by Mariano, Sam
“You weren’t answering my texts,” he tells me, as if sneaking into my bedroom is a reasonable response. “I know you can’t ignore me in person, so here I am.”
He’s so damn pushy. Shaking my head, I tell him, “You need to leave. I don’t want to talk to you, that’s what it means when you text someone and they don’t text back. Hard to interpret, I realize.”
“Definitely a mixed signal,” he says lightly, playing along. “I figured you were just busy.”
“You did not.”
Carter smiles, grabbing my hips and dragging me to the middle of the bed.
My defenses go up. I know Carter isn’t above using any means at his disposal, but if he thinks he can use his body to short circuit my brain, he has another thing coming. “Carter, you really need to leave. I’m not playin’ around. We broke up. I’m not your plaything anymore. This is no longer appropriate by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Now, that’s where we disagree,” he tells me, pulling me beneath him and straddling my hips. “You broke up. I didn’t agree to it.”
“You can’t reject my break-up. When one person initiates a break-up, the other person has no choice but to accept it. Have you never been dumped before?”
“Of course I haven’t,” he answers. “I’ve only ever dated Erika, and, well, you know how that went down.”
That’s the wrong person to bring up right now. Glaring up at him, I say, “Yes, I do. And speaking of Erika, get the fuck off me before I grab my phone and call the police to report an intruder in my house.”
Utterly unconcerned, Carter says, “Feel free to try, princess. If you think my reflexes are so shitty I won’t be able to stop you, go ahead and reach for your phone. Let’s find out if you’re right.”
Huffing at him, I glare harder. “Just tell me what you want to tell me so you can leave.”
Cocking a dark eyebrow, he tells me, “Now, that’s not very hospitable.”
“You are not my guest. You’re not welcome here. I don’t want you here,” I offer more firmly.
“Now you’re just being mean,” he tells me. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not bein’ mean. I’m telling my erratic ex to get off me and get out of my bedroom. That’s perfectly reasonable.”
“Ouch. Ex? No, I don’t like that.”
“I’m not playin’ around, Carter,” I tell him seriously. “I know I’ve let you get away with some stuff in the past, but not this. Not her. You won’t talk me out of this. You and I are over, done, finished. I don’t trust you anymore. I’m sorry to tell you, no matter what you say or do, you’re not getting your way this time.”
I’m only wearing shorts and a thin, baby blue cami top to sleep in, no bra underneath. Because he’s a dick, Carter covers my breasts with his big hands and squeezes. “No matter what I do, huh?” he asks, a note of challenge in his tone.
An answering pulse of arousal rears its ugly head at the feel of his hands on me, but I ignore it. There’s little point in dancing around the obvious, so I meet his gaze and tell him evenly, “You and I both know you can take what you want physically, if you want to. That’s not what I’m talking about. You may be able to force your way inside my body, Carter, but you can’t force your way back into my heart.”
Aware of the force field Carter usually erects when he needs to defend himself, I don’t really expect much of a reaction to my words. I’m surprised when he looks down and I see something like disappointment in his eyes. “You got rid of me that fast, huh? Just the other night you were saying you loved me.”
There’s enough hurt in his words that I drop some of my own defenses. Even if he is the one who put us in this situation, I feel bad for him. I don’t hate Carter, I just can’t be in a relationship with him if I know it will drive me crazy. Now that I know he went over to her house and I saw what happened, I could never trust Carter with Erika again, not even as friends. I know he was willing to cut her out of group hangs, but she’s a cheerleader and he’s on the football team. What about away games? I refuse to babysit him, and I don’t want a version of Carter I would have to babysit. When I started falling for him, I fell for what he sold me—an imperfect person, absolutely, but one I would never have to worry about cheating.
I don’t know what to say. I want to take the sting out of my words and make him feel better, but I don’t want to give him false hope either.
“I still care about you,” I offer, carefully. “I just can’t be with you. Whether you intended to or not, you damaged my ability to trust you. Knowing you’re unscrupulous with other people is one thing, but you’re right, in order for me to accept all your baggage, I needed to be the exception. I needed to be the one you treated like a teammate, like I was in on the joke you’re playing on the world, not the one you’re lying to and plotting against. That’s a dealbreaker for me, Carter. I liked feeling that you respected me and had my back. I would’ve had yours, too. But I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up to be like every other inconsequential girl you didn’t care about. And if that’s all I am, that’s fine. I can’t dictate how you feel about me. I’m not sayin’ I am special, but if I’m just like all the others, then I’m not interested. You can’t make me interested again, because I never wanted that in the first place.”
Carter’s hot gaze burns into me. “You are not just another girl to me, Zoey. Can’t you see that? In a world full of phony bullshit, you’re the only thing that’s real. I do respect you immensely. What happened with her was before we officially got together. I know that’s a technicality, I know it still fucking sucks, and I’m sorry for that. But this is not something you and I break up over. I don’t care about Erika. She’s dead to me. I’ll never be alone with her again, you have my word on that. I care about you, I care about us, I care about the future I can see us having, and I’m not about to let you chuck it all out the fucking window when we’re just getting started. If you couldn’t handle me, that would be one thing, but not over this. Not over her.”
