Ecstasy

Zara

Our week ends early, and I know Alex is torn about it.

Yesterday, Thursday, we went to see a movie. Some stupid action shit with a bunch of car chases and spectacular crashes and a loosely developed plotline that I couldn’t give a damn about. But Alex liked it, and I liked sharing popcorn and cookie dough bites with him in the nearly empty theater.

We spent the day having sex and drinking orange juice and eating more bacon—I’m fucking sick of bacon—and then we fell asleep tangled up in each other all over again.

But this morning, his mom called, and she needs him to come to a meeting with her lawyer over some shit with his dad. The divorce is messy, and his dad is pissed because a divorced preacher isn’t one that can really lead a church. At least, that’s what Pastor Cardi thinks.

Alex tried to resolve the issue over the phone, but his mom was insistent.

He comes out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, steam billowing out after him. His jaw is clenched, and I see that familiar anger in the hard lines of his face, the furrow of his brow. He turns back, throws the towel on the counter of the bathroom and stares at me, another towel wrapped around his waist.

His abs are truly a thing to behold. If I had to become addicted to a part of his body, it would either be those, or his dick. Probably his dick, which I can see the outline of even beneath his towel, even though I think he’s not hard right now. Considering we had sex just this morning, before we brushed our teeth or rolled out of bed, I’m not surprised.

But just thinking about having sex with him again gets me all worked up and I know he has to go so I tear my eyes away from him, looking at the three empty glasses on my nightstand instead. They’re sticky around the top with residue from the orange juice, and I’m grateful he bought a few cartons of it last night after the movie.

I don’t know if there’s science behind OJ helping with addiction, but damn, it seems to be helping me.

“Look, Za, seriously, you can come with me. It won’t be a big deal.”

I keep staring at the empty glasses, my legs swinging off the bed, my hands in my lap. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m having di

“I just hate leaving you like this.”

I cross my legs at the ankle. If he had told me that a few days ago, I would have laughed in his face. Maybe given him the middle finger to make my point. But now? I hate him leaving me like this too. Full of warm-fuzzy feelings that I haven’t felt from something other than drugs in a long, long time. Part of me is worried that he’s the new addiction. That despite our declarations of love, mine was only because I was feeling high from his orgasm, and his was only because…I don’t know. Maybe he meant it.

But then again, maybe he didn’t. Maybe we didn’t mean what we said at all. Maybe we aren’t ready to love yet.

But despite knowing that, it doesn’t stop my heart from aching at the thought of him walking out of my apartment today.

He tilts my chin up, forcing my gaze from the orange juice glasses to his big brown eyes. “Princess.”

I swallow past the dryness in my throat, try to smile up at him, but it feels like it comes out more like a grimace.

“Yeah?”

“You promise you’ll be good?”

I don’t know if he means “good” as in, I won’t do drugs or “good” as in, I’ll be okay. Either way, I nod, his fingers still under my chin. “I promise.” I smile again, and this time it feels more real. He’s so damn hot, it’s kind of easy to fake that smile.

He leans down and kisses me, like we do it all the time. Like it’s nothing. Like my lips belong to him. And even though it feels commonplace, because it is, it’s become natural for us to touch that way, it still leaves me breathless, especially as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip before he drops his hand to get dressed.

Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.

My mind is screaming it, but I won’t say it. It’s true that I do have di

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less when he throws his arms around me and picks me up in the doorway of my apartment after he’s all packed and ready and smelling so damn good.

It doesn’t hurt any less when he says, “I love you, princess,” against my ear and kisses my neck and doesn’t put me down until he’s squeezed the fucking breath out my lungs.

And I tell him I love him, too. And maybe I do. Maybe I do, I remind myself.

I watch him from the doorway as he walks down the steps, his gym bag over his shoulder. When he turns back to wave at me, my stomach flutters as he runs back over, kisses me again, slinging an arm around my neck.

And I laugh as he leaves, for real this time, and I laugh again when he honks the horn of his Jeep and tosses his hand out the window.

And then he’s gone. And the darkness settles in again. The loneliness.

My phone is still in my drawer beside my bed and I need to charge it and get in touch with Mom, but I kind of don’t want to because it would be so easy to thumb through my texts and shoot Jax one. He’d probably deny me and I can’t take that.

I shut the door to the apartment, lock it, and head off down the hall to the shower. It still smells like Alex. My entire room does, and it makes my heart hurt.

It’s so fucking stupid. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could. Probably tomorrow, he said. If not, definitely the day after.

Promises, promises.

I can’t keep them, but that doesn’t mean he has the same problem.

I decide to fuck the shower and sink into a bubble bath instead, closing my eyes as I lie back against the tile.

The sound of the water makes me feel at peace. I think about the waves of the ocean, without thinking about that shitty beach party. I think about what it would be like to live at the coast with Alex. Maybe we could even have an outdoor part of our gym. Maybe I could be an example to young girls. Maybe he could help boys from broken home, and we could save lives instead of destroying our own.

Maybe Eli Addison will be a distant memory and the horrible things he and I have done won’t come back to haunt me.

I let myself dream, just for a little while. Because when I open my eyes again, it’ll all slip away and the reality of who I am and what I’ve done will come back to crush me.

I’m not even sure Jesus Christ himself would truly forgive someone like me. And Alex doesn’t have the heart of the son of God, so I know he definitely won’t. No matter what he says, I don’t think he meant it.

He can’t love me.

I’m too broken for that.

It was nice though. While it lasted, it was nice.