The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

Chapter Two

Lila

I’m sitting on the couch alone, wearing a towel, stunned and slightly ashamed of myself. I don’t know what the hell happened. Well, actually I do since it’s happened before, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. One minute Ethan’s hand was wandering up my thigh and it felt so good but then he just up and left, totally blowing me off, and it frustrates me because I want him. Badly.

Ever since I met Ethan, that’s how he’s been toward me. He’ll flirt with me all the time, yet for the most part he never acts on it, teasing me but never fully following through. I’m always hoping he’ll surprise me and finally do something, like show that he’s attracted to me. Something tells me that he might be a little different from the other guys I’ve slept with, sweeter, softer, or maybe rough, but in a good way. Usually, I’m strictly a collared shirt, slacks, nice car, money kind of girl. But there’s something about Ethan and the mysteriousness in his brown eyes, the intricate tattoos on his arms, and the way his black hair is always all over the place that makes me burn with curiosity. And part of me thinks that maybe, just maybe I’d finally feel something besides unworthiness and humiliation after I had sex with Ethan. Although, I’m really starting to wonder if I just have a broken vagina. And heart. And head.

After he leaves me high and dry, the two pills I popped before I took a shower quickly and fortunately kick in and everything—even being alone in my empty apartment after Ethan blew me off—feels okay. The pills keep away the memories and feelings of what happened last night, along with many other nights in my past. And not remembering them is important. Pain equals unwanted emotions, meltdowns, embarrassment. As much as I hate the blackouts the pills give me, I also hate temporary blackouts where bits and pieces come back to me in sharp, disgraceful images. All that does is remind me of what I’ve become and how empty and insignificant I feel inside. Sometimes it feels like my body doesn’t belong to me, like I lost it a long time ago and I’ll never get it back. I wonder if this is how everyone feels after sex. If they feel so dirty and unclean.

It does seem like I’ve been getting worse lately, but life seems to be getting harder. In the last year and a half my roommate and best friend moved out to go live her life and now I’m alone. I tried to stand up for myself to my parents, telling them I wouldn’t come home and live the life they want me to live, and in return my dad took away my car. A few months ago he also canceled all my credit cards and now I’m running out of money and can’t even come up with enough to pay my tuition. Being poor isn’t something I think I can live with. So to escape the painful, shameful reality of how pathetic my life has become, I’ve started sleeping around more and downing more and more pills.

I first started taking the pills when I was fourteen because my mother encouraged me to, saying they would help erase the shame and dirtiness I’d been feeling. I’d just had sex for the first time with a guy who pretty much used me and it turned out the pill worked brilliantly, numbing almost all of my emotions. So I’ve been taking them ever since.

Sighing, I get dressed in a light-blue sundress, twist my hair up with some clips, and head to the kitchen to clean up the floor. Last night I spilled a bunch of wine on it, but I was too drunk to clean it up and now it’s stuck to the tile and is stinking up the house. I grab a barely touched sponge and some cleaner out from under the sink, then try not to gag as I put a pair of rubber gloves on and get down on my hands and knees.

I hate cleaning up the house and try to avoid doing any sort of cleaning at all cost. I’d been having someone come clean the house since Ella left, but I’m running low on cash and can’t afford her anymore. I get down on my hands and knees with a bucket of water and a sponge. As I’m scrubbing the floors, my mother calls me and I almost laugh to myself, wondering what she would do if she saw me on my hands and knees scrubbing dirt off the floor with a sponge.

I turn around and sit down before answering my phone, noticing that I’ve missed a call from Ella, like Ethan suspected. “Yes, mother,” I answer.

