Thrive (13 page)

{ 17 }

0 years : 05 months

January

LILY CALLOWAY

I tuck my shower caddy under my arm and use my
free hand to keep the towel above my boobs. My wet flip flops slap against the
tiled floor as I waddle to my bedroom. The only upside to this situation: I’m
not naked underneath my towel.

Lo and I devised a strategy for bathing in the communal
showers.

Swim suits.

My one-piece keeps me covered and lessens the risk of flashing
anyone who accidentally walks into the bathroom. The first couple of times, Lo
showered with me. He even wore his swim trunks in solidarity.

But today, I wanted to take a step and be by myself. I fall
into my codependent ways far too easily. Another item added to my
Needs to Work On
list.

I kick the bedroom door closed with my foot and set the
shower caddy on my desk. When I plop down on the leather chair, it lets out a
farting noise from my wet bottom. My eyes bug and I check over my shoulder,
making sure I’m alone.

No lurkers.

No ghosts (that I know of).

Good. I return to my laptop and log onto the internet. If I
don’t check my calendar every day, I’ll forget about some random homework
deadline—or worse—a quiz. The joys of online classes. The upside is that my
internet privileges have been restored. Lo trusts me more, and I’m beginning to
find the same trust in myself. I need to navigate the internet without
“stumbling” on porn.

Before I pop up my calendar, an alert pings.

**5 new articles
featuring Lily+Calloway+sex**

This isn’t porn.

Just so we have that clear.

I’ve set my computer to track the articles that talk about
me. It’s a little obsessive, sure.

I scroll through a few of the articles, most featuring a
variation of the same headline.
Lily
Calloway to Star in Reality Show this February. Watch the promo video here!

I’ve seen it ten times already, but it doesn’t stop me from
clicking on the link.

The screen turns white and starts playing “
Animal
” by Miike Snow. I
don’t know what the production company was trying to say. We’re not all
animals. Okay, I may be a
sexual
animal, and I think Ryke is a literal animal, but the others aren’t beasts.

We filmed the footage in a studio; all seven of us (Scott
included) stand in front of a white backdrop. I waited for someone to hand me a
script, but the director told us to act normal, that the video would be candid.

The promo begins by
panning down the seven of us, and then it cuts to close-ups, starting with
Daisy on the end. She does a handstand, her white T-shirt bunches up at her
neck and reveals her green lacy bra and bare stomach. She sticks out her tongue
and smiles goofily. A caption pops up over her boobs.

Daredevil.

And then Ryke shoves
her legs, and she crumples to the floor with a laugh. On his chest, the caption
scrolls:
Jackass.

The first time I saw the promo, it was like a hurricane tore
through the house. No one anticipated being labeled. And it didn’t take long
for me to deduce mine.

Lo and me are next in
line. His arms hold me closely, our chests mashed together, and our lips devour
each other in an intense kiss.

Even though it’s my eleventh time watching it, I still have
to look away at this part. I never thought that watching him kiss
me
would turn me on. But it does. It
stirs places that should not be stirred when he’s not around. I don’t trust
myself
that much
now that I have
access to the internet again.

My eyes flit up to the computer.

The words
Sex Addict
and
Alcoholic
appear across
our bodies.

And then Rose, Connor,
and Scott fill the screen. Rose’s yellow-green eyes are practically radiating
heat, and her body is shifted towards Connor. He stares at her like she
invented the sun, a look I’ve seen a million times when they have their epic
nerd battles. Connor leans over to whisper in her ear, and it sets her off, her
cheeks concaving in anger.

She shoves his arm and
he grins.

The word
Smartass
flashes on his body.

Then the screen pans
to Scott, who looks down (very quickly) at Rose’s boobs. And then my sister
gives Scott a quick glance. The editing makes it seem like they were a couple,
or had some sort of relationship. Scott tilts his head and gives pretty good
bedroom eyes.

When his caption
appears, it just makes me hate him more.

Heartthrob.

Seriously. He’s a douchebag. I find it insulting that out of
all the guys, he gets the only decent label.

