I don’t say anything, because I can’t. I’ve never been around guys before who have complimented me on anything besides my tits and my ass. I situate myself on the couch while Ethan boots up the Xbox so we can stream Netflix. Grabbing the remote, he sits down on the couch beside me. He sits closer than I anticipated, his knee resting against mine and it feels almost painfully good, to the point where my body feels like it’s going to explode from the tension and heat, and while I hate it, I also love it because I’ve never felt it before. It’s crazy and strange, like I’m a virgin again or something, and it alters my entire thought process. For the first time in my life, I picture myself sitting next to him, doing this exact same thing ten years down the road. We would be living in the same shitty apartment and Ethan would still be working his job in construction because he never graduated from college and I don’t think he cares enough to do anything more with his life. And I won’t be going anywhere, since I could barely get a job as a dancer at some skanky run-down bar. I would still be wearing an outfit I got off a clearance rack and we would have the same crappy furniture because Ethan hates fancy stuff and we couldn’t afford it between our crappy salaries. But despite poverty, everything would be okay. In fact, I can actually envision myself happy, even if I were poor. I’ve had everything before, material-wise at least, and look where it got me. Addicted to pills, struggling to take care of myself, and bearing all the emotional trauma I couldn’t deal with because I’d been taught it was wrong to show emotions that were anything but perfect and pretty. I feel so content right now and I want to keep feeling content. Genuinely content.
Ethan drapes his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brush my hair away from my neck. He starts searching through the movies, asking me questions about them, and I answer with minimal responses because I’m too engulfed in what’s happening to my body and mind. There’s so much clearness in it and I’m hyperaware of everything, from the way his lip is slightly swollen from where he chews on it to the intoxicating scent of him. I can even feel the heat flowing off his body, enflaming my skin and he’s not even touching me. It’s amazing. Clear. Undiluted. Is this what I’ve been missing? All these years? Is this what things are supposed to feel like? Warm and heart pounding, instead of cold and silent. If it is, though, then what the heck am I supposed to do with it?
A little bit into the movie Ethan falls asleep and he slumps over, putting his head onto my shoulder. I’m fairly sure he has no idea that he did it and I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up. I let him stay there, running my fingers through his hair, across his nose, his jawline, his lips, like a creeper touching someone in their sleep. I can’t help it though. He’s got such soft skin and amazing lips. I wonder what they’d taste like if our mouths finally came into contact with each other.
I’m smiling at the thought when he starts muttering in his sleep. At first it’s really quiet and it almost sounds like he’s saying “Lila.” But then he starts to get louder and I realize he’s saying “London, don’t leave me… Please, stay… I need you…”
London? Is it a person? If so, Ethan’s never mentioned a London before. Who could they be? A girlfriend? But if they are then why has he never introduced us? An endless list of things runs through my mind and I realize that even though he sleeps around, the idea of him having a girlfriend is like a knife to the heart. Sex is meaningless, but a girlfriend he could care about.
Maybe even love.
Ethan
“Oh, Ethan,” London singsongs as she skips through a field. There’s a bonfire burning near the trees in the distance and the smoke rises to the starry sky. There’s a party going on and people are laughing, shouting, drinking, having sex and London is out in the field skipping like the strange girl that she is.
“What are you doing?” I ask, drinking my beer as I walk slowly behind her, watching her move through the field of tall grass and weeds. “You’re going to get us lost.”
She spins around and around, with her head tipped back, her dark hair blending with the night. “I’m having fun.” She spins again and then stops as I reach her. “How about you?” she asks, breathless.
I knock back the rest of the beer and then crush the cup, throwing it into the dirt. “What about me?”
She grins, walking toward me, swaying her hips. “Are you having fun?”
“I’m having a blast,” I say flatly, placing my hands on her hips.
She frowns. “Well, that sounds convincing.”
I sigh, letting my head fall forward so it’s pressed against hers. “Sorry, I’m just tired. And there are too many people over at the party for my taste.”
