing at every single inch me. I feel like I’m being ripped apart from the inside, a feeling I’ve never felt before and can’t quite comprehend the entire meaning of. “It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. She fucked some guy for drugs. She fucked him. Fucked him. I take a deep breath and unsteadily let it out.
“No, it’s not okay,” she says, sniffling as tears fall down her cheeks. “I messed up. Really, really bad.”
I hook my finger under her chin, so she’ll have to look at me. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t take it and that’s good. Really, really fucking amazing.”
“I know that,” she says, puffing out a frustrated breath. “That’s not what I’m upset about.”
I slant my head to the side, confused. “Then why are you? Is it… is it because of what I said back at the apartment? Because I’m really sorry I said it. I was just…” I glance at her body hanging out of the barely there clothes she’s wearing. “I don’t like you dressing like that. At all.”
Her shoulders rise and then slump as she inhales and exhales, looking ashamed. “I stole the pill while Parker was going to the bathroom. I didn’t sleep with him like I promised.”
“Parker?” I state, my eyes wide. “That preppy jerk you used to date? That’s where you get the pills?”
She nods. “And the prescriptions.” She blinks and then panic fills her eyes as she quickly stands up, nearly smacking her head against mine and I have to lean back on my heels to get out of her way. “Look, it doesn’t matter. He’s going to be pissed, Ethan. He’ll come looking for me, wanting to collect what I took. And I’m going to have to sleep with him.” She starts to pace the stall as I stand up. “Normally, that was never a problem but normally I was medicated.” She anxiously chews on her fingernails. “It felt so wrong, just from him kissing me. I could feel it…” She shakes her head, her eyes widening with whatever revelation she’s having. “I could feel everything.”
“That’s a good thing, though.” I lean back against the stall, very aware at how relieved I’m feeling over the fact that she didn’t sleep with Parker, but also furious that that asshole was her pill provider. I seriously want to beat him. “Feeling stuff is a good thing.”
She lets out a heavy sigh as she continues to pace. “I know, but I never have, you know. All those times, meaningless sex, it always felt like a routine.” She sticks her hands out to the side and stops in front of me, looking me in the eye. “I mean, I don’t even really like it.”
“Not like sex?” Okay, that concept is foreign to me and makes me wonder what she felt when we just about had sex. Were all those sparks I felt a one-sided thing? Is that why she just lay there?
She nods, her blue, mascara-stained eyes so wide they’re practically popping out of her skull. “Yeah, it’s just something that I do, not something that I really want to do. It doesn’t even feel good.”
A lot of inappropriate thoughts creep into my mind at that moment and it takes a great amount of energy to hold them back. “We should get you home,” I say and move to take her hand.
She shakes her head, turning out of my reach, and strands of her hair curtain her face. “I think I might have lost my job.”
“I’m glad,” I say honestly, stepping forward and brushing her hair back because I want to see her face. “This place isn’t somewhere you should be working.”
“But I have to pay rent.”
“We’ll figure it out. There are a ton of jobs out there.”
She shakes her head again, wrapping her arms around herself as tears begin to slip down her cheeks. “You’re too nice to me. You need to stop. I don’t deserve nice.”
It’s like she thinks she’s unworthy of nice. I want to ask her about why she thinks this, but I don’t want to set her off again. She needs to relax.
I aim for a joke. “That’s funny, because a few weeks ago you couldn’t seem to stop calling me an asshole.” I smile at her, trying to lighten the mood.
“Stop it,” she says, wiping the tears and smeared mascara off her cheeks with the bottom of her shirt. I can see her stomach, perfect, smooth, and almost flawless, except for that scar going around the middle. “Don’t joke. You’re being too nice again and I’m so messed up.”
“Everyone’s messed up.” I reach forward and slowly wipe away some of the tears running down her cheek with my fingertips. “In their very own fucked-up way, a lot of people just won’t admit it aloud and then try to change it.” I reduce the space between us and place a hand on her arm. “But you’ve done both of those, which makes you so fucking strong, Lila. I wish you could see that. You’re strong and amazing and beautiful and you deserve so much more than sitting on a bathroom floor in a skanky bar. You deserve to have an amazing life.” I mean every word I say and even though I’m being really emotional, I don’t regret anything I said.
She tries to wipe some of her tears away, but more pour out. She starts to sob and rushes toward me, throwing her arms around my waist. I tense, but then circle her in my arms, hugging her tightly against me as she buries her face in my chest and a strange sense of calm comes over me. I feel comfortably at peace with her in my arms, and if I could, I’d just keep holding on to her forever, comforting her, making her feel better in every way that I could. It takes me a minute to grasp what it might mean. I might be falling in love with Lila. And the moment I realize this is the moment I realize that I’m not sure if I was ever really in love with London. Infatuated with her, maybe. Love, I don’t think so. Because what I’m feeling right now, this terrifying, cliff falling, heart dropping, thoughts racing, plunging into unknown was far from anything I ever felt for London.
Lila cries in my shirt for an eternity and I trace my fingers up and down her back, telling her that it’ll be okay, while I kiss the top of her head over and over again, feeling my life—feeling myself change. The longer she stays in my arms, the less I want to let her go. I want to hold her. Smell her hair. Kiss her cheeks until I can’t feel my lips, only her. I want to do a lot of things to her, very slowly and deliberately so I can feel every sensation.
But then she pulls back and peers up at me with bloodshot eyes. “What am I going to do about Parker?”
“What do you mean, what are you going to do?” I keep my arms around her shoulder, still not wanting to let her go. “If he comes near you then I’ll kick his ass.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she whispers. “You don’t need to be fighting anyone for me.”
I laugh again, louder, until my whole side aches. “I’m pretty sure I can handle Parker. In fact, he looks like the kind of guy who likes to bitch slap and pull hair when he fights.”
She restrains a smile. “He’s not that much of a wimp.”
I roll my eyes again and shake my head at the absurdity. “We are talking about the same guy, right? The douche you dated for a while?”
She nods her head and I detect a hint of an amused sparkle in her eye. “And you were so excited when I broke up with him.”
“I was drunk when you did.”
“And we were playing strip poker. I remember.”
I smile, because it’s a perfect moment, a light after a dark episode. “Ah, strip poker,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If I remember right you never did take your bra off when I won that hand.”
“Only because I knew you couldn’t handle the goodies.” She shakes her chest and her tits bounce against my chest. She pauses and then lowers her cheek against me, breathing quietly. “Thank you, Ethan… for everything.”
I could tell her she doesn’t need to thank me. That I was glad to do it. That I loved helping her. But I’m not. I wish it’d never happened. Instead, I wish she never had to go through all of this.
I mutter, “You’re welcome.” Then lace my fingers with hers and tug her toward the door, ready to take her back to our home and get her the hell away from this place. I’m ready to take her back home.
To our home.
Chapter Thirteen
Lila
It’s been four days since my little episode and for the most part, life has been fairly normal, except for my relentless need to fixate on Ethan. Ever since he found me in the bathroom stall, I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s worse than before, an intense growing obsession. I’m not even sure what it is. The way he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me, joked with me, forgave me, and then took me home. They’re such little things, yet they mean so much. He may be rough, blunt, somewhat perverted, and completely imperfect according to my mother’s standards, but I seriously wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve had the supposed perfect guy before, the one who gave me rings, told me I was beautiful, told me he loved me, that I owned his soul, and that he’d do anything for me. But it was a bunch of shit. Unreal. Perfect doesn’t exist. Realness does. Realness is what I need. And Ethan is as real as anyone I’ve ever met.
