Fic: Elephant 3/3

[roxierocks.livejournal.com]

Title: Elephant
Author: roxierocks
Pairing(s): Ian/Riley, Riley/Ben, Ben/Abigail
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con (non explicit), sex, swearing, lots of lovely angst, spoilers for National Treasure and very vaguely for Book of Secrets
Word Count: 12,434 in three parts (completed)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this story and I am not making any profit 

Summary: Ian and Riley are playing a dangerous game, but Riley doesn't realise just how dangerous until it's too late...

a/n: Thanks to all the lovely reviews i've had for this fic. It's been a brilliant welcome to the fandom and am now workinghard on my crack!fic entry! Enjoy the final part. 

previous parts: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Elephant&filter=all

“This has got to die. This has got to stop.” –Elephant, Damien Rice.

 

Part Three

 

He drives home on autopilot, stopping at the seven eleven on the way. Safe in his apartment he cracks open the first of the six pack he’s bought and drinks it quickly. The alcohol thrums in his veins, making him feel light headed, and he reaches for the next can.

 

When he’s finished the beer, he’s ready for the whisky.

 

Lying half on, half off the couch he can barely unscrew the cap of the bottle, let alone lift it to his lips. He hasn’t eaten all day, and the room swims gently around him. He gulps the fiery liquid, wincing as it hits the back of his throat, grimacing at the after burn.

 

It isn’t long before the taste mellows. Soon he won’t be able to taste it at all.

 

He’s drunk and his judgement is off.

 

The last thing he should be doing now is reaching for his cell phone. He should have taken the sim card out before he started, he would never have been able to put it back in the right way round.

 

Ben’s phone rings out until the answer phone kicks in.

 

This is Ben –and Abigail!- and Abigail but we’re not here right now. Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you.

 

Riley swallows at the beep.

 

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

 

He hangs up.

 

I’m a fucking idiot.

 

He reaches blindly for the bottle, but his co-ordination’s off and he only succeeds in knocking it over, watching the dark liquid seep across the wooden floorboards. By the time his brain’s kicked into gear and he’s picked the bottle up there’s less then a quarter of whisky left.

 

He drinks it all.

 

He can’t lie on the couch anymore, the room’s spinning too fast, and he tries unsteadily to sit up but only succeeds in landing in the puddle of alcohol.

 

A hysterical laugh turns into an equally hysterical sob.

 

This is what he’s been reduced to. This is what Ian has reduced him to.

 

This is what Ben has reduced to him.

 

“You’ve really fucked me up,” he says aloud, his voice thick with strain and tears. He doesn’t know who he’s talking about anymore.

 

He just wishes it would all end.

 

His cell phone rings, jarringly loud in the echoey stillness of the flat. He can’t find it on the floor. He should have turned the lights on when he came in.

 

It stops ringing then starts again a moment later. Riley blinks hazily and tries to distinguish where the noise is coming from. When it starts up for the third time he realises it’s wedged down the side of the sofa.

 

“’lo?”

 

“Riley?”

 

It’s Ben. He sounds worried.

 

“Oh. Hey Ben.”

 

“Riley, are you okay?”

Riley laughs and it has that hysterical edge to it again. He wishes it wouldn’t do that.

 

“Oh yeah, Ben. I am fine. Super fucking fine.”

 

“Riley, what’s going on?”

 

Riley shakes his head.

 

“Why’re you calling?”

 

“You called me.”

He frowns.

 

“I did? Yeah, of course. I did. You weren’t there.”

 

“We only just got back. You hung up on the answer machine.”

 

“You were out. That makes sense.”

 

Ben said ‘we’. That meant Abigail. Of course, because Ben and Abigail lived together now. Ben and Abigail.

 

“Is everything okay?”

 

He lets out that horrible laugh again. He wishes he could stop.

 

“You’re a bastard,” he says slowly. “You’re a fucking bastard and I wish I could hate you.”

 

There’s a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the line.

 

“Riley, have I done something?”

 

“I wish I could hate you as much as I hate him,” he continues, as if Ben hasn’t spoken. “But what do you care? You got everything you wanted, didn’t you? You got the treasure and you got the girl and you got your perfect fucking house.”

