Page 62 of Bedding Rose
There’s always going to be some sort of line, isn’t there? Cheating. Drinking.
Something.
Of course, we don’t always know what our lines are until someone crosses them. Mom didn’t know that substance abuse was a hard limit until Dad was out of control …
I wonder what my hard limits are?
I hope I’ll never have to find out.
* * *
Angeloand I cocoon ourselves in bliss a little bit longer.
Mom ends up getting a big, shiny new donation from some company no one’s ever heard of the week after I stuff envelopes. After that cash injection, she’s too busy planning commercials to worry about her wayward daughter.
So I get to slink off and enjoy my personal slice of heaven.
Especially when Angelo makes an appearance to play video games with Quique one night after work—because my brother has been bemoaning the fact that Angelo has all but disappeared.
It almost becomes a game for Angelo and me to appear disinterested in one another when Quique is looking and shoot salacious looks across the room when he’s not. I’ve gotten particularly fond of trailing my fingers over my body and cupping my breasts through my shirt whenever Quique is facing Angelo. My boyfriend gets this twisted look of near pain when he has to restrain himself. And then I know I’ll be in for a good, hard fuck against the wall after—him whispering in my ear what a naughty girl I am.
I’ve discovered that I like being naughty. I’ve been ‘good-girl Rose’ for so many years—but naughty me is so much more fun. I’m more relaxed. I smile more. Joke more. Even Daisy has commented on it.
“I think he’s good for you.”
And … I haven’t told anyone this, but that gnawing urge to release tension, to draw a little red line on my skin to let the pain escape, has receded. It’s not gone completely, but the tension that used to feel like it was boiling underneath my skin has lessened.
Life is more perfect than it’s ever been. Even if my Math T.A. is the worst teacher on the planet. When he finishes his unintelligible lecture about factors and the bell rings, I sigh in relief.
“I think he’s getting even more boring,” I tell Lily as I pack away my books. On either side of us, Violet and Daisy do the same. This is the one class all four of us have together. Of course, it has to end up being the only one on the planet that could compare with watching golf on television.
Lily didn’t even take notes, so she’s already packed up. She waits for the three of us who want to actually pass the class by scrolling through her phone. “Not possible. Hey, did you see the signs around campus for a modeling gig?” She holds up someone’s online picture about it.
“Ugh, don’t trust those, they’re a scam,” Violet groans as she slings her backpack onto her back and then pulls her blonde hair out from behind it. Her blue eyes take on a lecturing, motherly look as she explains, “They just want to get you to pay for modeling classes and then headshots. Melinda did it. Don’t waste your money.”
Lil pushes her lips together like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t.
We spill out of the building and soak up the bright morning sunshine. Today it’s warmer than usual and part of me wishes I could strip off my coat and let the sun just dance along my skin as I walk, but there’s no time for that. I have a laundry list of things to do before Lily comes over tonight.
She’s been switching between sleeping in one of our guest rooms or over at Violet’s—not wanting to be alone. She tried Daisy’s house one night but said the sex noises over there were just too much for her to take.
Cringe.
I haven’t admitted to her that Angelo sneaks over nearly every night—but in my defense, at least we know how to be quiet about it.
I don’t know how long Lily’s going to keep this nomad routine up. I know she’s scared about Montoya getting out. But no one has seen hide nor hair of him since. Part of me wonders if Lily just does things for attention sometimes. I feel cruel even thinking that, but it has crossed my mind.
Lily’s sweet. But she’s also kind of thoughtless, completely unaware of how she affects other people
It kind of reminds me of our disastrous attempt at sharing a dorm room last semester. We’d tried, but she’s so much of a slob—clothes literally littering every available surface—that I ultimately had to back away, even if that meant living with Mom and Quique again. She moved into an apartment after that. But now, maybe she’s just finding out living alone doesn’t suit her.
Or … maybe she needs to talk to someone. Maybe can’t file away her trauma and lock it in a steel box with reinforced sides like I do. Glancing over, I note dark circles under her eyes before she slides down the sunglasses that were planted in her hair. I part my lips to ask how she’s doing but then I hear my name.
“Rose!” Angelo’s voice booms across the courtyard. I glance around but don’t see him.
Daisy taps my shoulder and points to our left, where he’s standing on a grassy knoll underneath some pine trees. “Boyfriend’s calling you.” Her gray eyes shine with mischievous delight at getting to use that term.
I just roll my eyes and jab back at her. “Don’t you need to be texting Daddy?”