“Have you changed your mind about coming home?” She’s been saying the same thing to me ever since I announced my sudden decision to move to Vegas and attend UNLV over a year and a half ago. I’d just graduated from boarding school and had returned home for the summer. My family thought I was going to Yale in the fall, only because I’d lied to everyone and told them I was. I felt ashamed and I was angry at myself for feeling that way, like I couldn’t just admit that I wasn’t smart enough to go to a fancy school. I’d felt ashamed for the last four years and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I knew eventually I’d have to tell everyone that I didn’t get accepted to Yale or any other Ivy League school, so instead of facing it, I left. I packed my shit, opened a map, and pointed to a random place, which ended up being Vegas. I said good-bye to my mother and she fought me the entire way, yelling and screaming and saying that I’d never make it on my own. But I had money and decent grades and UNLV accepted me in a heartbeat.

“No,” I respond with the same answer I always give her. “And I already told you I wasn’t going to change my mind.”

“Well, I was hoping that your mind decided to be smart,” she counters. “But then again, I guess I should know better. You’ve proved over the last many, many years, just how stupid your decisions can be.” She sounds more and more like my father the more time goes on. She’s almost like clay, easily pliable and shapeable.

I pick at my nail polish, debating whether to go to my room and take another pill. She’s taking a jab at me for the huge mistake she’ll never be able to forgive me for, not only because of what it made me look like but because it made her and my father look like they raised a slut.

“Did you call for a reason?” I ask calmly “Or to just complain about me?”

“Your father wants you to come home,” she states in a subdued voice. “He says if you do he’ll give you back your car and credit cards.”

“As always, I’m going to have to decline his offer.”

“Well, as always you’re going to make dumb choices that make this entire family look bad. Between your sister being a waitress and having an illegitimate child and your living in Vegas in an apartment, we look like the low-lives of the community.”

“Well, maybe you should just tell everyone we’re dead, then.” I feel numb as I say it and I’m thankful for the medication in my system. “I mean, we both know how great you are about making up cover stories when one of us screws up.”

She laughs cynically into the phone. “Well, I’ve had good practice. I have one daughter who’s an ex-junkie, and another daughter who’s been a little slut since she was fourteen.”

“I was confused and didn’t completely understand what I was getting into.” I swallow hard, trying not to think about where my journey of being a slut started. “And you did nothing to help me. Nothing beneficial anyway.”

“You made a choice, Lila,” she retorts derisively. “No one made you do anything. You chose to do it.”

“I was fourteen,” I mumble, the detached feeling in my body starting to lift as the walls close in on me, shrinking me into a ball, just like they did to me when I was a child. My mother has that effect on me, even with a simple phone call. I cradle my knees against my chest and rest my chin on my knees.

“Excuses are for the weak. And if you’d just admit that you made a mistake, and that you continue to make them, then maybe you’d finally be able to clean up your act.” She sighs. “You’re a beautiful girl, Lila, and your looks could carry you really far in life. Imagine what kind of man you could get if you’d try to date one instead of sleeping with them all.”

“Wow, have you ever considered becoming a psychiatrist?” I ask sarcastically. “Because you’d be great at it.”

She hangs up on me.

I’m not surprised and I was hoping she would, otherwise she would have started lashing into me about how much of an utter disappointment I am. I press END, glad that I no longer have to talk to her. At the same time I’m hurt that she views me like she does, that she hates me, wishes I was someone else, someone other than who I am. Although, I don’t even know who that is so I can’t figure out how she does.

I give myself thirty seconds to wallow, and then I call Ella to see what she wants.

“Hello,” she answers cheerfully and I can’t help but smile because she used to be so sad. I’m glad she’s happy, although part of me envies her.

“Hey, did you call earlier?” I ask, lying down on the linoleum floor and staring up at the ceiling. I miss Ella and everything, but it’s nice to live alone, too, because I’d never just lie down on the floor in front of her.

“Yeah, I figured you might need to talk,” she says and I hear Micha shout something in the background.

“We can talk later,” I tell her. “If you’re busy.”

“No, we can talk now,” she insists. “Micha’s just yammering in my ear for no reason.” There’s laughter in her tone and Micha shouts out something else, but it sounds murmured through the phone. “Ethan made it sound like you needed to talk.”

“Huh… He called you?”

“Yeah, just a little bit ago.”