 

“Riley-”

 

“God, I wish I could hate you. Everything would be so much easier if I could hate you.”

 

“Riley have you been drinking?”

 

“Strike one up for the genius!”

 

“Right, I’m coming over.”

 

“Don’t bother.”

 

“You’re clearly in a state.”

 

“Yeah, Riley’s having another one of his hissy fits.”

He’s never realised he could sound that bitter.

 

“That isn’t what I meant.”

 

“You know who I saw today?” Riley asks. He doesn’t wait for Ben to reply. “I saw Ian.”

 

“You went to visit Ian?” Ben’s voice sounds slightly unsteady.

 

“He opened my eyes to a few things, I gotta tell you. He really made me understand some stuff.”

 

“What kind of stuff?”

 

“Stuff about me. Stuff about you. He knows about us. It’s funny, but I was under the impression that that night never happened. Your words, I believe. And I know I didn’t tell him about it. So how’d he find out, Ben?”

 

There’s a heavy pause from Ben’s end of the line.

 

“I can’t talk to you about this over the phone,” he says eventually. “I’m coming over.”

 

“Don’t,” Riley says. He’s suddenly sick of all of this. He can’t be with Ben and he can’t be with himself. He’s too tired. “Just don’t, Ben. Just…don’t.”

He hangs up, and when the phone starts ringing again he ignores it.

 

What’s the point in talking to Ben? He never believed Riley about Ian. Ian was right about everything, all Ben can see him as is an easy lay. He clearly told Ian they’d slept together. The two of them probably laughed about it. They probably compared notes.

 

Tears prick at his eyes and he doesn’t have the strength to stop them. He sits on the floor in the dark and cries.

 

He has nothing left. Nothing.

*

 

He’s still sitting there, still crying, when the door to his apartment opens and an intruding square of light comes in from the hallway.

 

The door shuts with a quiet snick, and then Ben is kneeling in front of him, wiping his tears away with a shaking hand.

 

“How did you get in?” he asks numbly.

 

“Spare key,” Ben murmurs. His eyes track across Riley’s face, his own taut with concern.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Riley says. Ben pulls back as if he’s been burnt.

 

“Sorry.”

Riley looks away. The curtains aren’t quite drawn and a narrow strip of streetlight orange paints the floorboards.

 

“Can you please go?” he asks. His voice is blank.

 

“No,” Ben says. Riley looks sharply at him, then regrets it when the room sways in response. Ben’s eyes are serious, resolute.

 

“I think I’ve already run away enough. We have to sort this out.”

 

“Sort this out?” Riley repeats. Ben sounds as if they’re going to try and fix a software programme. “What the hell does that mean? Sort what out? My fucking life? How the hell are you going to ‘sort that out’ Ben?”

 

“Riley, I didn’t mean-”

 

“You have no fucking idea, do you? You think you can pat me on the back and this will all go away? I was raped, Ben! I was…” He trails off suddenly, because this is the first time he’s ever said it out loud. All this time and he’s never been able to bring himself to say it out loud.

 

“I was raped,” he says again, more quietly. “Ian raped me.”

 

He suddenly feels so hollow.

 

Ben places a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him shudder. A wave of nausea rises in his stomach as the whisky finally overcomes him.

 

He pushes Ben away and races to the bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet and emptying his stomach. Just as he did that night, that night with Ian.

 

Nothing but liquid comes up.

 

He flushes and tries to brush his teeth but his hands are shaking too much to use the toothbrush. He gives up and rinses with mouthwash instead.

 

When he goes back into the living room Ben is still kneeling on the floor. He’s staring at the drying patch of Jim Beam. Riley doesn’t think he sees it.

 

Head slightly clearer, he gets himself a drink of water.

 

His throat is raw.

 

He leans against the kitchen counter and watches Ben in silence. It seems to take an age before Ben turns around. His face is wet with tears and Riley feels a bolt of anger. What right does Ben have to be upset, after everything he’s done?

 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. His voice is rough and shaken. “I’m so sorry for everything, Riley.”

 

“Do you even know what you’re apologising for?”

 

Ben looks at him. His eyes are shadowed.

 

“Yes,” he says steadily. “But you don’t.”

 

Riley blinks, confused. “What?”

