~ Lily Calloway Periscopes to Fans ~

A Lily & Lo extra from Addicted After All

By Krista & Becca Ritchie

I like watching Loren Hale sleep. Without thinking much else, that sounds creepy, but I promise I had more thoughts coming—not that kind of coming. “Lil?” Lo squints in the darkness, his arm beneath his pillow. And I wonder if the power of my thoughts woke him. “Lo,” I whisper back, turning on my side, our noses close. “Do you think I’m creepy?” “No, love.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Go back to sleep.” I sit up, against his wishes, and grab my phone off the end table. “We’re supposed to Periscope to our fandom five minutes ago. I meant to wake you but…” you looked so peaceful. We don’t get much sleep with a newborn these days. I open the Periscope app and lean against our headboard. “It’s not the morning yet.” He checks the clock before sitting up next to me, his light brown hair messy until he runs a hand through it. “It is somewhere overseas.” I thought it’d be nice to give back to the international fans since they’re always sleeping when I’m awake on social media. He scoots closer to me. It’s dark on the phone, so I reach over and turn on my lamp. Then I hesitate for a second. “Do you think they can tell we’re in bed?” I glance down at my outfit. I’m in one of Lo’s black shirts with just panties. My bottom half is hidden from sight, and Lo is completely shirtless, the start of his toned abs just making the frame. I find my legs tangling with his, and part of me—a large part—would like to spend a minute or two touching him… But we’re on a strict no sex schedule since I had our baby, so I don’t start what I won’t want to end. “Not unless you accidentally drop the phone.” Lo raises my arm that has begun to droop. “I’m not good at this,” I realize. Lo takes the phone and holds it for me. He immediately starts recording before I adjust—I needed to mentally prepare to greet hundreds or thousands or even possibly millions of viewers. I needed to take a sip of water, fix my bed hair and make sure I don’t have a booger. These are important things! “Lo!” I descend halfway down the blankets, my mouth and nose hidden. And in one hasty moment, I’ve given the entire world the answer to where we’re filming. I’m officially horrible at greeting fans. Lo stares into the camera, much better at this than me. “Lily woke up at four a.m. our time to say hi to all of you—” “And answer questions,” I add, my voice muffled beneath the blanket. Lo’s lips rise a fraction. “It’s my best friend’s birthday today. She’s kind of camera shy, even when it’s her own camera. Bear with us.” In the live comments on Periscope, someone asks: how old is your best friend turning? “My best friend is turning twenty-four,” Lo answers. “I’ve recently discovered that she’s part blanket monster.” I attempt to rouse a glare his way. Lo flashes me a smile, not one of his dry ones. A genuine, heartfelt I love you smile. “Aw, look the blanket monster is squinting at me.” He turns the camera in my direction, and I disappear beneath our champagne comforter, arms clung around his waist. He feigns surprise. “Shit, now we’re going to have three more months of summer.” I slide onto his body, already halfway splayed on him anyway, and then I rest my chin on his chest. He pulls the top of the comforter down, exposing my head. The phone’s camera is pointed at us again, and I make out a question in the comments. “What is your favorite memory of a past birthday?” I read. “I liked my ninth birthday. My dad rented out the roller rink for me.” Lo frowns as he remembers this moment in our history. Of course he was there too. “You never even made it onto the rink.” “It was slick,” I refute. “And I saw Michael Rosen fall four times. He was athletic. I’m not athletic.” Lo tilts his head. “There has to be a better memory than one that involves Michael ‘I’m-going-to-turn-into-a-douche-bag-lacrosse-player’ Rosen.” “I like that birthday,” I try to explain. “You helped me skate on the carpet by the benches. It was fun.” Lo begins to smile. “If you say so.” He looks back at the questions. “What superhero show or movie would you like to be a part of and why?” He pauses for a millisecond. “X- Men: First Class. In that timeline, Periscope wouldn’t exist, and I wouldn’t have to talk to all of you.” He flashes that bitter half-smile. “Lo!” I sit up, straddling his waist. He angles the camera right at me. “I apologize for him,” I say. “He didn’t mean it.” Lo turns the camera back to his face. “Yes I did.” He gives the crowd another dry smile and the comments explode with “heart eyes” emojis. Fans love him the most out of everyone, even when his sarcasm is so thick you can’t tell what he truly means. Lo reads another question, “What kind of words of advice would you give to the Lily Calloway of 5 years ago?” He spins