A hand trails along my cheek, waking me from my sleep.
I moan and snuggle the covers into my chest. Deep laughter makes my eyes pop open with sudden awareness.
Looking up, I find a freshly showered Lip hovering over me. He’s wearing a black shirt that’s distressed to the point it looks white in some spots, and his leather vest over that. He smiles, and my eyes trail from his tattooed arms to his lips and up to his eyes.
“I got church this morning. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, so make whatever you want. I’ll be back when I can,” he informs.
“Church?” My eyes furrow in confusion. It’s not Sunday.
Lip lifts his head and licks his bottom lip, like he’s thinking.
“Umm. It’s not the kind of church you’re thinking of. The club, they meet in this room sometimes called a chapel. We have our daily meetings in it. Prospects don’t always attend them, but we’re to be present in case there’s something the patched-in members need from us,” he explains.
“Hmm. So how do you become a patched-in member or whatever it is you called it,” I ask, my voice husky from sleep.
“Gotta prove my worth, show ‘em I’ve got what it takes.” Lip looks off.
“Ah, okay.” Whatever that means.
“See you in a bit.” He grabs the covers and pulls them over my head playfully before leaving.
A half hour later, I finally pull my ass out of bed in search of some food. I find some cereal and settle with that. Walking around the place with a red bowl full of Lucky Charms, I survey my surroundings. It’s definitely masculine. It could use some color, a touch of feminism for sure. I risk stepping out of the front door, just needing some sun on my face. A small breeze shifts Lip’s shirt around my thighs. I glance downward, eyeing my bare legs. The bottoms of my feet are warm from the patio steps, and I wiggle them. I should probably get back inside before Lip gets a call that a half-naked chick eating cereal is standing at his front door.
Turning to head back inside, my eyes land on a cluster of purple tulips across the street at the neighbor’s house. They’re beautiful, with a splatter of white along the petals. I don’t think I’ve ever seen tulips like that before.
I wash my bowl and spoon and before I know it, I’ve washed all the dirty dishes. I don’t stop there, either: I wash the counters, pick up the dirty clothes, and take the trash out. I clean the whole house. It’s the least I can do after Lip invited me to stay here.
Hours later, I plop down on his extremely comfortable couch and flip on the TV, exhausted. Pulling the pillows from behind me to get comfy, bright pink stands amongst the fabric. My eyes widen as I pull one of the pillows out and more pink panties fall into my lap. Screaming, I fall backward off the couch, my legs and arms going every which way.
Growling in frustration, I pull myself from the floor and stomp to the kitchen. I grab some tongs I just washed and head back to the lacy panties. This proves he can have any girl he wants, that he is indeed a playboy. And what girl forgets her damn panties? I reach my arm out as far as it will go and pluck the underwear up with the tongs. Keeping my hand outstretched, I head toward the trash to dispose of them.
Throwing them in the trash, I can’t help but stare at them. As gross as it is, I find the playboy vibe hot.
“Jeez, get a grip, girl,” I mutter to myself, slamming the lid of the trash back.
After searching the couch for more crusty panties—thankfully, I found none—I watch Pretty In Pink, Riding in Cars With Boys, and Knocked Up one right after the other. I cry during each movie, but after watching that last one, I can’t help but sob uncontrollably. I miss my baby. I want my brother. I want someone to hold me and just let me cry it out, damn it!
I grew up strong and always pushing through the tough shit in my life. I just stepped over it and figured out what I needed to do next. I’ve never sat down and given myself the opportunity to feel bad for myself, and I sure as hell never depended on another to make me feel better. But I think that’s starting to hit max capacity, and I’m beginning to crack. Lip is making me depend on him, and my wall of emotionless independence is tumbling. I’m tired of being that strong female; I’m just exhausted and beginning to feel nothing but numb.
The front door opens and I quickly wipe the snot from my nose and rub at my tears. Shit. Shit. Lip is home. I have the TV so loud I didn’t even hear his motorcycle pull up.
Lip tosses his keys on the coffee table and stops. I can feel him eyeing me.
“You okay?” he questions, his tone soft.
“Um, yeah. Just a sad movie is all.” I glance at the TV that is now showing Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead. Go figure.
Lip looks at the TV and then to me, his eyebrow arching.