Chapter 7 Carrie
I won, in the end—I’ve had a peaceful week, free of anything Donovan Wolinski.
But while I should be feeling relieved—throwing a victory parade, even—something isn’t sitting right.
I might be losing it, but I find myself scouring the crowds for him, my head jolting up whenever somebody walks by, searching for a sign of him.
God, I can’t believe what I said to him. I hate myself.
Sure, I warned him to knock it off and leave me alone more than once, but I really regret losing my shit last week.
He caught me at the worst possible time—about to burst into tears because of my mom.
I know she’s not doing well. I understand why she’s depressed.
But I can’t keep accepting the way she’s letting herself crumble.
It’ll be two years in December, for God’s sake.
Rushing back home to be with her wasn’t part of my plans, but that’s exactly what I did.
I spent five days in that house with her—missing way too many classes, by the way—and I was at a breaking point when Donovan got all up in my face.
I wasn’t in the mood for his games that day. Not even a little bit.
When I saw him walk by the arena the other day, he had this pissed look on his face, and maybe this is the guilt talking, but seeing him like that gave me the weirdest twisty feeling in my gut. I’m not going to be able to let this go until I squash things between us.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
Becca is waving a hand in my face, and I suddenly remember she’s been standing in front of me for the past five minutes now.
“What did you say?”
“That I might need to crash at our place tonight.”
“What did Carter do now?”
“You know those shoes I love? The new ones? He stretched the hell out of them. They’re basically ruined!”
I laugh, picturing the scene. “What’d he do that for?”
“He wanted the scene to be ‘realistic.’ Imagine his troll feet squashed into my Aquazzuras!” She shakes her head. “I’m gonna need to bleach my eyeballs. He should be glad I’m not dumping him.”
“I have no idea how we’re friends. I mean, I have no idea what Aquazzuras are,” I add.
“And that’s exactly why I’ve loved living with you and your”—she gestures hopelessly at my feet—“your tragic sandals.”
“He can enjoy the company of his Campus Drivers buddies tonight, for all I care,” she adds in a huff—and I take my opening.
“Seen Donovan around lately?” I ask, aiming for casual.
“Yeah, he was at Lane’s earlier this week. Or he was half there, anyway. The guy didn’t say a word all night. I kind of preferred it back when he went on his fangirl rants, he’s so boring these days!”
My heart is hammering in my chest.
“Is this about your stuff?”
I frown. “What stuff?”
“The stuff you left in his car? Last week, he asked me where you were, he wanted to get it back to you.”
And the award for liar of the year goes to…
“Oh, right. I remember!” I smile brightly. “I’m gonna head home. Text me if you’re coming back to our place tonight,” I add.
I know Becca, though. There’s no way she’ll sleep anywhere other than her boyfriend’s bed, and so my evening looks set.
It’s going to be me, my comforter, and a new romance—whichever one I pick from the endless Tbr pile next to my bed.
I’m in the mood for something light, a meet-cute rom-com, maybe.
Just something to take my mind off things.
I’ve had about all the drama I can handle lately.
ON MY WAY HOME, I decide to turn off at a coffee shop a little farther down the street. I need sugar of some kind.
The bell tinkles as I push open the door. As I wait in line, I take in the space, scanning the crowds of students, before my gaze settles on something. Or someone, I should say.
There by the window at the back of the room is Donovan, chin resting on his fist as he stares out at the sun-dappled park, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. He looks so sad, and my heart aches for him.
Girl, get yourself together—if Donovan Wolinski is feeling down, it’s not your drama.
I should just turn and leave, let the guy figure his shit out by himself. But my feet have a mind of their own, and before I know it, they’re carrying me over toward him.
Tell him you’re sorry, and leave it there.
Before I have time to change my mind, I slide into the booth across from him, drumming the table with my fingers. He’s still gazing at the people coming and going outside, and I clear my throat three times before he even looks up.
“What’s up, Wolinski?” I ask, trying for casual.
“You look like shit!” I add brightly when he doesn’t respond.
Really, Carrie?
He sighs. “What are you doing here, Carrie?”
“I was just walking by, when I started picking up on this huge wave of negative energy. So, I thought I’d drop in and check it out.” I peer at him. “Word has it, I’m a nice girl with amazing people skills. You know?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because normally when you talk to me, it’s kind of more…”
“Cutting?”
He shrugs, bringing his cup to his lips.