 

“There’s a reason I left you that night. A reason I told you to forget what happened.”

 

“Because you listened to my messages. Because you heard what Ian said and decided to believe him anyway.”

Ben is shaking his head.

 

“No,” he says. “No that’s not true. How can you even think that?”

 

“What did you expect me to think?” Riley snaps. “You sleep with me days after I tell you about Ian, and then tell me to forget it ever happened. You knew what he did to me and you still…you still-” He stops. He’s afraid of what he might say, that he won’t be able to take it back.

 

There’s a stiffness to Ben’s expression. He seems to take a deep breath,

 

“I did listen to that message,” he says. “And then I called Ian and I told him that if he ever laid a finger on you again I would kill him.”

 

Riley says nothing.

 

“And he told me that if I didn’t stay away from you then he would do it again. That I wouldn’t be able to stop him. And I believed him.”

 

“Ian’s in prison,” Riley says. His voice shakes. “He’s been in prison for months now.”

 

“He knows people, Riley. He’s rich and he’s powerful and I-” He breaks off for a moment, seems to take a second to gather himself. “I couldn’t take that risk. I couldn’t.”

 

“All this time…all this time you made me think that he was right. That you thought I was lying.”

 

“I had no choice,” Ben says.

 

“Of course you had a fucking choice! You could have talked to me for a start! You could have told me!”

 

“And get you hurt? I would rather never see you again than give Ian an excuse to go anywhere near you!”

 

Riley laughs. God that’s ironic. He’s the one who’s been going to Ian all these weeks.

 

“I felt like you used me,” he says.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispers.

 

Riley turns away. It doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter if Ben is sorry.

 

“Why did you go and see Ian?”

 

Riley shrugs.

 

“I’ve been going to see him for weeks. I don’t know why. He talked to me.”

 

He can’t see Ben’s face so he doesn’t know what his reaction is. Guilt probably. Ben has been so busy with Abigail, busy with the house, busy with the treasure. He probably still wouldn’t have talked to Riley even if he’d been sitting around in an empty house for two months.

 

“What do we now?” Ben asks. He sounds so lost. Riley has the sudden, unsettling feeling that he’s the one who’s more in control. After everything.

 

He forces his face into a blank expression before turning round.

 

“You go back to your girlfriend,” he says. “I try and move on.”

 

Ben looks at him for a long moment, as if he doesn’t know what to do, then nods slowly.

 

He stands up in silence and goes to the door. Part of Riley wishes he would argue, that he’d leave Abigail to be with Riley. Even though he knows that wouldn’t happen.

 

Ben hesitates, his hand on the door handle.

 

Riley holds his breath.

 

Ben leaves.

*

 

The months slip by.

 

Riley sees Ben. He sees him at press conferences and museum openings. They have coffee with the Vice President. They go for interviews and photo shoots together.

 

They don’t talk.

 

Riley uses Abigail as a buffer between them. There’s no more playful banter. He limits the need for communication to short, stilted questions and answers.

Ben tries, the first time, to ask him how he’s doing. Riley ignores him, point blank, and Ben doesn’t ask again.

 

When the publicity from the treasure finally dies down he has no excuse to even see Ben anymore. He never goes to the house, he never calls him.

 

He meant what he said that night; he had to move on and the only way he can do that is by cutting Ben out of his life completely. Ben is simply a reminder of everything that happened, of things that can never be undone or taken back, things that have scarred and hurt him. 

Things he knows he will never be able to forget.

 

The next time he sees Ian, he is sitting in the witness box.

 

Ian smirks at him from across the courtroom, seated securely next to his lawyer who, no doubt, charges several thousands of dollars an hour.

 

Riley knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be found innocent, but that doesn’t stop him sweating so much he’s glad he wore a black shirt. It doesn’t stop him from balling his hands into fists to prevent them from shaking.

 

He only sees Ben once at the court, outside the courtroom itself, waiting for his turn on the witness stand.

 

He looks up at Riley, a hopeful sort of smile on his face.

 

“Hey,” he says. “How are you?”

 

“Fine,” Riley replies stiffly, and the smile fades.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment.

 

“I have to go,” Riley says.

