Table Of ContentRicochet Copyright © 2013 by K.B. Ritchie
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This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, resemblance to
events or persons, living or dead, are coincidental and originate from the authors'
imagination and are used fictitiously.
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RICOCHET
{Addicted #1.5}
a companion to the sequel
KRISTA & BECCA RITCHIE
{1}
I fucked up.
That’s the only thought I have when I digest my surroundings. A live DJ
blasts music from wall-engulfed amps while people guzzle colored drinks. My
youngest sister, Daisy, sips beer from a Solo cup, scouting her model friends. I
fear that she’ll pull a guy over and try to hook us up—to take my mind off Loren
Hale. Five hours ago, I believed a house party would be a safe choice.
Not true.
So. Not true.
I should be chastely tucked beneath my comforter, sleeping through the New
Year’s riffraff at my place with Rose. Only days ago, Lo—my best friend, my
boyfriend, literally a guy who encompasses my entire life—left for rehab. Rose
and I spent a full Monday packing my belongings. And I sorted through pictures,
knickknacks and valuables, bursting into tears in random spurts. Besides clothes
and toiletries, what’s mine was Lo’s. I felt like I was going through a divorce.
I still do.
Only an hour in, Rose called movers and paid them to finish packing my old
apartment and unpacking at our new house. She bought a four-bedroom villa
near Princeton with five acres of sprawling, lush land and a white wrap-around
porch, black shutters and purple hydrangeas. It reminds me of the southern
homes in Savannah or the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. When I told her this, she stood with
her hands on her hips, appraising the building with those powerful, yellow eyes.
Then she broke into a smile and said, “I suppose so.”
The isolation from male bodies doesn’t stop my flyaway mind from traveling
to bad places. Mostly, I worry about Lo. I toss and turn at night only to have to
swallow large doses of sleeping pills to rest. I miss him. And before he left—I
never imagined a world without Lo here. My throat closed up at the idea, my
heart dropped and my head spun. Now that the moment has arrived, I realize that
he took a piece of me with him. When I told this to Rose, she patted my shoulder
and said I was being irrational. That’s easy for her to say. She’s intelligent,
confident and independent. Everything I’m not.
And I don’t think…I don’t think many people can really understand what it’s
like to be so invested in someone—to share every single moment and then to
have them ripped from you. We have an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship.
I know this.
And I’m trying to change, to grow beyond him, but why does that have to be
a stipulation?
I want to grow with him.
I want to be with him.
I want to love Lo without people telling me that our love is too much.
One day, I hope we’ll get there. Hope, that’s all I have to go on right now.
It’s my driving force. It’s literally what keeps me standing.
The first few days in withdrawals tortured me, but it helped that I hid in my
room. I refused to see the real world until I could push past the most fervent
urges. So far, I’ve contained my sexual needs by drowning in self-love. I’ve
thrown out half of my porn to try to appease Rose and to convince myself that
I’m on the path to recovery like Lo. But I’m not so sure that’s the case. Not
when my stomach clenches at the thought of sex. But mostly, I want to have sex
with him.
And I worry about that fifty-percent chance where I’ll drag another guy into
a bathroom, where I’ll pretend he’s Lo for a single moment to satisfy my hunger.
I shouldn’t be here. At a house party. Distance from wild things has helped so
far. This—this isn’t even close to my wildest moments, but it’s enough to push
me someplace bad.
When Daisy called and invited me to a “house party,” I imagined a few
people mixing strong drinks and huddled around a television to watch music
performances. Not this. Not an Upper East Side apartment crammed with
models…male models. I can barely scoot an inch without a body part invading
my personal space. I don’t even look to see what kind of ligament brushes my
skin.
I should have told Daisy no. I have many fears since Lo has left, but my
greatest one is failing him. I want to wait for Lo, and if I’m not strong enough to
squash these compulsions before he returns from rehab, then our relationship
will really be over. No more Lily and Lo. No more us. He’ll be healthy, and I’ll
be stuck on a destructive turntable alone.
So I have to try. Even if something in my brain says go. I keep reminding
myself of what waits for me if I don’t wait for him. Emptiness. Loneliness.