I bite down on my lip, slightly irked, wondering if he called her to tell her to check up on me because I haven’t been paying the rent. The last thing I want to do is tell Ella my problems when she has so many problems herself. Plus, I don’t like talking about my issues—it’s what I’ve been taught. The only person I’ve told anything to is Ethan and even he doesn’t know everything. “Well, sorry to waste your time, but I don’t really have anything to talk about.”

She hesitates. “That’s okay. I’ve been meaning to call you anyway.”

“About what?” I’m trying to force the irritation out of my tone, but I can’t quite get there. The pills need to kick it up a notch so I can feel artificially happy.

“Maybe I should call later,” she says. “You sound annoyed right now.”

I sigh heavily, stretching my legs out. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little hung-over and taking it out on you. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she replies very cheerfully and very unlike the Ella I first met. “You’ve put up with a lot of crap from me over the last couple of years.”

“God, have we known each other for that long?” I manage to keep my voice light and cheery, even though my head is aching.

“Yeah, we’re getting so old, right?” she jokes, but she sounds kind of nervous.

“What are you not telling me?” I say, pushing up on my elbows. “You’ve got that tone… the one you use when you have a secret.”

“I don’t have a tone.” She pretends she has no idea what I’m talking about, but her overly nonchalant attitude suggests otherwise.

I pinch the brim of my nose, trying to alleviate the pain in my head, and luckily my voice comes out sounding as if I’m the cheery Lila, the one everyone needs to see. “All right, spill your guts.”

“Well…” She takes a deep breath. “I kind of moved the ring.”

“What!” I exclaim and suddenly all of my crankiness diminishes. Ella has been wearing a ring Micha gave her on the opposite finger as the engagement one. The deal between the two of them was that when Ella felt ready to get engaged, she’d move the ring to the other finger and it’s finally official. “When?”

She dithers. “Actually it was a while ago… the day Micha and I left Vegas.”

“You bitch,” I say, half joking, but kind of angry at the same time. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I don’t know… I guess because I was still getting used to it.”

I absentmindedly turn the ring on my own finger, thinking about how sick and twisted I am that I won’t get rid of it. I swear the God damn ring still owns me—he still owns me. “You could have gotten used to it by telling me.”

“I know and I’m really sorry. You know how I get about this kind of stuff though.”

“I do.” I really, really do. Ella shuts down and keeps things hidden. I didn’t know that when I met her so it was a surprise when I got to see this whole other side of her. She went from a quietly, orderly, good girl, to this loud, reckless, badass, and I sometimes wish I could be the same way. Carefree and outgoing and just living life exactly how I want in the moment, without having to be intoxicated.

Micha, her fiancé now I guess, shouts something in the background and then Ella lets out a squeal in the phone. I hear a loud thump and then there’s a lot of giggling. I wait for her to come back on, but the giggling only gets louder as she argues with Micha through her laughter about letting her go.

I roll my eyes, officially hating her for the beautiful relationship that she has and deserves. “All right, I’m going to go. If you can hear me, congrats and I’ll call you later.”

I drop the phone onto the floor and the quiet sets in. The sunlight sneaks through the cracks of the blinds and I can hear my next-door neighbors arguing about something. It’s really loud and annoying and I yell, “Keep it down!” while banging on the wall.

They don’t hear me though and keep shouting. The longer I lie there, the more the loneliness catches up with me, like a wave ready to slam into the shore. I want someone who will love me like Micha loves Ella. I want someone—anyone—just to love me. I’ve been trying the best that I can to find that kind of love, but it never seems to work out and I’m really starting to believe that I’m beneath being loved.

I thought I had love once, very stupidly. I should have known better. He was too old to actually love a fourteen-year-old and after it was all over, after he’d used me, he left me, brokenhearted, feeling dirty inside and confused over what I—we—had just done. Even now, when I look back at it, it doesn’t make sense to me, at least from an emotional aspect. But the pills make it easier to accept.

“I really did think he loved me,” I mumble, feeling the tears sting at my eyes as I rotate the platinum-banded diamond ring around on my finger. “He seemed like he did.”