 

Ben doesn’t try to stop him.

 

He spends his sleepless nights writing a book that he’s sure no one will ever read. He’s surprised by how much he finds he actually enjoys writing, enjoys organising his thoughts and opinions on the page like that. He enjoys the research too, and consequently finds his days filled with interviews and tracking down mysterious figures and unheard of pieces of evidence or information to back up the wild theories he writes about.

 

What started as simply a therapeutic measure to get out his feelings about the whole treasure hunting incident –and a way to deal with his insomnia- suddenly becomes a passion, almost an obsession.

 

When his therapist, whom he sees once a week and pays an extortionate fee to, expresses concern over this new found fascination he only shrugs, and explains that it’s helping him cleanse his demons. She isn’t convinced, but as it was her idea to start writing in the first place she can hardly now tell him to stop. 

 

A few months into it, he decides he should really have some more eye witness accounts of the finding of the Templar treasure, since that is the main bulk of the book, and he figures it might make the book a little more credible if it’s got some backing from someone other than himself.

 

Which is a slight problem.

 

Because he sure as hell isn’t asking Ian or Ben, and talking to Abigail involves going to Ben’s house and exposing himself to the perfect little existence they’ve created for themselves, which he isn’t exactly wild about.

 

That leaves only one person.

 

He knows Ben’s dad had moved to Washington some time ago, presumably to be closer to Ben, and it is outside the neat, detached, two storey he now finds himself standing, idly noting the way Mr Gates has trained a climbing rose to wind itself over the door.

 

Quaint.

 

Telling himself to get a grip, he rings the doorbell.

 

He waits for one beat, two, three until he hears the sound of footsteps coming downstairs and across what is presumably the hall, before rattling the door knob and swinging the door open.

 

Nothing up to this moment in time could have prepared him to see Ben standing on the other side of that door.

 

Of course, he berates himself silently, of course Ben would be here. It’s his dad’s house. Why shouldn’t he be here?

 

“Riley!”

 

Ben looks equally surprised to see him, which is of little comfort.

 

“Hello,” Riley says, and it takes an effort for the word not to stick in his throat.

 

“What are you…I mean, how did you know I was here?”

 

Riley shifts his eyes away, feeling suddenly awkward.

 

More awkward.

 

“I, uh, didn’t. I’m actually here to see your dad. I did try calling, but there was no answer…” He trails off a little at the end. Ben’s face has gone suddenly blank, and Riley feels a resulting pang somewhere deep in his gut. He should be past this by now.

 

“He’s not here,” Ben says, tone a little stiff. “He went grocery shopping. Do you want to come in and wait?”

 

Riley’s already taking a step back from the door.

 

“No, no. I’ll call back another time. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

 

“Riley,” Ben says. “Please come in and wait.”

 

Riley hesitates.

 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay.”

He’s surprised by the amount of clutter Patrick has in the new house. Everywhere he looks there seems to be boxes, or furniture wrapped up in plastic. A glimpse into the passing living room reveals things stacked from wall to wall.

 

“Your dad sure has a lot of stuff,” he murmurs quietly, as Ben leads him down the hall into the kitchen.

 

Ben clears his throat. He looks suddenly embarrassed.

 

“Actually, that’s my stuff.”

 

Riley frowns, uncomprehending.

 

“Your stuff?”

Ben nods, looking resigned.

 

“Abigail and I, we sort of broke up.”

 

“Oh,” Riley says.

 

“And by that I mean she kicked me out.”

 

Riley snuffs out the tiny, inappropriate, flicker of hope which has risen in his chest. Of course she did.

 

“Sorry,” he offers lamely.

 

“It was a while ago now. She started saying ‘so’ a lot,” Ben says. Riley puts on his polite listening face. This is the last thing in the world he wants to hear. “You know, ‘So, were you going to ask me how I feel about that?’ and ‘So, that’s the way it is?’ and ‘So, basically you have no idea, do you?” His gaze is distant. “I’m beginning to realise she was right.”

 

He shakes his head suddenly, as if he’s only just remembered Riley’s there.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Can I get you some coffee?”

 

Riley nods, silent, and slides into a seat at the kitchen table while Ben busies himself with the coffee. He doesn’t ask Riley how he wants it, but the steaming mug placed in front of him has cream and two sugars, the way Riley always takes it.

