Eighteen
I t was the sound of puking that woke me up in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Carter was over the toilet, half-naked, his skin pale and sickly looking.
I hurriedly opened the cupboard and removed a washcloth. Soaking it in cool water, I returned to him just as he flushed the toilet and leaned back. I kneeled next to him and set the cloth over his forehead. He stared at me with bleary eyes.
“You’re sick,” I muttered with concern.
“I’m fine.” The sound of indifference in his voice made me frown.
“You don’t sound it and you certainly don’t look it.”
He grabbed the washcloth and threw it away. “Don’t push, Leah. Alright? I’m not in the mood right now.”
I glanced at the forlorn washcloth and then at him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!”
I jumped, not at all expecting his random burst of anger. I moved away from him and rested my back against the wall, bringing my knees to my chest. I watched him for some time as he stared off in space, looking worse for wear the more minutes that passed.
“Who did you call?”
He shut his eyes and sighed. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know what was wrong, even if it meant him yelling at me again.
“Carter.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You wouldn’t have had so much to drink if it was nothing.”
He opened his eyes and stared at me evenly. “Jesus, you don’t stop, do you?”
I shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry that I can’t help it. I care for you.”
“Well, fuck, Leah, you’re not my personal diary, alright? If I want to keep things private, I will.”
Whoa.
Where had that come from?
I blinked back tears. He was so blasé saying that to me. It wasn’t everyday he was in these kinds of moods. In fact, I could count on one hand how many times he’d talked to me like this.
It stung.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he then said, shaking his head. “You can’t demand shit I ask you to let go of and expect me to be a patient saint about it.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need your fucking help, Leah. I don’t need any of it. So keep it, alright? Hold onto your help and leave me alone.”
I casually wiped my eye. I wasn’t crying or anything. I was tired. That was all.
I nodded at him. “Okay,” I finally said in a whisper. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
I stood up and returned to bed, feeling a little defeated. If I was his best friend, why wouldn’t he let me in like one?
I waved my hand over my eyes. Nothing was coming out. I refused to let that happen. Nobody had the right to make you cry, and I didn’t want to blame a man I loved for doing it. If nothing came out, I couldn’t be sad about it.
He was just upset, I consoled myself as I slipped under the covers. Everyone is entitled to want to be alone. Maybe I shouldn’t have pried, but he’d been there for me every time I was down. He’d come into the stall of a women’s public restroom just to make sure I was okay.
I only wanted to be there in the same capacity.
I shut my eyes and tried to forget, all the while listening intently on every noise outside the room. He was out there, shutting me out, and I was in here, praying he was okay.
Maybe at that point I should have realized I deserved a little better.
*
An arm wrapped around me a couple hours later, stirring me awake. I felt like the dead. My eyes were raw, my heart aching.
Carter’s mouth skirted along my neck and shoulder. His familiar scent clouded around me like a blanket, and I couldn’t help the way my body responded to it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered contritely.
I shook my head at him. “Don’t be. I was prying.”
“Only because you care.”
He continued to kiss me, and I relaxed in his hold, feeling that heavy ache in my chest disappear. My mood was always so intertwined with his, and I knew that wasn’t a good thing. I should have been the one demanding space this time. He was clouding my thoughts. Issues like the ones he was going through couldn’t just disappear, which meant I would be facing his attitude problems more in the future, and I didn’t want to be on the other end of that.
But I was too sympathetic to his emotions. He meant so much to me, I couldn’t push him away or ask for space. I was hungry for him, remember? I was taking him however way he was willing to give me, no matter how little it was. He was my addiction, and I could endure a few rough moments.
When his lips touched my cheek, I smelled the toothpaste in his mouth and felt his wet hair brush against me. He’d showered. It must have been four in the morning, and he’d likely been up most of the night.
I turned my face to him, and he kissed my mouth, slowly and softly. It felt different than other times, like he truly needed my touch. I turned my body to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, and he moved over top of me. His kiss turned deep, hungrier. His tongue swirled along mine, and then he was sucking my lips, making soft sounds at the back of his throat that made my blood run quicker.
Needily, he stripped me and took his briefs off. He was hard and ready and desperately moving in between my legs as he kissed me harder.
“Please, let me,” he whispered against my mouth.
I nodded, lost to him. “Of course.”
He swiftly thrust into me, gripping my thigh tightly with one hand. He groaned so loud, I felt the sound vibrate through him and into me. He paused, resting his forehead against mine as he panted against my lips. I held him to me hard and lifted my hips against him, encouraging him to take me.
He did. Slowly and tenderly, with his other hand wrapped around my hair. It didn’t last long. We lost ourselves, falling into sync with need. He was trying to forget something, and I was trying to bring him into me. We were taking each other for two completely different reasons, and I didn’t care in that moment.
I just wanted to pretend it was something more.
My fingers dug into his back, and I came just as he did, holding him to me tightly as we both rode out a tremendous wave of pleasure.
It died after that, fading into the silence. He didn’t move off me straightaway, but he turned his face away from me, guarding his expression. I felt his heartbeats, hard and fast against my own. I wondered what he wasn’t saying. I was growing tired of not knowing.
Eventually he climbed off me, but he gathered me in his arms and kissed my shoulder. After minutes of silence, he suddenly whispered, “It was my dad that called me.”
“Why?”
“He’s trying to mend things. I told him to fuck off, and he exploded at me, bringing up my mom. Bringing up things that happened when she was alive. Shit like that, and I felt blindsided.” He let out a harsh breath. “I let him get to me.”
I wanted him to continue, but he stopped there.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” His tone sounded angry, and I instantly knew he was angry at himself. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such a fuck-up. I’m sorry, Leah.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I can’t afford to fuck this up with you. Sometimes I think all I have is you.” He sighed and squeezed me to him. “Without our friendship, I’d be fucked.”
I exhaled long and slow and shut my eyes.
That dreaded word again.
Friendship.
I wondered how he could say it after what we’d just done. He was delusional. Or maybe I was. Hell, I was too tired to know.
“Well, I’m here,” I managed out, just barely. The words felt dead leaving my mouth, but it was all I could offer him in that moment.
He squeezed me to him again and held me for a little while.
And then he was gone again just as I began to fall back asleep.