“Don’t think about anything.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Then try picturing a fuzzy television.”

“Do you not remember The Ring? If I try that then a girl is going to crawl out of the imaginary TV and slaughter my subconscious.”

I expect him to laugh but his voice turns serious. “How did you fall asleep when I wasn’t here?”

I go quiet. It varied nightly. Some were spent crying myself to sleep, others I masturbated until I passed out. When I gave up self-love, it took me hours to doze off the proper way, and in the end I resigned to fantasies to distract me into a light slumber.

“Normally,” I end up saying, even if the word reminds me of Connor and Rose’s argument earlier. “It just takes me awhile. I’ll try the fuzzy television trick. Maybe it won’t be so scary.”

We roll away from each other again, and I close my eyes. I can’t picture the TV long enough to stop my thoughts. I remember how easily it is to fall asleep after some self-love. It’s the best natural sleeping pill in the world.

My hand rests on my stomach, and I lower my fingers until I touch the hem of my pajama shorts. The impulse bites me and writhes in my belly. I hear that little voice telling me it’ll be okay. That I can do it this once and Lo won’t even know. I’ll stealthily slip my fingers into my panties and just rub my clit until everything feels better. I’ll climax and then fall asleep.

The steps prepared for me are just so easy to follow. My fingers slide beneath my cotton shorts and onto the top of my underwear. I flick my fingers up and down outside of them, trying to gain the courage to go further…or stop. But I somehow always remain in purgatory, fighting for one side or the other.

This is wrong. I know this is wrong.

“Lo,” I say very softly, thinking maybe he’ll still be asleep. Maybe it’s fate.

“Lil, you say something?” he whispers back.

I don’t move my hand. Hell, I don’t even blink. Words tumble in my head like a Bingo machine and I can’t seem to connect them together to form sentences.

I must hesitate too long because he flips on the lights, and my eyes shut quickly. I freeze, hoping he won’t notice anything under the covers. He can’t see my hand in my shorts after all. As soon as he goes back to sleep, I’ll stop myself from going further. I’ll make this right. I just don’t want him to think that I didn’t conquer anything while he was away. I was strong, dammit. I stopped looking at porn. I stopped with the self-love, and I never once cheated on him. But he’ll only see this. And I can’t fix the immediate assumptions. That I’m no better than I was when he left.

Silence bleeds into my head, and I almost think I’ve succeeded. And then cold air prickles my skin, the blanket leaving my body. Oh shit.

My eyes shoot open. Lo has invaded my territory, knocking over the pillow-barricade and gripping my covers. His eyes target my lower-half, where my hand disappears into my shorts. This is so not good.

Here’s the thing about Lily Calloway. She’s obsessed with masturbating. Not the I-love-to-get-off-before-I-sleep or jerk-one-out-in-the-shower kind of self-pleasure. She fucks to come, and if that means fucking herself every minute of the day then she gets it done.

Regrettably, I even facilitated her habit. I thought that every video I bought her was one less dick she would ride. One less risk of disease and guilt. I was so stupid.

I grip her wrist tightly. When she told me that she stopped masturbating for a full month, it was difficult to believe. I’ve watched her hide in a bedroom for hours on end just to please herself. Quitting seems like the biggest accomplishment she’s ever had. Now, I’m not so sure it’s true, even if Rose vouched for her progress.

I slowly shift the hem of her pajama shorts. My shoulders drop in relief. Her palm rests above her panties. Maybe Rose was right. Maybe she did stop masturbating, but obviously it’s harder for Lily when I’m here.

I’m her drug, her means to a high. But I see the life she’ll lead if I’m gone—really gone and never coming back. She’ll return to strangers, to sex with random men. She may even venture into the dangerous side of her addiction—chat rooms and anonymous sex. I can’t let her go down that road.

I retrieve her hand and lace her fingers with mine, not gently. My hand squeezes hers like she’s dangling off a cliff. She might as well be.

“I didn’t do anything,” she defends.

 “You were going to, Lil.” I don’t know if this is true, but it’s a fear that rattles my heart as much as hers.

She sucks in a breath. “This is too hard,” she says. “I feel like I can’t escape my addiction. If I’m with you, I want to have sex with you. If I’m alone, I want to fuck me. Nowhere is safe.”

Christ.

My hands slide to her wrists, and I pull her into my arms. Our embrace isn’t soft. I’m not a teddy bear that girls can clutch. I’m sharp and hard, the thing that braces a girl to the bed, the one who grips her strongly and whispers with a husky, edged voice. I’m as rough on the outside as I am black on the inside.

Holding Lily usually solves our problems, but she fights me this time. Ramming her tiny fists into my hard chest, trying to push me away. “Are you not hearing me?” she says, shoving my bicep. “I can’t sleep next to you.”

I keep her in my arms easily, my muscles flexing as I wrap them around her. “Lil, shh,” I say, my lips finding her ear.

“I can’t!” she shouts, tears beginning to pool.

“Lil, you can,” I whisper deeply. “Shh.” I lock her arms together for a minute, her body wedged between my legs. Tonight will be the most difficult, I remind myself. It’s confusing for her. She wants to be with me, but my mere presence tempts her. I don’t ever want her to believe that being alone, being apart, is the solution.

It’s not.

She needs me as much as I need her. We just have to find our footing in this relationship. And that takes time.

She grows restless, so I roll on top of her, pinning her legs down with mine, trapping her small frame. She seems to settle, but her chest rises and falls heavily, fear swimming in her eyes.

“Who do you trust more, me or you?” I ask.

“You.” She doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then this is how we’re going to sleep.”

She frowns. “I’m not sure I can hold your weight.”

I smile. This is why I love her—why I relish in the fact that I’m going to wake up next to her, my arms wrapped around her delicate body. She’s fucking adorable. “No, like this…”

I slide off Lily and easily readjust. I tug her closer, and my arm holds her small waist against me. We’re spooning, her back to my chest. Now, where is that fucking hand? I find her right hand curled up underneath her breast, and I take it in mine. Then I intertwine my fingers with hers, securing them with determined force. No more masturbating, Lil.

I’m about to officially instate our new sleeping position, but her ass presses harder into my cock. She’s scooting back, either on purpose or subconsciously, I have no clue. It’s still kind of cute, but it doesn’t help.

I lean back and grab a small pillow, and then I wedge it between my dick and her ass. “Better?”

“Depends who you’re asking—Horny Lily or Good Lily?”

I love them both. I press my lips to her ear. “I love you.”

 “…I don’t have much love for myself at the moment,” she mutters in a small voice. I can see her shrinking internally, her self-worth dropping lower and lower from the guilt.

 “Hey, I’d be passed out already if I had to sleep in the same bed with a bottle of booze. You’re doing all right. And this is new for both of us, Lil. It’s going to be lots of trial and error. Now we know that we have to sleep like this. Okay?”

“Are we going to have sex in the morning?”