And finally the promo
shows Rose, wedged in between Scott and Connor, further exploiting the fake
love triangle. Both guys stare down at her with longing and desire.

Her caption pops up
just as she looks directly at the screen.

Virgin.

 
Now everyone knows
about her sexual status, but she didn’t much care about that. Rose isn’t
ashamed of being a virgin. I think she’d shout it from the rooftops if she
could—just to prove a point.

The promo ends with
the Princesses of Philly logo and title, and then the tagline flashes on the
bottom.

Get inside the Calloway sisters this February.

Dirty. That was dirty, and I don’t have to be a sex addict
to know it.

Plus, I got confirmation from Daisy that she thought it was
a sexual innuendo too. So there’s that.

I scroll down and read some comments underneath the video.

Havana33:
Are they going to show LiLo f*cking on this
show? I feel like it needs to be NC-17.

NoelMarch:
+Havana33
No way. GBA would be sued big time. So curious to see how crude it’s going to
be tho.

JamesGGG:
How old is the Daredevil? She’s hot as fuck.

James. Your GGG must stand for
gross, gross, gross
. I have to click out of the video and clear my
head. It’s not his fault, I remind myself. Daisy isn’t his sister. He doesn’t
know her. But it’s hard to convince myself that he isn’t some creep in his
parent’s basement.

I log onto the last alert, an article from
Celebrity Crush
. Just great. This
magazine has been nothing but nasty to me.

The headline alone makes my stomach turn.
Poll: Which Brother Should Lily Calloway
Choose?

A poll? There’s a freakin’ poll now.

My disbelief and masochistic curiosity compels me to read
Wendy Collins’ article from the top.

Poll: Which Brother
Should Lily Calloway Choose? Loren Hale or Ryke Meadows?
By Wendy Collins

With only a few days
left before the premiere of “Princesses of Philly”, we have one huge question
left to be answered. Does Lily have more chemistry with Loren or Ryke? While we
have strong suspicions that she’s been dating both at the same time, one of
these men is bound to have more fire on-screen than the other.

Let’s break it down:

Loren Hale is her
“long time” boyfriend, now fiancé, and a recovering alcoholic. Just click
through our photo reel of him and you’ll realize he has a panty-dropping body
but it’s the face that seals the deal. “Gorgeous” just doesn’t even cut it. Oh,
and he has a nicely-sized inheritance of a rumored $2 billion dollars, the
direct heir to Hale Co. baby products.

Ryke Meadows is
Loren’s half-brother, routinely spotted riding his Ducati and climbing at a
local Philadelphia rock wall. He’s notorious for his fights with the paparazzi,
shoving cameras away from Lily and his brother. Despite Lily’s “proposed”
engagement to Loren, we believe Ryke brings a certain heat in bed that Lily
craves.

Now remember, Lily is
a “recovering” sex addict, so her needs have to be satiated by her man (or men).
Since we don’t know their…ahem, full packages, we’re going to base their
chemistry between each other from recent candid photos.

I quickly scroll through the photos, none of which make me
seem too chummy with Ryke. I’m literally kissing Loren in most of them. The
poll resides just below the pictures and before I click into the results, I
read a disclaimer at the bottom.

Note: While it’s my
firm belief that Lily may very well be sleeping with both men, we know, in the
very end, that she can only be with one. And while she may choose Loren for
publicity, this poll is for you to choose who she
should
be with despite whatever happens.

I hate her.

I click into the results and my heart drops.

22% Loren Hale

78% Ryke Meadows

…no.

I do not accept this. How could she even have a poll? It’s
rude. No one is polling to see if Kate Middleton would be a better match with
Prince Harry than Prince William. I realize that I may have just compared
myself to royalty. Not my intention.

I’m just freaking out.

A lot.

A lot, a lot.

Fuck it. Wendy Collins can’t just write biased articles and
not have consequences. I pop up my email and start pounding the keys in
frustration. I’ve never written a nasty letter, but as long as it’s legible,
I’m fine with it.