I will lose my best friend.
As per Rose’s knowledgeable instruction (she’s been reading up on sex
addiction—and so has Connor, but that’s another story), I should be looking for
a suitable therapist before I attend any social events that’ll tempt me. Daisy has
no idea about my addiction—that it surrounds the allure of hot guys and the high
of a lay. Rose is the only person in my family that’s aware of my problem, and
it’ll stay that way if I can help it.
Still, I didn’t tell Daisy no. Even as I was trying to say it, she used the “I
never see you” mantra to guilt me into submission. She topped it off by saying
that I was oblivious to the fact that she broke up with Josh during Thanksgiving.
(First mistake: asking “How’s Josh?” on the phone this morning. And I thought I
was being so sly remembering his name and all.) That’s how “uninvolved” I am
in her life. So not only was I processing her single-status, I was feeling a
torrential downpour of sisterly remorse. I had to say yes to make it up to her.
This is Lily 2.0—the girl who is actually trying to be a part of her family’s
world.
That means spending quality time with Daisy. And worrying about her
jumping back in the dating pool. Especially if these older models are flinging in
their hooks to catch her.
So here I am. Obviously not prepared for this type of party. Although, I did
ditch my sweats for black pants and a silky blue blouse.
“I’m so glad we’re here together,” Daisy exclaims for the third time. “I never
see you.” Her arm flings around my shoulder, pulling me into a tipsy hug. I
almost eat her golden brown, nearly blonde, hair. The feathery, straight strands
flow past her chest.
We separate and I pinch one of her locks off my glossy lips.
“Sorry,” she says, trying to pull back her hair, but her hands are full: beer in
one and a cigarette idly burning between two fingers in the other. “My hair is too
fucking long.” She sighs in frustration, still combatting with the strands. She
ends up using her shoulder and neck to try to push her hair off her chest, looking
like a spaz in the process.
I’ve noticed that Daisy curses more when she’s irritated. Which is fine. But
I’m sure our mother would need to spend an extra three hours meditating to
forget about Daisy’s foul mouth.
And that’s precisely why I don’t care if she swears a lot or not at all. Do what
she wants to do, I say. Daisy needs to be Daisy for a change, and I’m actually
excited to see her away from my mother’s neurotic, maternal claws.
She settles down and sets her elbow on my shoulder for support. I am short
enough to be her armrest. “Lil,” Daisy says, “I know Lo isn’t here, but I promise
that I’m going to take your mind off of him tonight. No rehab talk. No mention
of comics or anything that’ll remind you of him. Nada, okay? It’s just me and
you and a bunch of friends.”
“You mean a bunch of attractive people.” I use the correct terminology. I am
surrounded by pretty people who could sprint along a beach, Baywatch-style,
and cause a wave of boners. Or they could walk down a runway and you’d
probably be staring at their face more than their clothes.
At least I would.
Does that make me the ugliest person here? I’m probably the only un-model-
ish girl. I nod. Okay. I’m cool with that. Surrounded by 10s and I’m probably a
6. I’ll take it.
She blows out smoke from her lips and smiles. “They’re all not that good
looking. Mark looks like a gerbil in bad lighting. His eyes are too close
together.”
“And he gets booked for jobs?”
She nods with a goofy smile. “Some fashion lines like the quirky thing. You
know, the bushy brows, gap-tooth sorta look.”
“Huh.” I try to find Mark and his gerbil-ness, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“I kinda wish I had a cooler signature trait.”
Signature traits? Sounds like getting a badass patronus in the Wizarding
World. Though I’m sure mine would be lame too. Like a squirrel.
I try to deduce her signature trait, scanning her black leggings, long gray
shirt and army-green, military-style jacket. She doesn’t wear a single stroke of
makeup, her complexion smooth, fresh and peachy perfect. “You do have great
skin,” I nod, thinking I’ve solved the riddle. I’m so good. I nearly pat myself on
the back.
Her eyebrows rise and she playfully bumps my hip with hers. “All models
have good skin.”
“Oh.” I realize I’m going to have to come out and ask. “What’s your
signature trait?”