I know there’s little point arguing with Carter. I’ve volleyed back and forth in a battle of wills with him before, but I’m tired, I’m sad, and I’m done. I don’t want to play these games with him anymore. I don’t want to defend my worldview and explore his. I just want him to leave and let me get back to my life.
Since I know he already expects that the only reason I’m doing this is because he hurt me with the Erika thing, I offer him the rest of the story. “You’re too much of a distraction, Carter. I get so wrapped up in you and everything else gets moved to the backburner, and it never stops. It never slows down. It’s not like it’s just a bumpy road getting to the relationship and then things calm down. There’s a dark secret lurking around every corner. There is so much I still don’t know about you, and… after this Erika thing, I am just at capacity. I don’t have enough interest left to keep going through things with you. I’m sorry if that sounds hard-hearted, but you know what? Less than a week ago you put your whims ahead of me. I have to put my future ahead of you. I have to keep my grades up so I can graduate at the top of our class, get that scholarship, and get the hell out of this town. That’s my only chance, and I really believe that if I stay with you, I’ll blow it. I know you like the idea of a future with me, but we were together for like 5 minutes, Carter. It probably wouldn’t end up workin’ out between us, and then where does that leave me? Drowning in an ocean of regret because I allowed my high school boyfriend to distract me with his endless drama and my focus slipped. I can’t have that. I won’t.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going to ruin your life?” he asks.
“That’s the problem, Carter. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, because I can’t believe it. I think you’re a lot of things, and I have enjoyed… whatever this has been between us. I don’t know what that says about me, but I have. The problem is, you are a slippery slope, and I can see a future between us too, but I think mine looks a lot different than yours.
At this point, I can’t see a version of my life where you are not my downfall.”
Shaking his head, visibly aggravated, Carter says, “You didn’t feel this way before you saw that fucking video. You can act like you have all these solid reasons, Zoey, but you were ready to do this before Erika fucked it up. These excuses are bullshit. You can study and have a boyfriend. Literally everyone else manages.”
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me,” I state, done with explaining myself. “It doesn’t matter if you like my reasons. Our relationship is over and so is this conversation. Now, please leave. I have had the longest day ever, I’m tired, and I want to go to sleep.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly calm and meeting my gaze. “If you think your dignity demands this response, it doesn’t. I will make it up to you. I can fix this. One mistake is not who I am, and it damn sure isn’t the sum total of our fucking relationship. Throwing it all away… it’s a waste.”
I wish I could argue that, but I can’t. No, I can’t be positive I’m making the right decision, but I think the chances are good I would regret staying with Carter more than I’ll ever regret leaving him. I’m not going to say that to him. I’ve said enough and I really don’t feel like being mean.
Instead, I meet his gaze and offer simply, “I’m sorry.”
Carter watches me for a moment, still straddling my hips. Finally, he shakes his head and climbs off me. “Fine.”
My stomach rocks at his acquiescence, but I remind myself this is what I wanted. It’s still jarring that he’s not only doing what I asked him to do, but doing it so quickly. Now that he’s off me, off my bed, he doesn’t linger. He goes straight to the door and pulls it open, preparing to leave.
Out of place disappointment creeps up on me, but only fleetingly. I shove it down, pointing out to myself I should be glad Carter is respecting my wishes for once. And I am. I meant what I said, it’s just… a little voice in the back of my mind whispers that for all he claims to see a future with me, he sure didn’t fight very hard for me.
Oh well. I didn’t want him to fight me, I wanted him to go away, and now he is. If there’s still a small part of me that wants to call him back, that’s just an impulse I’ll have to ignore.
Carter doesn’t say goodbye and he doesn’t look back. I’m so focused on holding onto my control, on guarding myself in case he pivots at the last second, it’s not until he’s so far gone he must be out the front door that I feel it for the first time.
This crazy ride I have been taking with him… it’s finally over. Carter and I are really over, and God help me, I’m gonna miss him.
Chapter 40
Tuesday passes in a slog. My morning classes crawl by, then I have to see Carter again for the first time as an ex. He doesn’t look at me once in history class, and he doesn’t look sad either. He has bounced right back, his mask has slid right back into place, and he sits over there like he used to up until a few weeks ago, blissfully unaware of my existence.
Since he showed up in my bedroom last night, it crosses my mind a couple times that maybe he will hang back after class like he used to when he was pursuing me, drape an arm around my shoulder and lightly harass me before I make my way out to my car for lunch.
He doesn’t. He walks right past me toward the cafeteria, and I go out to my car in peace. Too much peace. I miss his stupid harassment.
Slamming my car door shut once I’m inside, I lean my head forward and rest my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to get my bearings. I can’t be the only one sad about the break-up I initiated. Carter wanted to stay together, I’m the one who said no. I can’t be the one sitting in my car feeling rejected while he is laughing with his friends at lunch.
Shaking off the light grasp of misery, I tell myself I have two days. Two days to be sad and mourn the relationship that barely got to happen, then I’m done and I move on with my life.