 

He tries his hardest to ignore the burst of affection this prompts.

 

“What do you want with dad, then?” Ben asks, slipping into a seat opposite him.

 

“I’m writing this book…?” Riley begins, half a question, as if he’s afraid Ben will laugh at him. Ben only nods in encouragement, however, and that’s all Riley needs before he’s off, explaining at all in too much detail and Ben is smiling and nodding as he listens, as if he has a clue what Riley’s talking about.

 

“You seem happy,” Ben notes, when he can get a word in edgeways. Riley feels his own smile, which he didn’t even realise had crept up on him, falter.

 

“I’m getting there,” he says finally. He fiddles with the handle of his mug. “I’ve been seeing someone,” he admits. He looks up in time to catch Ben’s face falling. “A therapist,” he elaborates, and the expression melts seamlessly into one of compassionate understanding. 

Riley wonders if he’d just imagined it.

 

“She’s helping, I think.” He forces a laugh. “She should be the amount I’m paying her.”

 

Ben opens his mouth hesitantly, as if unsure about what he’s going to say.

 

“Did you ever think about…pressing charges?” he asks. “Against Ian?”

 

Riley’s already shaking his head. He’s been through this with himself a thousand times over.

 

“There’s no point. No one would believe me. Besides, Ian’s already in prison, probably for the rest of his life.”

 

“But it’s not right,” Ben protests. He looks so earnest that Riley can’t help but smile a little. “He shouldn’t be able to get away with it.”

 

“And he won’t, as long as I don’t let it rule my life,” Riley replies calmly. “I don’t want to have to go through another court case only for him to be found innocent.”

 

“But he’s not!” Ben exclaims.

 

“I know that, Ben,” Riley replies, voice almost gentle. “But juries very rarely give a rape conviction. Evidence is too flimsy, besides which Ian and I were sleeping together.” He ignores Ben’s flinch at the words. If he’s learnt to deal with, it’s about time Ben did. “The whole thing happened so long ago. I’m only just beginning to get past it, I really don’t want to dig it all up again.”

 

Ben nods, although his eyes tell Riley he’s not convinced.

 

“I guess if that’s what you want…”

 

“It is,” Riley says firmly. He’s thought about this so much already. He can’t drag it all out again. It would end up destroying him.

 

“Riley?” Ben says softly.

Riley feels a faint sense of warning at the tone.

 

“What?” he asks, unsure.

 

“I miss you,” Ben says.

 

Riley says nothing, his feelings carefully guarded, his face expressionless.

 

“I handled everything so badly, back then,” Ben continues, seeming not to notice Riley’s lack of response. “I should have been there for you and I did exactly the opposite and I’m sorry for that. And for what happened between us.”

 

“You’re sorry for that?” Riley asks, unable to help himself, annoyed at the sharp pain that accompanies Ben’s words.

 

Ben studies the table top for a long moment.

 

“No,” he says finally. “I’m just sorry it happened when it did. That you felt I took advantage of you.”

 

Riley’s heart is pounding in his chest. They’ve never talked about this, never.

 

“I didn’t think-”

 

Ben cuts him off.

 

“Yes you did. And you were right.” He sighs, and the sound comes from deep inside him. The lines on his face suddenly seem more pronounced, weary. “I didn’t think about how it would affect you in the long run after…after what happened. I only thought about myself and how long I’d waited…how much I wanted-”

 

He breaks off abruptly, and Riley feels a longing, deep inside him, that he’s been trying to extinguish, to push so far away it’ll cease to exist, all this time.

 

“I wanted it too, Ben,” he says softly. “I wanted you that night.”

 

“And now?” Ben asks. He looks up, and his eyes are startling deep and serious.

 

Riley looks away.

 

“Ben don’t.”

 

“Don’t what? Love you?” A raw laugh. “Too late for that, Riley.”

 

Riley closes his eyes. The words hurt him, but at the same time that longing rises in his chest, stronger than before, almost choking him.

 

“I can’t,” he says. “I can’t be with you, no matter how much I want to.”

 

“Why not?” Ben challenges.

