The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

Chapter Twelve

Lila

It’s been a little over a week since I brought up this London person and Ethan will still barely talk to me. He avoids me most of the time, but when we do cross paths, he keeps it very businesslike, as if we’re only roommates and nothing more. Whoever this mysterious London is she obviously means something to him. At first I thought it was just a secret girlfriend, with the way he whimpered out her name after he fell asleep on the couch. It hurt. A lot. I’d always been okay with him sleeping with women, or at least I could live with it. But a girlfriend? The idea was clawing at my skin like overly manicured nails.

When I started questioning him about it, though, the spark of anger and discomfort and pain in his eyes led me to believe she might have been someone he loved. But getting to the bottom of it seems nearly impossible when all he’ll say to me is hello. It’s annoying me a little, because he knows so much about me. But when I think about it, Ethan’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and he keeps a lot about himself to himself.

I got the job at Danny’s and I’m still figuring out if I like it or not. Honestly, it hasn’t been too bad, but then again, I haven’t gotten up on the bar and danced yet. Today is supposed to be the big day.

After I check out my reflection in the mirror for what seems like ages, I finally head out. Ethan is sitting on the couch, watching the news, although his glazed-over expression means he’s probably daydreaming about something other than the weather. He’s got no shirt on and a torn pair of cargo shorts. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red, like he’s high, but I know Ethan enough to know he’s not.

I collect my purse and a jacket off the table and his eyes wander over to me. Usually, he immediately disregards me, but tonight my outfit sets him off, which I expected.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He sits up, giving me a dirty look as he takes in my tight white tank top that shows off my stomach, my breasts, and the leopard-print bra I wear underneath. I have a pair of really short cutoffs on that reveal the bottom of my ass when I bend over, which one of the waitresses told me I’ll be doing a lot since the guys usually throw the tips onto the floor.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I retort, swinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “There’s a thing called a shirt, you know.”

He narrows his eyes. “What the hell did I do to you?”

“Besides ignore me for the last few weeks?” I say, jerking the front door open. “Nothing.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he calls out. “I’m just opting not to spend time with you. Something roommates do a lot.”

I stick my head back in the door. “You’re being an asshole and I don’t know why. I didn’t even do anything to you besides ask a God damn question.”

His eyes soften and I think he’s going to apologize as he stands up and struts over to the door. But then he says, “You look like a whore.”

That strikes a nerve, severing my connection with him. I raise my hand to slap him or shove him—I’m not even sure which. But then I decide against it and, shaking with rage, I walk down the stairs. “I don’t even know what I did!” I holler, unconcerned that I’m making a scene. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to make a scene and I’m so sick and tired of it. Nothing feels right anymore.

“You didn’t do anything… This is all my fault… I’m sorry,” Ethan calls out after me, but I’m already running across the parking lot so his words hit my back.

I have no traveling option other than to take the bus or walk. It’s a long walk, so I take the smelly, gross bus. I sit in the back, stewing in my anger, zipping my jacket up over my slutty clothes. I’ve never cared that I was a slut before. I’ve been called it since I was fourteen. But that God damn word—whore—sends me back to a time I’ve tried to forget.

“Just lie down on the bed,” Sean says in a sultry voice that makes me feel warm and loved inside. “I promise, Lila, it’ll feel good.”

He’d just put the platinum ring on my finger, saying that he was waiting to give it to someone special. My head feels a little hazy, due to the few shots I had before I came to his place. I hate drinking, but my friends told me it was necessary for tonight, especially if I was going to lose my virginity. All the cloudiness evaporates as I blink up at him and I can see the love in his green eyes, even if he hasn’t said it aloud yet. I know he loves me, because no one has ever looked at me like that—like they want me.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispers, leaning in to give me a soft kiss on the mouth.

I nod as he leans away and I start to unbutton the crisp white shirt I have to wear every day at school. I keep my eyes on his as I fumble with the buttons, both loving and fearing the hungry look in his eyes.

“You have such gorgeous eyelashes,” I say as I slip my arms out of my sleeves and let my shirt fall to the floor. I’m standing in my plain white bra, plaid uniform skirt, and knee-high socks, the standard New York Reform School attire. I’ve never been topless in front of a guy before, but Sean isn’t just some guy. I gradually walk toward him, trying to look sexy and confident, but my nerves are bursting inside. I slide my fingers up the front of his shirt, feeling his rock-hard chest beneath it, pretending that I’m not terrified at all of what’s about to happen—pretending I’m more experienced than I really am.

His muscles constrict as I reach his neck and for a flicker of a second the caring softness I’ve always seen in his eyes ices over. But the oddly cold look quickly vanishes as he reaches up and places his large hand over mine. “Guys don’t want to be told they have gorgeous eyelashes, Lila,” he says in a blank tone. “Think of something better.”