Work helps the evening hours pass, and Wednesday passes more quickly because of youth group in the evening. It’s a light night and we end up playing games. I beat Luke’s ass at air hockey twice, then we break for snacks.
“Wanna go a little easier on me next time? Man, you’re an air hockey beast,” he tells me, shaking his head as he takes a seat on the couch beside me.
I smile, looking down at my plate. Grace was on snack duty tonight, and Grace just can’t help doing too much. Last time I was on snack duty, I brought chocolate chip cookies and a gallon of milk. Grace set up an apple dipper buffet. Every different kind of apple wedge, a trio of dips—peanut butter, caramel, and chocolate—and an assortment of toppings to sprinkle on top, for the adventurous. I got adventurous. I have a peanut butter dipped McIntosh slice coated in graham cracker crumbs, a chocolate dipped slice coated in crushed up Oreos, and a caramel Granny Smith slice covered with salted peanuts. I also grabbed a spoonful of baby marshmallows, for good measure.
“I don’t know, I think after all this sugar, I might be even more ruthless,” I tell him.
Cracking a smile, he looks down at his own plate. He was less adventurous. Three identical wedges covered in caramel with no toppings. “That spread sure is something, isn’t it?” he remarks.
“Grace always goes all out. She knows no other way, I swear.”
“That’s for sure,” he agrees.
I feel a touch awkward eating with him watching me, but I want to try this Oreo-coated deliciousness, so I go ahead and take a bite anyway.
“You should bring Carter to youth group one of these weeks,” Luke says, suddenly.
Just as my tastebuds are dancing with glee at the combination of flavors, he has to go and bring up Carter. “Oh, I don’t think so,” I offer, shaking my head faintly. “Youth group isn’t really Carter’s scene.”
“Sure, maybe it isn’t, but guys tend to do things they don’t always want to do to please their girlfriends,” he tells me, smiling faintly. “I’m sure we’d all like the chance to get to know him. There must be somethin’ we’re not seeing if you think he’s—”
“We’re not together anymore,” I blurt, wanting out of this conversation promptly.
“Oh.” Concern transforms his features. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I take another bite of my Oreo apple, then lean forward to grab my bottle of water so I can take a drink.
Seeing that I’m not in a sharing mood, he lets it go, simply telling me, “Well, if you ever need to talk about it…”
“I don’t.” I flash him a smile that I hope doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. “Thanks.”
* * *
Thursday marks my official End of Sadness deadline, so I start the day with gumption and sail through with intentional joyfulness. I make it to history, but my mood takes a hit when I see Carter turned around at his desk, offering a charming smile to some girl he is chatting up at the desk behind him. A leggy blonde in snug jeans smiles back, twirling a lock of her chin-length hair and mooning at him.
Two days. God, he doesn’t take long to move onto the next, does he? He might be doing it just to spite me, but it’s entirely possible he’s not, too. The more he projects that he doesn’t care, the more I can’t help believing him.
Oh well. Doesn’t matter. It’s deadline day, and no matter how much flirting is probably going on over there, I will be happy, dammit!
That’s the plan, but I underestimated Carter’s evilness. Throughout the whole class—to the point of the teacher shooting him an evil eye that warns Carter Mahoney or not, he’s about to say something—Carter and Blondie are shameless. She does stupid things to get his attention, and boy, does he give it to her. She pretends to accidentally kick the leg of his chair, so he shoots her a playfully devious look over his shoulder. She drops her pen on the floor in front of her desk, and he oh-so-gallantly bends to pick it up. Cutesy smiling bullshit, casual playfulness—I hate everything.
I can hardly sit still for the bell. When it finally rings, I already have my s
tuff hugged close to my chest. I’m up and out of my seat, pushing my way down the aisle with mumbled apologies, but I have to get out of this classroom. I can’t breathe.
I practically run to the bathroom, locking myself inside a stall, dropping my books on the floor, and taking a few deep breaths. My tummy is twisted up in knots, my heart beats entirely too fast, and Carter Mahoney is an asshole.
I hate him. He is the absolute worst and I hate him. He knew I could see that shit. Even if he actually likes that girl, he didn’t have to make a spectacle right in front of me when our break-up is still so fresh. He did that shit on purpose, and he is an asshole.
Once I’m calm enough to hold my shit together until I can get to my car—and enough time has passed that the bathroom has emptied of other girls—I collect my things and make my way out of the bathroom.
“Upset stomach?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Carter’s voice. When I look back over my shoulder I see him leaning against the wall. He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt today. His arms are crossed, his well-shaped biceps grabbing my attention. I might enjoy the sight of them a little more, if not for the new memory of Blondie touching that bicep when she leaned forward to get Carter’s attention about 20 minutes ago.
It’s not enough to ignore him—I want to ignore him so hard it hurts. I want him to feel a sudden Arctic chill from the blast of my coldness. I’m too riled to think straight though, so I settle for glaring at him wordlessly and turning to walk away.
Kicking off the wall, Carter follows after me. “Whoa, princess, what’s that look for?”
“Do not call me that. My name is Zoey. Call me Zoey or Ellis, don’t call me princess.”
“Hm, irritable, too,” he muses. “Maybe I did knock you up.”