I get up and walk out of the kitchen, heading for my room, wanting to escape my mistakes and the emptiness. The problem is that every time I do, I only add more mistakes to the list and I always end up alone. But I’ll probably keep doing it over and over again because it’s what I’m good at—screwing up, being a slut, sleeping around, praying I can find someone who will fall in love with the worthless bits and pieces of me and take care of me like my mother is constantly telling me should happen.

I open my nightstand drawer and stare down out the prescription bottle, twisting the ring on my finger, knowing that any more pills will send me into blackout mode. But I want to be in that mode right now because it momentarily makes me feel happy and content. I pick up the bottle and open it. As the pills slide down my throat, numbness slides through my body and I fall back on the bed with my hand placed on the scar along my stomach, my one flaw, both inside and outside.

I’m not sure how boarding school is going, whether I like it or hate it. It seems weird living at a school at fourteen years old. Plus, I’m having a hard time making friends. But I’m trying.

“You see that older guy over there?” Reshella Fairmamst, the girl I’m working on becoming friends with says, pointing at the table across the library, at a man wearing a suit. He’s sitting in a chair, reading an old tattered book.

Reshella Fairmamst isn’t my friend, but I want her to be—need her to be, otherwise I’ll end up lonely and friendless. But becoming friends with her is tricky, because she’s the richest, most entitled and popular girl in school. “You mean that old guy?”

“He’s only twenty-two and he’s part of the Elman family, who are totally wealthy.” She flips her honey-blonde hair off her shoulder and holds her nose in the air as if she’s smelling a bitter aroma. She does this a lot and I’ve often wondered if it’s out of arrogance or the fact that she’s trying to make sure she doesn’t have BO. “He’s totally acceptable.”

“But I’m only fourteen,” I say stupidly as I twirl my hair around my finger. “He’s not going to want me. He’s like eight years older. “

She looks me over from the seat beside mine. She wears a lot of makeup and always has gray eyeliner on because she says it brings out her sharp features. She wears a strand of pearls daily and insists none of the Precious Bells wear them. The Precious Bells are her clique and to get into the clique you have to be the best of the best of the best.

“Maybe you’re not a good fit to be a Precious Bell,” she says snidely. “Because to be one of us you have to be willing to date older men. We never, ever date guys in our school.”

“But you’re sixteen.”

“So.”

“So…” I struggle against her condescending gaze. “It’s easier for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh please. It’ll be easy for you if you just stop thinking so much like a child. It’s time to grow up, Lila, unless you don’t want to.” She turns her head toward the group of girls and guys sitting at the round table in the corner, the ones everyone have deemed nerds and social outcasts, and my mother would never in a million years approve of me hanging out with.

I think of the last words my mother said to me before she dropped me off at boarding school to live out the rest of my high school life: “Do not embarrass us like your sister did. You will not hang out with crowds your father and I won’t approve of and you will excel in your studies. Succeed, no matter what. Screw up, and we’ll throw you out on the streets just like we did Abby.” It was like she was reading a cue card written by my father, but I know it’s the truth, because his threats always are. And I really don’t want to live on the streets.

I sigh, straightening my posture. “What do you want me to do?” I ask Reshella.

Her glossy pink lips curve to a grin. “I want you to go over and get his number.”

My jaw drops. “How?”

“Figure it out,” she says simply. “And then, when you do, you’ll officially be a Precious Bell.”

Nodding, I get up and step back from the table, nervous and near fainting as I make my way over to him. When I reach his table, he instantly looks up. His beauty throws me off guard, along with the hungry, intense look in his eyes.

“I’m Lila,” I say quickly, sticking my hand out like a spastic moron for him to shake. “Lila Summers.”

His lips quirk, but he doesn’t smile. He reaches over and takes my hand, but instead of shaking it he brings it to his lips and delicately kisses it. He has stubble on his chin and it grazes me, feeling both good and bad.

“Lila, that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he says thoughtfully as he looks back at me.

