Page 64 of Tap Left
“I didn’t go inside. I didn’t want to. The last memory I have of her is seeing her blackened body on the couch. She fell asleep with a cigarette in her mouth again, and I wasn’t there to put it out.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lola assures me.
“I know. It was hers. Because she could never get her fucking shit together. She was disgusting. She was sloppy and foul, and I hated her, and the truth was, I was relieved when she was dead.”
I skip the part about my mother trying to fuck me before I left. I don’t tell her the worst of it because that would only encourage empathy. I don’t want to make excuses for my loathing. I want to own it, and I want Lola to accept it too.
“I bet you think I sound like a hypocrite,” I muse. “But I’m not like her.”
“I know you aren’t.” She squeezes my hand in hers. “I know that you’re nothing like her. And I’m sorry for what I said last night. You aren’t a gutless shitbag, or whatever else came out of my mouth.”
Her agreement doesn’t change anything. I have been weak like my mother. I’ve been a pathetic, sloppy, drunk mess just like her. And Lola has seen me at my worst, and she’s never hated me for it.
I roll onto my side and prop myself up because right now, I need to feel her. I grab her face and drag her closer so I can kiss her. I kiss the fuck out of her. Her fingers thread through my hair and hold me captive while her body warms beneath me. She smells like sunshine and dirt and fresh air.
She smells like something I’ve always wanted but could never have. New ideas are rolling around inside of my head. I never come unprepared to a pitch, but I want to pitch to Lola right now. I want to make her promises that I’ll probably never be able to keep. I want to close the deal. I want her on my team and in my bed for good with a contract signed in blood.
But maybe I am weak because I can’t say them. Instead, I settle for something simple. Something Lola expects.
“I want your cunt on my dick again.”
Spoken like a true gentleman.
24
Lola
Daire’s bedroomis roughly the size of my entire apartment. It’s dark and masculine and built for function. Everything is gray and black, and there isn’t a single piece of extraneous décor. He’s in the bathroom showering, and I’m in his California King bed wondering how many others have come before me. And then I wonder why I care.
Daire and I had a moment at the cemetery. A moment that was real. But I can’t paint it as anything other than what it is. This is not the beginning of forever. This is not the start of my fairytale. This is Daire and Lola, the classic version. The one where we could only ever have an unhappy ending because that’s how classics go. We don’t buck the trend. We don’t make waves. We get drunk and say mean things to each other, and we grieve. This is nothing new.
It makes no difference how comfortable I feel right now. No matter what Daire said today, I can’t let myself forget it. He says things that he doesn’t mean because that’s what addicts do. They pull you back in just to cut you in pieces all over again. I’ve been down that road before with Ryan, and I can’t go down it again.
As if on cue, my phone signals the reminder of the other man in my life. He’s sent me a message. Actually, three of them.
ThatGuy:
Anything fun happening this weekend?
ThatGuy:
You wouldn’t believe what I’m doing right now.
ThatGuy:
Okay, do I need to send out a search party? Might be somewhat tricky, given that I only know your username, but I’m starting to imagine a bunch of worst case scenarios in my head. Maybe it’s my imagination running wild, or maybe it’s just easier to accept than the fact that you haven’t messaged me back. Sooo… everything okay?
Isighand stare at the bathroom door guiltily before tapping out a reply.
LolaB:
Sorry. Nothing wrong just had some stuff to deal with last night and today. Sad to report it was not fun stuff, but just life stuff. How was your weekend?
The shower turns off, and I stuff the phone under my pillow like I’ve just been caught cheating. It beeps twice, but I’m too chicken to answer it before the bathroom door opens up and Daire emerges. He quirks a brow in my direction, and his eyes move to my pillow like he can see right through it.
“LB.” His voice is steely. I swallow and look up at him, certain I’ve been caught somehow. This is going to be the thing that blows everything up again and sets us back to square one where we are at each other throats. But instead, he cocks his head sideways and crosses his arms. And I know exactly what comes next because his eyes are dark, and his soul is hungry.
“Open your legs and lay back,” he orders.
