Page 9 of Carter

“It’s shit,” he told me angrily one day. “They’re not any good. Just because you like me, it doesn’t mean you have to lie about my music.”

“I don’t like you,” I denied, flushing from the realization he read me far too easily than I’d have liked. “Youcansing, and you’re being really stupid for throwing away your work like it’s nothing!”

“That’s because itisnothing.”

“One day you’re going to realize how untrue that is. One day, Carter.”

These arguments occurred often.

Sometimes he was so self-destructive, he’d stalk off. I learned after a few times not to chase after him because he’d act withdrawn and impenetrable. Instead, I waited for him to come back to me, which he did every time.

“I’m sorry, Leah,” he’d say contritely. “I don’t mean to walk off like that. I just get so…”

I didn’t prod. I would just stare at him every time he made his apologies, hating the remorseful look on his face.

“You shouldn’t assume I’m lying to you about your music,” I’d tell him. “Even if you think it’s bad. I’m not trying to stroke your ego, Carter.”

“I’ll do better,” he would promise every time. “I’ll try harder.”

We grew obsessed with music. Not just making it but listening to it too. With a part time job working as a shelf stacker, he’d use what he earned to buy CDs and a stereo. When he was burnt out from writing and singing, we’d sit back and listen to the eclectic variety of music he put on.

I got comfortable with Carter. While I still fantasized about his lips on mine almost every minute I was around him, I was capable of looking past that enough to just enjoy his company. I realized very soon that I would never get him in the way I wanted. He saw me as a friend—hell, maybe even a sister—and it gutted me.

It gutted me every time he cut our time together short to see a girl.

For a whole year, I pined for the boy that had stolen my heart with his soft voice and beautiful face. But I did my best to look on the bright side.

Besides Rome, I made a new best friend.

*

2004

15 years old

I pressed my ear against the bedroom door, hoping Russell and Cheryl had finally gone to bed. Lately Russell would open the door at random times and look in at me. I didn’t like it at all. He’d never done this before. Never cared to check in on me no matter the hour in the day. I didn’t know what he was expecting to find, but he was messing up my nighttime ritual of seeing Carter before I went back to my bedroom.

This night Russell had already checked in on me twice before he got drunk and taken Cheryl for a dirty round of sex in the living room. My stomach still roiled after hearing it. It was so obvious Cheryl wanted nothing to do with him, but she clung on to dear life when he finally finished and threw her the drugs that would forever ruin her life.

At this point in my life, I understood everything. I knew enough about their relationship to know Cheryl had never wanted to be married to him. She’d let it slip at times when she was so unbelievably drugged out and alone. She’d get emotional, crying that she had nowhere to go. That he had used her and forced her into the marriage only to cage her into a lifestyle she had grown dependent on.

I didn’t care. I hated her. I hated him. I hated everything about their life and how happy they were to see me rot away.

It was sick, and I was already counting down the years I’d get away. I daydreamed what it would be like to run away with Carter. Maybe when I turned sixteen I’d kiss this place goodbye and move into the city and life would be a happily ever after. Carter would finally take notice of me in the way I still longed for him to, and he’d finally proclaim his love for me, and we’d be the happiest couple in the world.

Having hope in a hopeless situation was all that kept me moving at times.

Hearing Russell’s snores coming from the bedroom, I knew the coast was clear. I quickly threw on a sweatshirt and took my ponytail out. I finger combed through the long dirty blonde strands of my hair in front of my small mirror hung behind the door. I put on my house slippers after that and opened the window. I slipped out into the crispy cold air and hurried across the yard to where Carter’s bedroom was. His blinds were closed, which meant he was either asleep, or he was busying himself with the trashy magazines he’d recently gotten into and didn’t think I knew were tucked under his mattress.

I don’t need to explain how I knew about this.

I already mentioned I was snoopy.

Regardless of what he was doing, I didn’t care. We’d gotten into this habit, of either him knocking on my window, or me inviting myself through his. I was doing this much later than usual, as it was past midnight and I’d never snuck out this late. As I approached his half-cracked window, I froze when I heard the soft sounds of music flowing out.

He never listened to music this late. It was unusual to say the least. Leaning into his window, I found a crack through the blinds and peered in. Instantly, the blood in my body pumped faster and anger spiked through my being.

He was on his bed and a girl was on top of him. They were having a make-out session that could rival all make-out sessions combined. French kissing, his hands roamed her half-naked body.

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