Page 58 of Carter

Boys were not.

I repeated that mantra over and over again until I calmed down.

He was in his room by the time I returned to mine.

Twenty-Two

Ihad a lot of space for some time.

The band had been gone for a few days, taking part in gigs in other towns nearby. Because of this, Carter didn’t return until late at night. I was in bed by that point, pretending to be asleep. And every time he stepped through the door, he’d stop and check in on me.

I forced the distance more than I ever did before. I needed to do it as a way to measure just how attached to him I’d become.

The results were disturbing.

He was on my mind every second. I could hardly function without contact. I grabbed at my phone every half hour, fighting the urge to text him and see what he was up to. I felt down when he didn’t text me, either. I felt panicked at the same time, wondering if he was completely fine while I was drowning in the silence.

I felt like a bunny boiler.

“You gotta toughen up,” Melanie told when I opened up to her about it. “You’re attached to him way too much. You need to be your own person.”

She was right.

“How do I do that?” I asked her. “He’s all I’ve ever really known, Mel. We grew up together. I did everything with him. He’s the only person that’s been my constant and…”

“If he’s like a drug, Leah, then you need to go through withdrawal. Keep yourself occupied. Don’t give yourself time to think.”

I followed her advice.

My armour went on. Things gradually did change over time, and I worked very hard to detach my feelings when it came to him. I focused on earning the money at the bar, being supportive of the band, and spending time with Melanie outside of work.

Distractions followed by more distractions—that was the only thing I could do. I didn’t even like to be alone and idle. I needed to be always doing something.

The distance I forced seemed to help. It didn’t solve the problem, but it pushed it back so I faced it later. Which was a coward’s move, I know, but it was working fine with me.

When he returned from all his shows, it was harder when he was around. I worked hard in the evenings, running from table to table, avoiding Carter’s like it didn’t exist. He knew something was up, and he tried to make it up most nights in bed. But I pushed him away, telling him I was tired and needed space. He gave me that space and I was thankful he at least respected my wishes.

It was two weeks after that “friend” incident that I found myself leaning back against the wall of the bar, watching him sing a sad song, that I touched on thoughts of letting him go. It hurt too much. In fact, my chest ached, and my vision swam, but I questioned the alternative.

I’d be hurt if I let him go, but would having him and not necessarilyhaving himhurt more? If I carried the pain during my academic years, was it going to fuck it up for me? Because concentrating on things other than him these days seemed likethe world’s biggest chore. How was it going to be like during an exam? Or studying for that exam?

My mental health could not afford to be fucked. I needed a better life. I wanted tobesomething, and I couldn’t do that if I was hung up on a guy that viewed me as his fucking friend.

It was a move that made sense to me.

“So, I’ve been curious to know your name.”

I jumped and whipped my head to the side. I blinked twice at the man standing next to me before I realized who he was. That dark haired man—the eavesdropper from before—was sidling up next to me. He’d come around a few times since that night, and I only began noticing him because of that awkward moment.

His eyes then dropped to my chest, and I thought he was checking out my boobs until he said, “Ah. Melanie.”

I cringed. Wore the wrong uniformagain. I’d hardly noticed after losing a bit more weight lately. “No, no. I’m wearing my friend’s uniform. I’m Leah.”

“Leah. That’s a very pretty name.” He nodded, a sexy smile forming. “I’m Peter.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

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