 

“Because I just can’t!” Riley snaps. He doesn’t expect Ben to understand. He doesn’t even understand himself.

 

“Can’t be with anyone?” Ben asks. “Or just me.”

Riley opens his eyes then. Ben’s giving him a way out, all he has to do is say ‘you’. To tell Ben that he still partly blames him for everything that happened, that he can never forgive him for taking advantage of him that night.

 

But that would be a lie.

 

“I can’t because I’m fucking terrified,” he admits. “Because if I’m not careful you’ll end up killing me, and I’m not sure either of us is ready for that.”

 

He hears Ben let out a sudden breath. He stands up and comes around the end of the table, bending down in front of Riley’s chair, forcing Riley to look at him.

 

“I’m ready,” he says. His eyes are perfectly steady. His voice doesn’t waver. “I’m ready for your intimacy issues and your paranoia and your therapy. If you’re ready for my abysmal time keeping and tendency to forget dates and birthdays and pretty much anything else that’s important.”

 

Riley lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously close to sob.

 

“And I’m ready to take this as slow as you want because I’m not going anywhere, and I meant what I said before. I love you.”

 

Riley can’t say it. Even if he thinks it, even if he feels it, he can’t say it yet. He just has to hope Ben means it, that he has the patience to wait for Riley to be ready. That he has the patience to wait to hear it, whenever, wherever, Riley can say it.

 

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

Ben looks as if he hasn’t heard him for a moment.

 

“Okay?” he repeats.

 

Riley nods.

 

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ben’s grin threatens to split his face, and he leans in to kiss Riley before stopping suddenly.

 

“Can I?” he asks.

 

And then Riley’s the one who’s smiling.

 

“Yeah, Ben. You definitely can.”

 

Then Ben’s kissing him and it’s just like Riley remembers it being, on long lonely nights when he’s trying desperately not to think about it.

 

Only it’s better.

 

When they break apart Ben’s still grinning, and Riley buries his face in the side of Ben’s neck, trying to hide his own flushing cheeks.

 

“What now?” he murmurs.

 

“I’m glad you asked me that,” Ben says, and there’s something in his tone that makes Riley look up.

 

“What?” he asks, a little suspicious.

 

“I need your help with something.”

 

“What?” he repeats, definitely suspicious now.

 

“Well, let’s just say I need your advanced technological and genius abilities to locate the whereabouts of some questionable items of rather significant value.”

 

Riley mouths the words silently, a dawning comprehension stealing across his face.

 

“Ben, you’re not going to try and drag me off to find some more hidden treasure, are you?”

 

Ben doesn’t reply, only smiles enigmatically.

 

“Ben,” he warns. “Ben!”

 

Ben laughs and pulls him close for another lingering kiss.

 

“It’ll be fun,” he promises.

 

“No it won’t,” Riley protests, but he lets Ben kiss him again anyway as he says goodbye to any hope of a quiet life.

 

He was never much one for quiet anyway.

*

Fin.

Comments

[hollywoodgal.livejournal.com]

Amazing!! thats just about all i can say, amazing!

[demilieks.livejournal.com]

Ahh, this was fantastic. Much better than other Riley!Rape stories I've read. :]

[webbswoman.livejournal.com]

Awww, this was such a great story! Was brilliantly written, and had a fab ending, cannot wait to see what you have next.

[rose-sparrow.livejournal.com]

Oh, I'm glad there was a happy end. There was so much angst, I was afraid that there wouldn't be. Good job. You are a very good writer. Can't wait to see more from you!

[little-dumpling.livejournal.com]

*sighs deeply* that was beautiful *heart has been squished*

not gonna lie, when i first read the note saying it was another riley rape, i almost considered not reading it, as pretty much the only NT slash fics on the web are riley rape fics... :( but i am really glad i did read it! it was very cute, and well written. i was quite impressed.

anyways, poor riley *rocks him gently like a baby*, he was all so confused. (^-^) yeah so great fic! *wanders off to read more*

[morgan52x.livejournal.com]

Yet again you have made me cry damnit!
Brilliantly written, I just love your writting.

[ohliamylia.livejournal.com]

I must have read this story a thousand times (at least once a day for the past week) and I love it more and more every time.