split up. They have the kind of lovethat most people, including myself, will never understand or experience. I don’t think I even had it with London.
So I’d agreed to go to a city I hated, to help fix the problem and try to make things right between the two of them even though it wasn’t my responsibility. Why do I always try to fix things? I have no fucking clue other than it drives me crazy when other people are acting crazy when clearly they have it really good.
I slide my finger over my cell phone screen and read the text over.
Rae: I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I wanted to check up on you and see how you were doing.
That’s not the real reason why she’s texting and I know it. She wants the same thing she wanted from me seven or eight months ago.
Me: I’m fine.
Rae: Have you thought anymore about taking a trip to Virginia?
Me: Not sure I can.
Rae: Why not? You know it’d be good for both of you.
Me: No, it wouldn’t.
Rae: Please, I really need your help… London’s getting worse.
And there it is. The real reason she’s texting me. She wants hope. She needs to know that she’s doing everything right. And she wants me to give her the resolution. But I can’t because giving her false hope—going there and seeing London—means finally letting go. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, whether I can allow myself to let go and fully accept reality. That what’s done is done and I have to let go and move on.
Me: You know it’s not going to do any good. It didn’t the last time I tried and from what you told me seven months ago, everything’s still the same with her as it was after the accident.
Rae: But I want to change that. If you’d just come visit her, you might be able to change it. You were so close to her when it happened.
No, I can’t. No one can. You know this—everyone does—and I don’t want to see what I lost.
My finger hovers of the button as I deliberate what to type back to her.
“Oh my God, I feel so much better,” Lila says, tousling her wet hair with her fingers as she walks out of the hallway wearing only a towel. My jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s a really,
really
fucking short towel, one that gives me a view of her thighs and if she turned around, I could probably see the bottom of her ass.
“Is that a hand towel?” I ask, half joking, half serious.
“No,” she replies simply. She seems more relaxed and laid-back than when I picked her up. “Just a normal towel.”
I try not to stare as she sinks down on the sofa beside me. She doesn’t even bother trying to keep the towel closed and I get a glimpse of her thighs, which I’ve touched once so I know how soft her skin is. Just seeing them, I have to ball my hands into fists so that I’ll keep them to myself.
“I really needed to get last night off of me,” she says, shaking her hair out. It falls against her bare shoulders, sending beads of water trickling down her skin. “I felt so gross.”
“Is that why you were being so bitchy?” I stuff my phone into the pocket of my jeans. I need some time to think and process what she’s asking me to do and if I can finally do it, not to give her hope but to say my good-bye.
She shrugs, examining her fingernails. “I guess so,” she says nonchalantly, putting her hand on her lap. “Hey, do you want to go out tonight or something?” Lila smiles cheerfully at me as she relaxes back into the sofa, with her hair swept to the side. “Drinks are on me for being a pain in the butt.”
“I don’t think I can,” I say evasively. “Did you get a phone call from Ella by chance?”
Lila shakes her head and twirls a strand of her damp hair around her finger. “No, but I left my phone in my room, so maybe I missed a call.”
“You should call her.” I pat her bare leg, slipping up again on one of my rules that I set with her: no inappropriate touching.
I’m about to quickly pull away when she shudders under my touch and my muscles
So I’d agreed to go to a city I hated, to help fix the problem and try to make things right between the two of them even though it wasn’t my responsibility. Why do I always try to fix things? I have no fucking clue other than it drives me crazy when other people are acting crazy when clearly they have it really good.
I slide my finger over my cell phone screen and read the text over.
Rae: I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I wanted to check up on you and see how you were doing.
That’s not the real reason why she’s texting and I know it. She wants the same thing she wanted from me seven or eight months ago.
Me: I’m fine.
Rae: Have you thought anymore about taking a trip to Virginia?
Me: Not sure I can.
Rae: Why not? You know it’d be good for both of you.
Me: No, it wouldn’t.
Rae: Please, I really need your help… London’s getting worse.
And there it is. The real reason she’s texting me. She wants hope. She needs to know that she’s doing everything right. And she wants me to give her the resolution. But I can’t because giving her false hope—going there and seeing London—means finally letting go. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, whether I can allow myself to let go and fully accept reality. That what’s done is done and I have to let go and move on.
Me: You know it’s not going to do any good. It didn’t the last time I tried and from what you told me seven months ago, everything’s still the same with her as it was after the accident.
Rae: But I want to change that. If you’d just come visit her, you might be able to change it. You were so close to her when it happened.
No, I can’t. No one can. You know this—everyone does—and I don’t want to see what I lost.
My finger hovers of the button as I deliberate what to type back to her.
“Oh my God, I feel so much better,” Lila says, tousling her wet hair with her fingers as she walks out of the hallway wearing only a towel. My jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s a really,
really
fucking short towel, one that gives me a view of her thighs and if she turned around, I could probably see the bottom of her ass.
“Is that a hand towel?” I ask, half joking, half serious.
“No,” she replies simply. She seems more relaxed and laid-back than when I picked her up. “Just a normal towel.”
I try not to stare as she sinks down on the sofa beside me. She doesn’t even bother trying to keep the towel closed and I get a glimpse of her thighs, which I’ve touched once so I know how soft her skin is. Just seeing them, I have to ball my hands into fists so that I’ll keep them to myself.
“I really needed to get last night off of me,” she says, shaking her hair out. It falls against her bare shoulders, sending beads of water trickling down her skin. “I felt so gross.”
“Is that why you were being so bitchy?” I stuff my phone into the pocket of my jeans. I need some time to think and process what she’s asking me to do and if I can finally do it, not to give her hope but to say my good-bye.
She shrugs, examining her fingernails. “I guess so,” she says nonchalantly, putting her hand on her lap. “Hey, do you want to go out tonight or something?” Lila smiles cheerfully at me as she relaxes back into the sofa, with her hair swept to the side. “Drinks are on me for being a pain in the butt.”
“I don’t think I can,” I say evasively. “Did you get a phone call from Ella by chance?”
Lila shakes her head and twirls a strand of her damp hair around her finger. “No, but I left my phone in my room, so maybe I missed a call.”
“You should call her.” I pat her bare leg, slipping up again on one of my rules that I set with her: no inappropriate touching.
I’m about to quickly pull away when she shudders under my touch and my muscles
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