Thrive Read Free

anymore. You’re done. I try to repeat
the mantra, but I already crave that climax again, one of equal intensity. The
horrible thing: I know it won’t match it. I know that the second time won’t
beat the first, so I’ll keep wanting to try again and again to reach what I
just had.
    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