the camera back on me, and in those amber eyes—calm and happy—I’m reminded of how far we’ve come from the beginning. Where we weren’t even really together. Now here we are. “I would say, ‘Lily, stop masturbating.’” His cheekbones are suddenly as sharp as ice. “Huh, well, I’d tell my younger self to make sure you don’t give that advice to your younger self.” I narrow my eyes. “Then I’d destroy the time machine on my way to the past.” Lo doesn’t look amused. “Then how are you going to get home?” “A time-turner.” Lo lets out a short laugh. “Tell Hermione Granger I said hi.” “I’m serious.” I scoot closer to his chest, still straddling his waist. I press my palms to his abs. His shoulders remain against the headboard. “And I’m seriously doubting you’d be friends with a Gryffindor, little ‘puff.” He acts like he’s going to kiss my lips, and then he sticks his tongue in my ear. “Lo!” I push his chest, not really shoving him away—I don’t want to do that. I point a nonthreatening finger at him. “Daisy and Ryke are Gryffindors.” He wears an irritated look. “You’re in bed with a Slytherin, love. Snakes don’t get along with lions.” Even as he says it, I know it’s not true. He loves his brother and looks up to him. It’s a cemented truth. I pick the next question. “If you had a time machine, what moment in time would you choose to go back to and live again?” Before I even think of a response, Lo interjects. “Nowhere. Our time machine is destroyed.” I nod once, agreeing on this. No time machines for us. I want the ability to reach home with Lo and the rest of my family. Lo turns the phone towards himself. “What is something you’d put in a time capsule to dig up twenty years from now?” “Condoms,” I say automatically. Then my neck roasts and I can feel the red flush rise to my cheeks. Lo is staring at me with love in his eyes, but I have to clarify. I can’t leave the public hanging without an explanation. “What if in twenty years there’s a shortage of condoms? They’d be useful.” “I can always pull out,” Lo teases, knowing I hate when he does that. I shake my head slowly. “No?” he wonders. “You’d rather my—” I cover his mouth with two hands. “This is a PG show.” I drop my hands, thinking he won’t take it to a dirty territory. Then he says, “We’re an R-rated couple.” I blush. “Nowearent,” I slur together in haste. “We aren’t?” He feigns confusion. “I could’ve sworn last night I made you—” I cover his mouth again. “He’s been banned!” His hands are on my butt beneath the covers. Yes. No! I don’t know…I like birthday groping. He knows I like it too because my body is hot all over. It’s just…this must end soon, before I accidentally start grinding on Lo’s dick. I read the next question. “If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?” I answer quickly, “This. Only Moffy would be with us.” A wave of comments asks where is he?? “He’s sleeping, and no we’re not getting him.” It took so long for him to finally fall asleep, and we’re trying to stick to a schedule. “What is the best gift Lo has ever given you?” I read, and I feel his lips rise beneath my palms. I want to say sex—but my first reaction isn’t the true one. “Being there for me whenever I’ve reached a low,” I say honestly. We might’ve enabled each other, but we’ve also spent so long making up for our mistakes. He clasps my wrists and lowers my hands. His eyes have softened, and that says it all. “Andthemindblowingsex,” I say so quickly. “The important part,” he teases and kisses the corner of my lips. I want him so much closer, but I restrain myself from basically clinging to him like a koala to a tree. I don’t want to smother him so much. He glances at the phone in his hand. He’s doing a good job of making sure the viewers don’t get an intimate tour of our bedroom. “What’s the worst birthday gift you’ve ever received?” “A crayon,” I tell him. “I was twelve,” he says, as though twelve-year-olds are five-year-olds. They are not. We both did adult things at twelve. “And that was Purple Mountain Majesty. Your favorite crayon.” “You forgot my birthday.” He grimaces only a little. “I also discovered hard liquor. You should be happy I remembered the rest of your birthdays.” I’ll take what I can get. “Birthday wish that you’ve had that you badly want to happen,” I read. I don’t have to ponder this for too long. “A one-on-one visit with Mr. Peter Pan.” “You want a boy in green tights to break into your window?” I gawk. “You love Peter Pan too. Don’t act like you hate him.” And then I add, “He reminds me of you.” He opens his mouth, but I add again, “But no one could possibly compare to you—and if anyone broke into my window, I’d want it to be Loren Hale.” He waits patiently, and I let out a breath. “Done?” he asks. I nod. “Good because I was going to say I don’t hate him. He’s just an asshole.” He flashes a dry smile right at the