I notice he has a ring on his hand, a platinum band encrusted with diamonds. It’s on his ring finger, too, and I wonder if he’s married. I wonder if I should ask. I feel so nervous right now, I’m starting to sweat.

I grin, though, kind of smitten by his dazzling smile, my heart throbbing inside my chest at the way he’s looking at me. It makes me feel kind of special. And I’ve never really felt special before. For a moment I can be just a beautiful girl standing in front of a gorgeous guy, thinking she’s the most amazing person in the world.

What I really should have been thinking, though, was how stupid and naïve I was.

Ethan

I can’t get up from my fucking bed, not just because I drank a six pack of beer, but because I really don’t want to. I’ve got the damn bracelet out again, the one she gave me so I would always remember her. It’s on my bed beside my journal, both of them haunting me with memories. I’m lying flat on my stomach, moping like a pussy over a girl who doesn’t exist anymore and shouldn’t exist to me anymore. I need to let her go. But I can’t seem to. I’ve always hated the idea of relationships—still do. I’d seen them at their grand ugliest and pretty much made my mind up that love and commitment were faulted, fictional, but then London came along and my views changed—I changed. And I don’t understand why, what it was about her that made me think differently. And now she’s gone and I’ve yet to find anyone else who makes me reconsider my warped, yet insightful view on eternal and never-ending love.

I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the bracelet since I lay down. It’s there in front of me, reminding me of everything that happened between London and me and everything that didn’t.

“You are such a beautiful guy,” London used to say all the time. In fact, she’d pretty much sing it to me. “Which is why you can pull off wearing a bracelet.”

I’d shake my head. “No fucking way am I ever going to wear a bracelet.”

“Even if it’s from me?” she questioned with amusement as she traced her fingers down my face.

“Even if it’s from you.” I was such a douche to her, totally in my father’s asshole character and I’ll always hate myself for it. The thing is she never really did seem to care. I never knew what she was thinking or feeling and she never got to see me wear the bracelet. I could put it on now, but what would be the point. It doesn’t have any meaning anymore, no connection to anything real. It’s pretty much just a piece of leather with “E&L” imprinted on it.

I lean forward, observing it closely, realizing that it could also stand for Ethan and Lila, which makes me hurt only more because I’m thinking about Lila instead of London. What I really want is to not be thinking about anyone. I want silence. Solitude. I want my God damn thoughts to turn off.

Shaking my head, I toss the bracelet aside, out of my line of vision. I need to get out of the house, otherwise I’m going to drift into that place where I get stuck in my own head and pretty much lock myself in a box. My mother always called it being unsociable and a few shrinks referred to it as social anxiety and I call it knowing too much. A couple of shrinks wanted to put me on something for it when I was about fourteen and got super stressed out about the idea of starting high school, not because I was afraid but because it seemed like there were so many people just moving together in herds. All I could think about was the loss of the peace and quiet I’d gained over the summer and all the other stuff I’d rather be doing.

I’ve always loved the quiet, although I’ve never really gotten much of it. When I was growing up, I had my brothers always pounding on me. Then they moved out and I was left with my dad constantly yelling at my mom and sometimes he would even hit her. I tried to interfere and ended up taking a few blows myself, which was fine except both my dad and my mom ended up mad at me. My mom told me that I didn’t need to interfere with things that weren’t my business. I was, like, thirteen and it totally confused me. When I asked her why, she simply said, “Because I love your father more than anything and he’s just going through a rough time in his life.” Just like he was when I was in second grade and he was addicted to pain pills. Sometimes I worry I’m going to turn out like him, that eventually I will end up with someone and this ugly, abusive person will manifest itself inside me.

Eventually my dad stopped hitting my mom—although to this day he walks all over her—but I still saw enough of the ugly, and how easily it was forgotten, that I really question why relationships are so important. Even with London, I didn’t see the importance of us declaring that we were together. We never said “I love you,” even though I think we both felt it. Sometimes I think I still do… maybe… I think so anyway. Shit, I have no idea.

