Page 68 of Lilies in Autumn

“Okay,” I respond, because really, what else could I say?

—

Because of my natural inclination to fall on my face and embarrass myself, there aren’t many moments in my life that I wish I could erase from existence, aside from the picture and video distribution. However, Grey meeting my parents in a police station while discussing a video of him eating me out in a classroom is one of those rare moments that I wish I could erase from existence.

Meeting Grey’s dad under the same situation also qualifies, as does my dad referring to our actions as “cunnilingus.” I am sufficiently traumatized and any past trauma that I’ve held on to from my childhood is no longer significant.

After four hours spent detailing—and reexplaining—the series of events that led to our current predicament, I am exhausted and mentally drained. My parents were enraged, alternating between silent terror and high-pitched screams. They had to be reminded three times by the detective taking our statement to calm down or get out. Grey’s father wasn’t much better, except he had well-known fame on his side while my parents had the adoration of the receptionist that was addicted to true-crime podcasts and knew who they were immediately.

Now back home, laying on Grey’s bed, I want the world to swallow me whole and absorb all of the mortifications from the last twenty-four hours into its core. As soon as we got back, Grey went in search of Dante and Lincoln while I made a cocoon in his bed out of his comforter and texted CeCe. Though mine and Grey’s outing at the station took center stage this morning, there’s no forgetting the state of my friends and sister when they showed up for breakfast. Needing answers—and a distraction—I question CeCe after exchanging GIFs about the longest day ever.

Ava: Are we going to pretend that you didn’t spend the night with Dante, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?

CeCe: Did you know that a shrimp’s heart is in its head?

Ava: Celeste

CeCe: Did you also know that tigers have striped skin?

Ava: Celeste

CeCe: Fine. We spent the night together. Don’t get fucking excited about it.

Ava: Holy shit, C. Did you sleep with him?

CeCe: We slept, that’s it. Seriously, don’t make it freaking weird.

Ava: You looked tousled this morning *Bridget Jones GIF*

CeCe: Fuck right off. Bridget Jones is a cinematic masterpiece; have some respect. We made out. Leave me alone, Porn Queen.

Ava: *dancing banana GIF*

Ten minutes pass while CeCe and I trade obscenities back and forth. My shit show of a day is nearly expunged from my conscience when my phone vibrates with a social media notification. Opening my Instagram app, I click on my notifications and am shocked to see Grey’s handle tagging me in a video. After the fallout from this morning and the endless calls and texts about the video, I avoided all of my social media like it had a combination of swine flu and smallpox.

I raise the volume on my phone and select the video. Grey pops up on my screen, dressed in a black sweatshirt and backward baseball cap; he looks like most women’s fantasy. He’s sitting at his kitchen island and based on the angle of the phone, it’s propped up on something and set to self-record. I hit play and Grey’s voice fills the room.

“By now, you’ve all seen the video of me and my girlfriend in a private moment. For those sick bastards that have saved, liked, or redistributed the video, stop immediately. My girlfriend and I are not a public spectacle and value our privacy above all else. The violation of our privacy and safety is unacceptable, and the authorities are working to identify the sick fuck that stole that moment from us.” Grey pauses, rubbing a hand over his face. “There have been posts, response videos, and disgusting shit spewed that paint my girlfriend, Ava, inaccurately. She is everything and she’s fucking perfect, so if you think for a second that the opinions of random, faceless people on the internet have any bearing on my love for her, you’re wrong. And to the coward that posted that video and violated every aspect of my girl’s privacy and agency, I will find out who you are and you’re going to jail for a long fucking time.”

The video ends and fades to black. I replay it six times, absorbing every single word he said for the world to hear. I’m unnerved that he addressed it without talking to me about it first, but also speechless that he just proclaimed his feelings to thousands of his followers. The one point that stuck out to me is the mention of the response videos that have been posted. Clicking on my “for your pleasure” page, I’m assaulted by blurred videos and stills of me and Grey. Opening the first one, I read the caption and my blood runs cold.

Beneath the pixilated images, a keyboard warrior captioned: “Curvy slob gets railed #slutsofMarymount.” Scrolling through the related content, I see so many variations of the same thing; I’m an overweight slut that opened her legs for the first guy that showed interest in me. It’s bullshit. Dispersed throughout the comments of my body are congratulatory messages for Greyson, as though his part in this is commendable instead of equally mortifying.

It’s amazing that in 2023, we still treat women like shit but hold men up on pillars for getting their dick wet. Knowing Grey, and the fiercely protective instinct he has, puts his response video into perspective, though I still wish he would have spoken to me about it first.

I’m still fully immersed in the reaction posts that I’m startled when a large, warm hand coasts down my calf. Looking up, I find Grey staring at me, his expression hooded and surprisingly sheepish. I’ve never seen Grey contrite, but based on the look on his face, he’s preparing for an argument that he assumes he won’t win.

I sigh, moving from the center of the bed to make room for him. “Come here,” I beckon, patting the mattress. As soon as Grey sits, I climb onto his lap, straddling him. Adjusting my position, my center rubs against Grey’s groin and I groan, the hardness momentarily distracting me from the words bouncing around my head. Shifting forward, I grind my pelvis against him, seeking friction. Grey’s hands grip my waist, stilling my movements and holding me tight against his growing erection.

“If you don’t stop grinding your pussy against me, I’m going to tear your clothes off and fuck you until you forget what you wanted to say to me when I came into this room.” He thrusts up, letting me feel how hard he is.

Dammit, Ava. Focus.

I clear my throat and shake my head, getting my thoughts together. “I saw your video. It was… intense, to say the least.” Grey doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow. “I wish you would have spoken to me before posting it,” I continue. He opens his mouth to speak, but I raise my hand to his lips, silencing the words that were about to pour from him. “I’m not saying that I don’t understand why you posted that recording, but a heads-up would have been appreciated. I-I,” I stutter. I draw in a breath, finding strength in the oxygen we share in this room. “I love you, you know? And if it were you that needed defending, I would have done the same, albeit significantly less aggressively, but I would have tried to protect you, too. That’s what I’m saying.

“I get it, I do. But, for us to work—to have a real shot at succeeding as a couple—we need to be on the same page with things as monumental as this. It may seem ridiculous since we have honest-to-God porn out there, but we need to be partners in all things. Don’t post another explanation video, or video in my defense, without speaking with me about it first. Okay?”

Grey stares at me for a moment and his eyes search my face. For what? I don’t know, but it feels like an eternity has passed before he cups my jaw and rubs his thumb against my cheeks. “Okay, vixen.” With his agreement, he flips me over, pinning me beneath his large body. “I’m going to show you how much I love you now.” He makes quick work of our clothes, stripping me in record time before lowering his mouth to my chest and worshiping my body.

---