I swallow hard, worried I’m turning him off. I wrack my brain for something to say to him—anything that will get him to stop looking at me as if I’m just an inexperienced, naïve girl. But I can’t seem to think of anything witty and sexy through the massive sea of alcohol in my head.

Sensing my panic, he gathers my hands in front of me. “Relax, Lila. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I never said you were.” I sound choked and I know he can feel my pulse pounding through my wrists that he has pinned beneath his hands.

He smiles, glancing around his dimly lit bedroom. He has candles burning on the nightstands and in the windowsill, creating the perfect glow and lavender scent to make love in. The bed is decorated with rose petals, there are chiffon curtains enclosing the elegant four-poster bed, and soft music flows in the background. Everything is perfect. Perfection. I can feel it, which means this is right. The thing I’m supposed to achieve. I have the perfect guy, older and more mature, with stubble and a firm jawline, and he’s wearing a fancy suit. These are the things my mother always told me to look for in a guy. Yes, he’s been a little rough with me, and when we’re around other people, he ignores me, but only because he has to because he’s older.

He strokes his finger delicately down my cheek and all my reservations melt like the wax dripping from the candles around the room. “You trust me, right?”

I nod, gazing up at him. “Of course.”

An artful smile curls at his lips. “Good.” He leans in, putting his lip to my ear, and breathes on my skin. I try not to shudder because I know it will make me seem immature, but I can’t help it and my shoulder drifts upward. “Lie down on the bed for me,” he says softly and then grazes his teeth across my ear.

“O-okay,” I say breathless.

He leans back and his eyes almost look black in the inadequate lighting as I back toward the bed and he slowly drinks me in. My knees are shaking as I sink down onto the mattress, remaining on the edge.

“Do you—do you want me to leave my skirt on?” I sound so nervous, but he’s so experienced and I’m not and I’m doing a terrible job of hiding it.

He walks back and forth in front of the foot of the bed, tracing his finger along the footboard. “Leave it on for now.” As he reaches one of the bedposts, he stops and begins unwinding a frayed rope I hadn’t noticed was there until now.

My eyes are fixated on it, my body filled with uncertainty as he unravels the rope from the bedpost and winds it around his hand. “You look nervous,” he observes, rounding the bed back and coming to me. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I-I do,” I stammer, unable to take my eyes off the rope. “You just seem different tonight.”

He puts a finger under my chin and forces me to look up at him. “Lila Summers, listen to me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, understand?” He pauses, waiting for me to nod, and I do, almost certain that I mean it. He smiles. “Good, now lay down for me please.”

I obey, telling myself I love him, even when seconds later he calls me his little whore as he ignores my pleas for him to stop and he ties me to the bed…

I jump up from my seat, even though the bus is stopped nowhere near my destination. The doors open and I rush out into the heat and dusty air, trying to shake my head of thoughts of lavender and the aching memory of how the rope felt. I make a right instead of a left, heading toward a house I know I shouldn’t be going to, but it’s hard—too hard. Remembering the things I’ve done—the dark things I did—is making a vile feeling pollute my stomach.

The house is located a few blocks down from where I got off the bus. The neighborhood is nice, homey, each two-story stucco house surrounded by lush green lawns dotted with plants and small trees. Each two-car driveway has a midsize sedan, sleek, but not too sleek. There’s an illusion of middle-class perfection in this neighborhood, but behind some of these closed doors lives a darker way of life. I know because I’m headed to one of them.

At the end of the street, I make my way up the driveway and rap on the door that has a decorative wreathe on it and a welcome mat below. I fidget anxiously as I wait. My phone goes off, notifying me that I have a text message, but I reach into my pocket and silence it. I want one thing right now and only one thing and when the door swings open, that’s what I say.

“I need one right now.” I sound panicky and it’s going to give Parker all the power, but I don’t give a crap at the moment. I just need to feel okay.

He leans against the doorway, looking handsome, his sandy-blond hair perfectly in place, the sleeves of his black button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows. He has dimples and his smile is flawless. He seems perfect with his charm and a PhD. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Isn’t this what my mother wanted for me?

“You know instant hits cost more than a blow job,” he says, nonchalantly leaning against the doorway. “But I guess you do know that, since you were pretty much a little whore for our entire relationship.”

I want to tell him a thousand things, like how I hated every second we dated. Or how I wanted to break it off with him after our first date, thought about it a ton of times, but the fact that he could write prescriptions kept me coming back. But saying so would piss him off and I need him happy at the moment.

“I know what it costs,” I say, letting the foul feeling take me over because I know it’ll be gone soon. “But can we make it a quickie? I’m in a hurry.”

He grins like a freaking greedy, disgusting thief and I both hate him and love him for it. Hate him because of what he’s making me give him but love him for what he gives me in return.