Dear Ms. Collins,

I don’t know you
personally, and you don’t know me personally, which is why I’m writing to you
today. This is your fifth or so article about me and the supposed Ryke/Loren
rumors floating around the media. These rumors are NOT TRUE. I would gladly appreciate
you focusing on another topic. Hell, I wouldn’t even care if you still have to
write about me (though, I would prefer you not). But just stop claiming that I’m
sleeping with my boyfriend’s brother.

Thank you,

Lily Calloway

I reread it a couple of times, checking for grammar. It
sounds more professional than I thought it would. And then I hit send.

As soon as my finger touches the button, and the email
dashes off into cyberspace, my anxiety rockets up about ten levels.

{ 18 }

0 years : 05 months

January

LILY CALLOWAY

It’s been thirty minutes since I sent the email,
and I haven’t heard a response. Not that I assumed Wendy Collins would reply. I
just thought
maybe
she’d email back
with an “okay, I understand, thanks for letting me know. I won’t post anything
else.” Wishful thinking.

I sit on the couch, my mind reeling. I know exactly what
would calm me down and clear my thoughts. My fingers inch towards my shorts.

No.

I can’t.

I stand up quickly and pace back and forth. When I catch
myself biting my nails, I drop my hand. Food. I can distract myself with food.
The kitchen has been stocked with necessities and junk food. Perfect.

I open a cabinet and find a tub of icing in the top of the
shelf. Standing on my tiptoes, I have to reach up to grab it. All the while, my
pelvis “accidentally” grinds against the edge of the counter. It was an
accident.

I think.

I don’t know anything anymore.

I let out a strained breath and back away from the counter,
taking the icing with me. After I open the lid, I dip a spoon into the
container and let out a relaxed breath.

The chair looms close to me and a sudden image bursts into
my head. Me. Rubbing up against it. Just like the counter. Only maybe this
would be better. I step closer, changing my mind just as my crotch brushes
against the wood. I suddenly back away, my face burning. I whip around. There
aren’t any camera
men
but there are
still cameras in the rafters. Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Maybe they won’t use that footage. I have to believe that.

And what’s worse, my anxiety is so high that I’m grinding on
inanimate objects to relieve it. That’s a little extreme…and weird, even for
me.

I walk into the middle of the kitchen, my icing in hand.

What do I do? Nowhere is safe. If there are bad days for sex
addicts, this is a
very
bad one for
me. Should I call Lo? No. I don’t want to burden him with this. He’ll be overly
concerned, and I need to figure it out myself.

The front door opens before I have a chance to make a proper
decision. And the townhouse’s living room and kitchen are all in one visible
space, nowhere to hide.

“What the fuck did you do?” Ryke growls.

Uh-oh. Did he see me grind on the chair? No. That’s
impossible. He doesn’t have X-ray vision, and the world isn’t so unjust that
it’d grant him a superpower before Lo or me.

“I’m…I don’t…” I end up stuttering.

“You wrote to
Celebrity
Crush
,” he tells me, storming further into the kitchen.

“How do you know that?” I pull out my phone as soon as I say
the words. But I remember I don’t have internet on it, so I slide it back in my
shorts.

“They posted your email online.” He hands me his smart phone
and my stomach does handstands and acrobatics worthy of gold medals.

Lily Calloway Responds
to Celebrity Crush and Refers to Loren Hale as Her Boyfriend, Not Her Fiancé.
Is the Marriage a Hoax?

Oh….no.

They have my original email underneath the title with a few
choice words from Wendy Collins. Mostly, her calling me dramatic and sensitive.

The sad thing: I am a little dramatic and a lot sensitive.

I look back up at Ryke and his eyes have darkened
considerably. “I had to do something. They had a poll, Ryke, a poll! And you
freaking won it over Lo. That’s not okay!”

His eyebrows knot in confusion. I guess I’m not explaining
it very well. “How many times do I have to tell you to forget about the fucking
rumors?” he snaps. “Not only have you given the media a reason to believe
they’re true, but my dad is fuming.”

My heart stops. “What?” I whisper.

“Lo’s back in the car on the phone with him,” Ryke explains.
That’s why he’s so upset. It’s not about the rumors, not really. It’s because I
put Lo in a position where he had to confront their father, the man that pushes
him to drink.

