Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Stop saying that. I’m still me. I’m just—” My foot cramps, and I can’t swim anymore.
My body curls, folding in half, and the pain is so much it feels like something snapped like a wishbone in my foot.
I begin dropping like a stone to the bottom of the pool. My head goes under. I swallow a glassful of chlorine water. My feet—heavy with painkillers—touch the bottom of the pool. Panic claws at my bones. I’m drowning and can’t tell him.
Then I see through stung, wet eyes a sharp splash. Lev slices the water like an arrow. He swims toward me, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me up.
He rolls me to the edge of the pool, hops outside, then carries me to the cabana. He is still dripping water when he shoves me into a hot shower.
Under the water spray, I grip the back of my neck and start crying hysterically. The anxiety is back, and with interest. I can barely breathe.
Lev wordlessly takes a sponge, squirts soap onto it, and lathers my back. His movements are circular and deep. He is massaging every inch of me, soothing, kneading, tickling.
My sobs become louder, ripping through my chest savagely.
“Why are we crying?” he asks very softly.
“I was scared to drown,” I sniffle. “And I was…you know.”
“Tell me.”
“Under.” The influence. Water. Everything.
“Okay,” he says, tender again. “What did you take?”
“Painkillers. Xanax.” I snort. “Marx, I’m such a loser.”
“I’m sorry, Dove.” He brushes wet strands of hair from my eyes. “Sorry I wasn’t there to protect you when it happened. Sorry that it hurts. Sorry you’re in this screwed-up cycle. But you have to get help. I can’t watch you killing yourself. Every time you poison yourself, you poison me too. Only difference is I don’t get to enjoy the high. For me, it’s just the lows.”
I’m too upset to produce any words, so I just let him take care of me.
After he’s done showering me, he pats me dry with a towel, puts me in a pair of fresh pj’s, and brushes my hair. We’re back in my room, or the room of the person I used to be before I changed completely.
While he rearranges the mattress, he tries to take my mind off what happened tonight. “Remember when we used to do shadow puppets and I would throttle your shadow and you would stomp on mine?” He grins.
I smile tiredly. “Things were so simple when we were kids, weren’t they?”
He nods, turning somber. “But some things still are.”
“Yeah?” I sniff. “Like what?”
“Like the way I feel for you and the way you feel for me.”
Lev lays me in my bed, then massages my foot to loosen the pulled muscle. My feet are on his steel-hard thigh as he digs his thumb into the center of the cramped foot.
I whimper into a pillow I’m hugging, hiccupping as I descend the Olympus of euphoria to the mortal land of my disastrous reality.
Lev was right. Now that I’m no longer high, I’m feeling all of it. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Mortification.
This is why I love the Xanax so much. It extracts me from my thoughts, my fears, my worries. It isn’t a hedonistic pursuit of pleasure. It keeps the pain at bay.
“Levy?”
“Yes, Dove?”
“Did I really let you shove your…you know in my…you know?”
“Down to the knuckles,” he confirms. “Like, I think I felt your pancreas.”
Swallowing, I contemplate murdering him. Pros: he wouldn’t remember what happened. Cons: I’m kind of attached to him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you cleaned up.” Lev pats my knee like a fatherly T-ball coach.
“I’m going to look for rehabs for you tomorrow. I can ask Knight what h—”
“Would you have…” defiled me like a porn star? I crinkle my nose as I stare up at him.
“…you know, if I were sober?”
“In a heartbeat.” He presses the pad of his thumb into my muscle and I feel the knot unfurling. “If you were sober, I would have grabbed your hips from behind and alternated between fucking your ass and your pussy until I came in both.”
I feel myself blushing. “That would be very unhygienic for my vaginal health. A urinary infection waiting to happen. Just…” I clear my throat. “For future reference.”
“—then I’d lick it all off and suck your clit until you passed out,” he continues, ignoring me.
His words make me so shocked and aroused, I stop hiccupping. He throws a glance at me and chuckles. “You’re so fucking cute, I could eat you whole.”
“I see you’ve given it some thought.”
“Eating you out? Nah. Maybe like once every second or so.” He shrugs.
I melt into his touch, lulled by the bliss of having him here.
“You’re all I think about,” he admits. “Other than becoming a pilot. And MH370. Like, it just vanished off radar, Bails. People still can’t decide if it went to the South China Sea, Strait of Malacca, or freaking Kazakhstan. I know it’s been well over a decade, but—”