Ethan

I know I’ve messed up, yelling at her like that just like my father always did with my mom, but it wasn’t to belittle her or to purposely hurt her. I told her she looked like a whore, which she did, but I hated that she’s dressed like that and how good she looks dressed like that. I hated that every guy in that damn place she works at is going to be thinking the same things as me.

I’ve been doing my best to keep my distance from her, especially after she mentioned London’s name. I’ve never talked about London with anyone and suddenly Lila was asking me to talk about her. It scared me because I was afraid of what I’d say, that I miss her, but not really, that I feel guilty for walking away from her, but I don’t want to, that I want to let her go and move one—move on with Lila.

After I call Lila a whore and she runs off, I realize just how badly I’ve been fucking up for the last week. The look on her face was toxic. Dangerous. I need to make it right. I need to not screw up again. I try to text her a couple of times and finally decide just to go down to her workplace, hoping I don’t have to see her dancing up on the bar. I need to apologize for messing up.

When I arrive, however, I can’t find Lila anywhere. The place is filled with ogling guys, drooling all over themselves as they stare up at the half-dressed women shaking their asses on the bar. It’s the first time I’ve showed up at a place like this not looking for entertainment and it’s strange seeing it from an outsider’s point of view. It makes me think kind of poorly of myself for being here and loathing myself for letting Lila work in a place like this. Why didn’t I stop her? Sure, she needs a job, but not like this.

I stop one of the waitresses as she whisks by wearing a see-through dress and carrying a drink tray. “Hey, there’s a girl named Lila who works here. Have you seen her?” There’s panic in my voice.

She looks me over from head to toe and then tries to dazzle me with a grin. “No, but whatever you’re looking for, I can sure as hell give it to you.”

“No, thanks,” I say, walking away from an open invitation. And I haven’t had sex with anyone since Lila moved in twenty-two fucking days. Jesus, I’m getting blue balls.

I’m making my way to the bar when my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I reach in and take it out, checking the text message.

Lila: I messed up.

Shit.

Me: What happened?

Lila: I did something bad… I think I might need your help.

Me: Where r u?

Lila: At work.

I glance around at the packed tables, the dancers, and the crowded bar area.

Me: Where?

Lila: In the bathroom.

I scan the room until I spot the restroom sign. I shove through people, pushing anyone who gets in my way. Finally, I stumble into the hallway and the voice and music quiet down a little bit. I walk up to the bathroom door and text Lila.

Me: I’m right outside.

Lila: Why???

Me: Because I wanted to see if you were okay.

Lila: Okay… can you come in here then… I need u…

Need. It’s a very strong word. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. There are two women fussing over their reflections in the mirror. When they spot me, their eyes widen.

“Ladies.” I grin charismatically at them.

They seem unimpressed and scurry for the door, one of them calling me a pervert, but I ignore them. I scan the stall doors, all of them shut.

“Lila,” I call out.

It takes a second before I hear her muffled voice. “I’m in here.”

It sounds like she’s in the last stall. I make my way over and when I put my hand on the door, it swings open. She’s sitting on the grimy floor, hugging her legs to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. She’s still wearing the outfit from earlier, but she has a jacket pulled over her.

“What are you doing?” I ask, cautiously stepping inside the stall.

“I messed up,” she mutters, frowning at the floor.

I take another step in and shut the door behind me, gliding over the latch to lock it. “Did you… did you take a pill?” My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her answer.

She glances up at me and her eyes are red and swollen, like she’s been crying. “Would you hate me if I did?”

I crouch down beside her, brushing her hair out of her eyes, trying to get a good look at her pupils so I can get a better assessment of her state of mind. “I could never hate you, Lila. I… I already told you that I messed up while I was trying to recover, too, but it’s important that you tell me the truth so that I can help you.”

She takes an unsteady breath and then her hand trembles as she removes it from around her leg and stretches it out in front of her. Inside her palm is a tiny white pill.

“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair, relief rushing over me so powerfully it’s hard to stay upright. “Did you… did you take another one?” I’m afraid to find out, fearing that we’re going to have to start over.

She shakes her head, her whole body quivering. “N-no but I want to take this one. So bad, Ethan. I can’t even…” Her chest heaves up and down as she fights to breathe. “It’s driving me crazy, it even being in my hand.”

Blowing out a breath, I take the pill, pinching it between my fingers as I straighten my legs and stand up. She doesn’t say anything, fiddling with the ring on her finger as I make my way over to the toilet, but her eyes are fixed on me.

I hold my hand over the bowl, waiting for her to yell at me, but she just watches, horrified and relieved at the same time as I open my hand and let the pill fall. When it hits the water, I flush the toilet and then turn back to her, finally able to breathe again.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

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.