“I really need to get out of here.” I push off my bed, grab my phone and keys, and head out the door. I think about going to a club, but I hate the noise. I consider a bar, which is lower key, but honestly I just want to walk, move forward, stop sitting still.

I take a cab to the strip, order a drink from this building that’s a smaller replica of the Eiffel Tower, and then walk up the crowded sidewalk, shoving my way through the crowd, wishing I was some place else instead. It’s as loud as being in a club, but I’m outdoors so it’s easier to breathe through it. I wander around sipping my drink, watching the neon lights blink. For a while I consider calling Lila and asking her to come meet me, but I’m afraid what will happen if she did. I feel bad for blowing her off, but I’m in one of my need-to-get-laid moods, which is the best way to turn off my thoughts, and with Lila around, I might end up breaking the rules I set with her. Then what? We’d fuck and things would get awkward and all those fun, light talks that we have, and the rescue missions, would get awkward and probably vanish.

Everyone’s all wound up on the sidewalks and in the clubs, talking, chatting, smiling, groping the shit out of each other. While I’m throwing my empty cup away, I spot a few girls in ridiculously short dresses. One’s eyeballing me and I think: Now there’s the distraction I’ve been looking for. I shove any emotions out of me before approaching them. Micha used to do this shit with me all the time, which made it easier.

I pick the brunette in a red leather dress for no other reason than she seems more interested in me than the other two. I flirt and I smile at her and we walk up and down the strip together. She keeps running her fingers up and down my chest and batting her eyelashes.

“We should go back to your place,” she finally shouts over the noise as we reach the heart of the casinos.

I nod, but make sure to play by the rules: always let them know where I stand. “We can do that, but just so you know, I just want to fuck. I’m not looking for a relationship.” I’m blunt, but I have to be. The last thing I want is to be misleading and either hurt someone or have them cling on to me.

She grins up at me as she traces my bottom lip with her pinkie nail. “That’s all I want, too.”

About an hour later I’m screwing her in my apartment and there is no meaning behind it. She’s using me and I’m using her. We’re just two shells of people with body heat that have absolutely no substance to them at the moment other than what we’re searching for—peace and calm. I never find it, though. But that might be because I never allow myself to.

Somewhere I lose track of what she looks like and picture her with short black hair, like London, and the more it continues the more she starts to look like Lila. It’s completely messed up and defeats the purpose of having sex and trying to forget my problems. I don’t want to be thinking of Lila—I don’t want to be thinking of anything. I just want a clear head, and when it’s over I go back to being alone, following my rules so I don’t have to get close to anyone and move on. Let go. Accept the reality that London’s never coming back to me and that she isn’t because I chose to let her walk away.

Once we’re done fucking, she gets up and tells me thanks while getting dressed and thoughts of London drift away as exhaustion overtakes me, yet Lila remains in my head as I wonder what she’s doing right at this moment. I mutter a “you’re welcome” and then she leaves, without giving me her number. I roll over in my bed, feeling alone, yet quietly content on the inside, exactly how I want to be. I glance at the clock and realize it’s only nine o’clock, though. Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do for the rest of the night?

Shaking my head, I turn over and take my journal out, doing the only thing I can do to pass the time and try not to think about London and the last time I saw her. I can never forget it, how I just walked away from her. I end up writing about the morning when I found out she was gone, even though I promised myself a long time ago to forget about it. But it can’t seem to forget me.

The phone rings. It’s like a song. A very annoying song that has a sullen tune and lyrics full of angst and remorse. I’m not even sure how I know it’s bad news. I just do, and when I answer the phone and hear the sob, I know she’s gone, but not in the way I expected.

She’s gone.

But she’s not.

She’s in between death and life. Lost. Maybe forever. Maybe not. Who knows? No one really seemed to know much, and in the end the real London was gone, her mind always dying, veering closer and closer to death, but right at the last second it fleetingly starts to thrive again before starting the whole process over. She was always half starved, famished, unhealed, yet healed at the same time. It never made sense. None of it did with her.

None of it ever does.