I’m fucking things up.

My body goes cold and chills rake my arms. A pressure sets
on my chest, so heavy that breathing takes work.

The door swings open again, and I expect to see Lo gracing
the room next. Instead, I hear my sister’s edged voice.

“I’m walking in the house right now, Mother,” Rose says, her
hand tight on her cell. My stomach thrashes in another beating. My mom’s pissed
too?

“Hold on, I’ll ask her.” Rose cups the speaker and meets my
gaze. “Mom would like to know why you didn’t use the family publicist before
making a statement.”

“That’s a good question,” I say softly. My eyes trail away,
looking for the answer, as if it’s on another side of the room.

Rose lets out a sigh and returns to her phone. “She didn’t
have Cynthia’s number,” Rose says, which isn’t a complete lie. I have the
number to Jonathan’s publicist, but not our family’s. Acquiring Cynthia’s
number means communicating with my mother, something I haven’t done for a
while.

Brett walks backwards into the house, filming Connor as he
passes through the open doorway. Did they all come home early for this? I know
I screwed up, but I didn’t expect to ruin everyone’s Saturday.

Connor talks through his own phone. “Don’t worry about it,
Greg. Rose and I will remind everyone how to address the media.”

I take out my cell and check for missed calls.

Zero.

Which is also how I rank to my parents. Or at least, they
still don’t know how to talk to me. Not before the sex scandal and definitely
not after. Though, I am a little disappointed in my dad. I thought we were
making progress. He’s called me a few times to discuss Superheroes & Scones
and school, but I suppose those were safe topics.

I take a couple steps back, aware that Brett’s camera is
whipping around the room, trying to determine who’s the most interesting person
right now.

He lands on Rose, who starts arguing into the phone.

I tune her out and turn around completely. There’s not much
I can do here. No one will trust me to do damage control. There’s only one
place I should go. To my bat cave! (my room). I need to check the internet for
more alerts or wallow or both.
 

Someone grabs my arm, stopping me.

When I spin around, I sink into Lo’s amber eyes. Anger
doesn’t invade them. Only concern. The kitchen, I realize now, is silent. All
phone calls finished and pocketed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my throat swelling. “I didn’t mean
for this to blow up.”
Don’t cry. Channel
your inner Rose. Tears are for babies and losers.

I wipe my eyes.

I suck at being Rose.

“It’s not you, Lil. Our parents are blowing this out of
proportion,” Lo says, his hand sliding up my arm to my bare shoulder. I’m so
scared of myself that I take a step back, away from his touch, no matter how
good it feels.

Wrinkles crease his forehead in more concern. It hurts to be
away from him, but it’s dangerous to be near him.

Rose walks forward, her heels making an aggressive noise
against the hardwood. “As much as it pains me to agree with Loren, he’s right—”
she rolls her eyes at the word “—they’re being dramatic and trying to make you
feel bad.”

“It’s working,” I mutter.

“Well, get thicker skin, Lily.”

Ouch. But true. So true.

Lo glares at her though. “Not everyone has iron balls.”

“I don’t need
balls
to
be resilient,” she says curtly before turning back to me. “Next time a reporter
gets on your nerves, you can write a nasty email but send it to me instead.
I’ll even pretend to be the reporter and reply to you.”

I have the best sister in the world.

Hands down.

As much as her words soothe me, they don’t erase what
happened. It’s not so easy to move on from something that just happened five
minutes ago.

“Maybe we should watch a movie,” Connor says, typing on his
cell.

“No,” I speak up. “You all were out doing things. Just, go
back to them.” I don’t want to interrupt their lives with my stupid mistake.

“We were just having lunch, Lily,” Rose says, her hand
presses against my back, guiding me towards the living room couch. “We have
those every day.”

Yeah, but I ache to spring in Lo’s arms, for a little bit of
his hardness. Okay, a lot more than a little. The rubbing up on furniture thing
I did before—it actually sounds more desirable now, even if it’s weird. My neck
heats the longer I contemplate sex in the company of other people.