The original plan was to keep it simple—come over, say hi, apologize, and exit. But I already know I’m going to need to dig a hell of a lot deeper.
“Okay, no more good-cop act. I’m just going to ask you straight—what’s your problem?”
Great job, Carrie…
“Phew!” He rests a hand on his chest. “Now, that’s more like it. I thought you were broken, or I’d fallen into some parallel universe or some shit—somewhere you actually treat me like a human being, you know?”
“Quit the bullshit,” I snap.
Yup. I’m definitely a great communicator.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are—a true ray of sunshine.” I shake my head. “Seriously, I’m going to get this out of you, no matter what.”
“Since when do you care?”
“Since you suddenly quit—”
“Harassing you?” His knuckles blanch as he squeezes his plastic cup. “I got the message, Carrie.”
I wince. I’ve never heard him sound so bitter, and it’s all my fault. Time to go back to the original plan—the one in which I apologize, grab myself a cookie, and head back to my low-key life. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually about to do this.
“Listen…” My fingers fidget with the edge of my glasses. “On Thursday, I was…”
I pause. There’s no way I’m mentioning my mom and her issues. Could I blame it on PMS? An ingrown toenail, maybe?
“On Thursday, I was—”
“I don’t want to talk.”
I slam my hands down on the table. “Then shut up and let me finish! Thursday was a bad day for me. And yes, sure, I had already asked you a million times to crawl out of my ass, but still. I should never have spoken to you like that.” I take a gulp of air. “And you know what? I’m sorry.”
Mission accomplished!
I reach for his coffee, wincing as the icy liquid hits my tongue.
“Fuck! How many sugars did you put in this thing?”
Donovan pushes the cup away to the far end of the table, and I lean back, pleased with how I handled things.
He lets himself settle deeper into his seat, mirroring me. “That feel good?”
“Yes.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“This is the part where you say, ‘Apology accepted, Carrie.’ ”
But Donovan just sits there staring at me, even when I make circles in the air, urging him on.
“Apology accepted, Carrie,” he finally deadpans. “We’re good. You can go back to your amazing little life, and don’t worry—I won’t get in your way.”
“Great!”
“Great.”
We eyeball each other for a minute. This is the part where I should stand up and leave, but I can’t seem to look away. There’s something in his gaze that’s niggling at me.
“What’s up?” I ask softer than intended.
His fingers grip the leather seat.
“I accepted your apology,” he says, gritting his teeth. “What more do you want from me?”
Good question, Wolinski. Guess I’m a sucker for a little self-harm.
Until today, I assumed his dumbass mission was just that—a dumbass mission. But looking at his crumpled face now, I get the sense it runs much deeper.
“You know, if you’d been a little more transparent, maybe I would’ve been a little more inclined to help you out.”
“Sucks to be me, I guess. Looks like I blew it.”
“Why does it matter so much?” I ask, suddenly curious. “Learning how to be a good boyfriend, I mean. You lonely?”
“What?” He bursts out laughing. “No—but thanks for the free therapy.”
Urgh…
“Or maybe,” I continue, “you’re in love with a girl who doesn’t vibe with your whole… attitude of—”
“Of what?”
“Of being a man-whore?” I shrug. “No offense.”
“Wow. You always know how to cheer me up. It’s honestly a gift.”
“Thanks for noticing. You have no idea how much effort it takes to stay upbeat and constructive—especially when you’re dealing with a person who acts like such a jerk, you know. So, let’s give this one last shot.” I take a deep breath in. “Why’s this personal-development thing so important to you?”
“This summer, something life-changing happened,” He leans into me. “God came to me in a dream to tell me I’m destined for greatness… if I stop screwing around.”
Okay, I give up. I said I was sorry. I needed to clear my conscience so I could move on, and now that I’ve done just that, it’s time for me to bounce. Game over, dude.
I slip my bag onto my shoulder and shuffle over to the end of the seat.
“It was nice catching up with you, Donovan. I wish you all the best in becoming the arrogant, fucked-up asshole you’re clearly destined to be. Have a nice life.”
I nod at him curtly. I’m tempted to throw in something about how he needs to grow some balls, but I don’t want him to start thinking I’m obsessed with them.
I spin on my heel and make for the door, guiltless this time. But just as I’m about to reach for the handle, strong fingers grab my elbow, and I freeze. I look up. And up.
Is it me, or is Donovan actually panting?
“This summer,” he tries again, “something did happen.”