“You can be such a party pooper,” she says. “But only half the time. And then sometimes you’re totally into it.”
“I’m totally into it when I’m either drunk or stoned,” I admit. “But when I’m sober, it drives me crazy.”
She pauses, hooking her finger through my belt loop. “Sometimes I think you’re going to just pack up and leave and go wandering off on your own.”
I don’t answer right away, moving my forehead away from hers so I can look her in the eye. “I sometimes think about it. Just packing up and hitting the road.”
“Would you take me with you if you do?”
“Would you want to go with me?”
“Maybe… I don’t know.” She doesn’t look like she wants to. “Would you want me to go with you?”
“Maybe,” I say, but honestly I’m not sure. I really like her, more than any other girl out there, but there are times when I do think about leaving not just my life behind, but everyone in it.
“You’re such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take me with you.”“I never said that,” I tell her.
“But you didn’t completely deny it,” she retorts.
Silence grows around us and she holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Okay, I take my ‘maybe’ back. I want to go with you but only so you can take me away from this place—my life.” Her voice is flat, saddened, devoid of any emotion. She gets this way sometimes when she’s talking about her life.
I kiss the top of her head. “What’s so bad about your life?”
“What’s so bad about yours?” she says, dodging the question like she always does whenever I try to dig deep into her psyche.
“Nothing, except that I don’t want it,” I reply, pulling her against my chest. “London, if you want me to take you with me then I will.”
“Okay, well, I’ll need notice before we go,” she jokes, the sadness leaving her voice. “And I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m really busy this summer.”
I pinch her ass hard and she squeals, backing away from me. She takes off running through the field and I chase after her, but somewhere along the line I lose track of her and the darkness swallows her whole.
“London,” I call out, but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laugh from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. “London…”
Someone is shaking my shoulder and I’m snapped out of my dream. I feel hot, burning up, like I have a fever and my heart is racing erratically.
“You’re totally a lightweight,” Lila says when I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, my head resting in her lap, my feet kicked up on the armrest.
I’m very aware how comfortable I am on the outside, but on the inside I’m a mess as memories of London float around in my head. Once again, I’m stuck somewhere between Lila and London and I don’t know how to get over London completely so I can just be just with Lila.
Lila hovers over me with a hurt look in her blue eyes, like she’s upset about something. “You passed out, like, ten minutes after it started.”
“I made it ten minutes?” I instantly crank up my humor, trying to shut down my thoughts of London as I blink up at Lila. “I should get a medal for that or something.”
She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch so that I can sit up. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“No, it was terrible.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn as I lower my feet to the floor.
She watches me with this strange look on her face, like she’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “Who’s… who’s London?”
My heart just about drops into my stomach as a shock pulsates through me. “What?”
“London.” She repeats, relaxing back in the sofa, with an intent look on her face. “You were muttering it in your sleep.” The corners of her lips quirk, but it looks forced. “At first I thought you were saying my name and I thought, ew, gross, he’s having sex dreams about me. But then I realized you were saying London and I’m starting to wonder if you have a secret girlfriend or something.”
“She’s no one,” I snap, not meaning for my voice to sound so clipped, but I’ve never talked to anyone about London because talking about her makes everything real. “So don’t worry about it.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t get all snippy with me. You know a lot about me—things I’d rather you not know—and I think it’s only fair that I know a few things about you.”
“You already know things about me,” I say, trying not to snap, because it’d be bad, both for her and me. “Now drop it.”
She considers this and then her expression darkens in a very un-Lila-like manner. “No, it’s bullshit.” She inches closer to me on the sofa. “You’ve gotten into my head so much over the last few weeks and it’s not fair that I don’t know a lot about you.”
“You know enough.” My voice is tight and packed with a warning for her to not go down this road.
“Apparently not, since I’ve never heard of this London, yet she seems to be important to you.”