Lo and Ryke follow close behind. When we reach the couch, I
pause for a moment, watching Lo take a seat on the oversized, plush chair. I
picture myself straddling his waist, legs tucked tight around him, and he’ll
buck up into me—

I can’t lounge on top of him. I force my rusted, unoiled
joints to bend and sit next to Rose on the couch. Connor uses the remote to
scroll through movies on the television, silence thickening, especially as I
sit straight up.

And Lo is stiff as well, his eyes flickering to me every so
often.

Everyone, not just us, assesses the weirdness. Aware how
strange it is for Lo to be over
there.
While
I’m right
here.
A large chunk of
space between us. We’re not together. Physically.

That rarely happens nowadays.

It would be fine, but everyone knows why I’m separating
myself from him. I can feel their judgy thoughts in my own head.
I can’t believe she wants to have sex right
now
.

Ryke’s glare says it enough.

Before Connor switches on the film, the front door opens. I
crane my head over the couch to see Daisy strutting in with a can of Fizz Life
in hand, head down, texting on her cell.

When she steps into the room, she looks up and freezes.
“Um…” She frowns. “Was there a meeting or something?” Her face suddenly falls,
thinking she wasn’t invited to our group gathering.

“Or something,” Ryke replies first.

Daisy scans the area. Her eyes ping from Lo to me, noticing
how we’re not sitting together. “Did you two…” She motions between us.
 

Shit. She thinks we spilled our secret.

“I fucked up,” I explain swiftly. “I replied to a reporter
without going through the publicist.”

Her green eyes turn into saucers. “Mom has to be pissed.”

“She’s venting,” Rose corrects her. “She just needs to cool
off.”

Daisy sets her soda can on the end table and plops down on
the other side of me. “What are we watching?”

Connor starts listing off names of movies, and I tune him
out. I appreciate that they’re all trying to avoid the
Celebrity Crush
topic, but it still weighs on me.

The point of having a publicized wedding is to appease my
parents. But if I do something small and anger them anyway, how much will the
marriage even matter?

My eyes flit to Lo, and I realize that he’s watching me. I
want to touch him—not for sex. Just to let him comfort me without needing
anything else. How do I know if I’m strong enough for that?

He slowly pulls his gaze away and forces his eyes to the TV
screen. My heart tears apart in a million different ways, conflicted beyond
terms.

I follow his moves and redirect my attention to the movie.
But my head revolves around him, and I find myself trying to watch him through
my peripheral vision. Maybe I can catch him looking at me. I notice everything.
How rigid he sits. When he squirms or adjusts himself on the chair. How he
keeps his hand on his mouth, resting it there and hiding the definition in his
jaw. I notice the way he glances at me every few seconds, the same clandestine
looks I give him.

And I realize that I won’t ever know if I’m strong enough if
I don’t try. The one thought propels me to my feet and cuts the thick, silent
tension in one move. Everyone looks to me, but I focus only on Loren Hale.

His chest rises in a strong inhale as I near. Without
hesitation, I crawl onto his lap, and his hands instinctively pull me higher
and closer, meshing our bodies together. Our limbs entangle until I can’t tell
where one begins and the other ends.

I release a staggered breath and rest my head on his chest,
his heart beating so fast. His fingers tightly intertwine with mine, and the
rhythm of his pulse slows when I close my eyes.

 
Any craving for sex is
drowned out by my conscience, not nearly as bad as I thought it’d be.

He kisses me on my head, and I pray for a temperate sleep,
tears creasing my eyes whenever I start thinking about what happened.

People make mistakes every day, some small and some big, but
I just wonder when I’ll stop making them. Or is this a lifelong thing? Do we
all just wander through life, fucking up and trying to put ourselves back
together only to continue on again?

Are we the accumulation of our mistakes?

A part of me regrettably thinks so.

My failures have defined me more than my triumphs.

But I don’t want to live in that hopeless reality. Not
anymore. I want to be the accumulation of my failures, my successes, of all the
people I’ve ever met, of the man I love, and the life I want. I want to be
defined by so many factors that it’s too complicated for any mathematician to
piece apart.

That would be the perfect life.

Not good or bad.

Just complex.