camera. “Like me.” Oh jeez. “Next question.” I clear my throat and peek at the phone screen again. “If you were a superhero, what would your name and superpower be?” I pause. “This will take some thought and a list.” Lo groans. “No lists. I’m sick of lists.” Having a baby has forced us to be more organized. He reads, “Are you a fan of surprise birthday parties?” Hmm. I always get anxious if my mom wants to throw a surprise party, so I know this question has lots of stipulations. “If they include other kind of surprises…maybe.” My thighs instinctively tighten around his waist. Lo lifts me higher, and I can tell he’s trying to stifle any arousal. I tuck a strand of messy hair behind my ear. “Now they’re doing quickfire questions.” I point at the screen. “Magic or mutant powers?” “Both,” Lo cheats. I nod, definitely cheating with him. “Hogwarts or Xavier’s School for the Gifted Youngsters.” I answer, “We’d spent four years at Hogwarts—before the Dark Lord does serious damage—and then head over to Xavier’s.” “Smart thinking, love.” I smile and read, “Stalia or Stydia.” “Stydia,” Lo says. We’re both in agreement on this Teen Wolf ship. We’ve had hour- long discussions about it. “Comic series TV show or movie adaptation,” I read. “Christ,” Lo curses. “Marvel TV shows are too cheesy.” “I like the DC shows though.” Lo gives me the side-eye with an added glare. He’s so pro-Marvel, it’s actually cute. He sets a hand on my forehead. “I’m not sick.” “You’re definitely coming down with something. DC-itis.” I swat his hand and then read the next one. “Vampire or werewolf?” “Vampire,” we say in unison. “Wampa cap or X-Men Wolverine watch?” I read. Oh this is tough. “Wampa.” Lo stays quiet. I know he wants to align with X-Men paraphernalia, but the Star Wars hat has meant a lot to me over the years—so he can’t choose. He reads, “Cereal or pizza? Pizza. The crazies who’d choose cereal are in the basement.” “Crazy for Raisy!” I pimp out my favorite ship. Lo just shakes his head like I truly am falling under some sort of “itis”—but I’d like to think it’s the best kind of illness, something that perpetuates good news, good feelings, and only good days. “X-23 or Emma Frost?” I ask him. “X-23.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Scott Summers or Hellion?” He hesitates this time. Hellion is full of angst, troubled, and more like the old, bitter Loren Hale. Scott Summers is the man that Lo always wished he’d become. He is Scott Summers now—he’s made it. But that doesn’t erase all those years he related and connected to this fictional comic book character, the one who fucked up and lost more than he ever won. “You don’t have to choose,” I tell him. “Just say both.” “Hellion,” he answers suddenly. “Because Hellion is with you.” I smile and nod. Hellion and X-23 are soul mates. We believe it, even if the comic book writers love to toy with our hearts. “Lover or fighter?” Lo gives me a what the hell? kind of look. “It’s a real question.” I point at the screen before the comment disappears. I think he’s about to say “lover”—or maybe it’s just me believing Loren Hale is a lover before he’s a fighter—but a baby’s cry filters through the monitor on his end table. “And that’s our cue to leave,” Lo says. He nods at the camera. “Thanks everyone. You managed to lure out the blanket monster. Any last words?” He spins the camera to me. “Thankyouthankyou!” I say quickly and wave, feeling a little silly but proud. My cheeks redden, but I’m smiling. He shuts off Periscope and then climbs out of bed. He comes around to my side and tugs my arm so I’m closer to the edge. “Want a ride?” I nod and climb onto his back, arms around his collar and legs wrapped loosely around his waist. He mostly supports me with his arms beneath by knees. Moffy’s only crying a little, so my heart isn’t clenching like it sometimes does. When we’re in the hallway, I point at the nursery and say, “To the Batmobile, Robin.” He drops me instantly and I thud on my butt. “Hey.” “Hey what?” He crosses his arms, and even though he purposefully dropped me, I’m staring up at the best looking face the universe has ever seen. And he belongs to me. “It’s my birthday,” I remind him. “Really? I don’t recall carrying my best friend to a damn batmobile on her birthday. I’d never give her such a shitty present.” I contemplate this. “Then where are we going, Loren Hale?” He squats in front of me, our lips a breath apart. My chest rises in a strong inhale. And he says softly, “To Neverland.” He lifts me in a front piggyback, our eyes locked together, my heart bursting. He walks down the hall, to Neverland, silently hoping to fulfill the one birthday wish that I’ve wanted badly. My one-on-one with Peter Pan. I know it’s already come true. I’ve spent nearly all my life with the boy who can fly, and I plan to spend the rest of it with him too.