Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 58

Rick and I spent the rest of the morning pretending that we were okay. That what we were doing was okay. It wasn't. It was wrong, to keep going back and forth. Pushing and pulling. Shoving and dragging. But it was tiring to keep fighting it. We both knew what we wanted. It just sucked that we weren't supposed to want it.

We were in the bath tub. Sated and catching our breaths after the glorious fucking we've been doing. It was like we were trying to fuck away all the shit in the world. If we just kept fucking, things didn't matter. It didn't, at least for a while. But then nothing lasts. Not even the surreal orgasms lasted for long. And then we'd be stuck in silence. Ignoring the things that we should be acknowledging. How fucked up this situation was.

Armed with a pair of scissors and an electric razor, I decided to cut his hair, growing annoyed with how the tips would touch his eyelashes every time he blinked.

"I wanna take you out," Rick suddenly said after I'd finished cutting his hair and was now shampooing it.

I frowned, looking at him. "What?"

"On a date," he clarified. "You still owe me a date, you know."

I sighed, rinsing the shampoo off his hair. "We can't, Rick."

"Just one date. That's all I ask and I'll give you up."

Now, I was pissed.

"You told me this morning you'll never leave. Now you're telling me you want to give me up. Are you fucking with me or something?" I said, chuckling humorlessly.

Back and forth. That was all we were doing.

He sighed, turning to face me. "I want you, but it has to be all of you. I don't want to be your one night stand every night anymore. The mornings suck too much," he said, forcing the humor in his words.

"You don't want everything. Stop asking for that," I said, feeling frustrated.

"But I do though."

"Was last night not enough?" I snapped in annoyance.

He stiffened and I knew he was remembering my unwarranted confession from last night.

"I'll take everything. The good and bad. You know that," he said, his voice grave.

I sighed irritably, pulling away, but he put his arms around me, keeping me in my place. As if I belonged here. With him. It only pissed me off more knowing I didn't and never will.

"You want everything?" I spat, pushing his arms off me. "Fine. When I was seven, I finally had the guts to ask my father if he loved me. He told he hated me and that every time he looked at me, all he saw was his worst mistake. When I was nine, my mother spoke to me for the first time in my life. 'Sors de mon chemin, petite pute,' were her words. It means 'Get out of my way, little whore'. When I was thirteen, I attempted suicide for the first time by emptying a bottle of sleeping pills and chasing it with shots of vodka. I threw up all over myself and was too ashamed to try again. Two weeks ago, I stood guard outside a hotel room for an hour while my mother fucked my future husband inside. And oh yeah, my brother has murdered nearly every man our father has sold me to and I'm pretty sure he'll get to the rest of them with time. Good enough for you? Or do you still want more?"

I got to my feet, stepping out of the tub and grabbing a towel before walking out of the bathroom. I snatched my cigarettes from his bedside table and lit up a stick as I headed for his balcony. My fingers were trembling and I was reminded of my cravings as I took one long drag from my cigarette after another.

I haven't had a single drop of alcohol since I woke up this morning and don't get me fucking started with the withdrawal symptoms already starting to kick in. I fought through it. I may be an addict but I wasn't about to start raving because of it. It was a fine line to thread on, but I've long mastered it after years of being a fucked up piece of shit whose only thought in the morning was to have coke shoved up my nose.