She puts her cigarette in her lips and then grabs a wad of her hair shaking it
towards me. “This baby,” she mumbles. She drops the strands on her shoulder
and tucks the cig back between her fingers. “Long, long, long Disney Princess
hair. That’s what my agency calls it.” She shrugs. “It’s not even that special.
With wigs and stuff, anyone can have my hair.”
I would tell her to chop it off, but that’ll just rub in the fact that she can’t do
a damn thing about it. Not when the agency controls her look. Not when our
mother would go into cardiac arrest. “You do have better hair than me,” I tell
her. Mine is greasy half the time.
I should probably wash it more.
“Rose has the best hair,” Daisy says. “It’s the perfect length and super
shiny.”
“Yeah, but I think she combs it a hundred times a day. Like the mean girl
from The Little Princess.”
Daisy’s lips twitch with a smile. “Did you just compare our sister to a
villain?”
“Hey, a villain with good hair,” I defend. “She would appreciate that.” At
least, I hope so.
Daisy finishes off her cigarette and snubs it in a crystal ashtray on the
fireplace mantel. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Well I am. You’re always so busy. I feel like we really haven’t talked much
since you left for college.”
I feel even worse. Being so much younger than Poppy, Rose, and me must
have been isolating and lonely. Me being an addict and shunning my entire
family hasn’t helped. “I’m glad I’m here too,” I tell her with a large, honest
smile. Even if this may be my biggest test since Lo’s absence, at least I know I
did something right. Coming here, spending time with Daisy, it is progress. Just
a different kind.
All of a sudden, her eyes light up. “I have an idea.” She grabs my hand
before I can protest. We exit the apartment and head for the hallway. She sprints
towards the stairwell, tugging me along in tow.
I’m just getting used to this new impulsive Daisy. Who, Rose informed me,
has apparently been around for the past two years. When we moved into our new
house, we invited Daisy to help decorate. On her tour through the four-bedroom
villa, she spotted the pool in the backyard. No mind that it’s still winter. A
mischievous smile warped her face, and she climbed out of Rose’s bedroom
window, onto the roof and prepared to jump in the water from three stories high.
I didn’t think she would do it. I told Rose, “Don’t worry. It’s probably just an
attention thing.”
But she stripped into her underwear, took a running start, and splashed into
the pool. When her head popped up, she wore the biggest, goofiest “Daisy” grin.
Rose almost killed her. My jaw permanently unhinged.
And she floated on her back, barely even shivering.
Rose said when our mother isn’t around, Daisy tends to go crazy. And not
the I’m going to drink my sorrows away and snort some coke rebellion. She just
does things that our mother would condemn, and Daisy probably knows we’re
more forgiving. When Rose saw that Daisy survived the jump without a bruise,
she simply called her stupid and then let the issue drop. Our mother would have
ranted for a solid hour, flipping out over any injuries that could have ruined her
modeling career.
More than anything, I think Daisy just wants to be free.
I guess I was lucky enough to escape my mother’s strict scrutiny. But maybe
not. I didn’t turn out perfect. One could even say that I am royally fucked up.
We climb the stairs to the highest floor, and Daisy turns the doorknob, the
biting cold prickling my bare arms. The roof. She took me to the roof.
“You’re not planning on jumping are you?” I immediately ask with wide
eyes. “There are no pools for you to land in this time.”
She snorts. “No duh.” She lets go of my hand and sets her beer on the gravel
ground. “Do you see this view?”
Skyscrapers light up the city, and people even explode fireworks off other
buildings, the colors crackling in the sky for tonight’s celebration. Cars honk
below, kind of drowning out the majestic atmosphere of the night.
Daisy extends her arms and inhales deeply. And then she screams at the top
of her lungs. “HAPPY NEW YEAR, NEW YORK CITY!” It’s only ten thirty,
so technically it’s still New Year’s Eve. Her head turns to me. “Scream, Lil.”
I rub my hot neck, anxious. Maybe it’s the lack of sex. Or maybe sex is the
one thing that’ll help me feel better. So…is sex the cause or is it the solution? I
don’t even know anymore. “I’m not a screamer.” Lo would disagree. My cheeks
flush.
