Book IV of the UNC Series
Carter Blake has a bone-deep hatred for the world-and especially for the people in it. All he wants is to keep his head down, focus on school and basketball, and avoid the mess of human connection. After enduring years of...
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Since leaving Spencer's place, I have been aimlessly flitting about. I have studiously attended classes and worked extra shifts at the studio.
I thought, New Year, new me.
But some things haven't changed in the sense that I'm still avoiding the apartment. I go back to sleep and care for Olive, but only the bare necessities. I'm only there when I know Carter's not home.
Given his penchant for fighting, I'm sure he's not home until much later, so that gives me ample time to get back early—avoiding nightfall still—and be out early in the morning before he's awake.
I would have felt bad about avoiding him if I hadn't considered what Carter said.
Avoiding is the best policy for me right now, although I don't like this version of myself. I've never avoided people; I'm confrontational. But after a few interactions with my stalker and arguments with Carter, I've suddenly become afraid.
I hate who I'm becoming.
Shaking my head, I tugged on Olive's leash, leading her back toward the apartment. I had no classes today, and the studio was closed because it was the day after the New Year. I had nowhere to go, so I decided to finally spend the day with Olive. We stayed out as long as I could, but at this point, with stores closed and everyone in the city at home or out-of-country celebrating the holidays, I had to accept my losses and return home.
The lock clicks as I swing the door open. A surprisingly dark apartment greets me. The shades are closed over the windows, the TV, which usually plays a basketball game mutely in the background, is turned off, and there isn't a whisper of sound echoing in the apartment. It's an ominous feeling. Carter's room door is cracked open, but darkness devours the space.
Glancing around, I shrug off my jacket as Olive trudges inside, her metal name tag clinking against the buckles of her collar. I flick the lights on, squinting my eyes before they adjust, and I startle when I spot Carter leaning back against the couch. His head rests against a decorative pillow, an arm covering his eyes.
My eyes widen as I take him in, the length of him filling the entirety of the couch. His ankles are crossed over one another as shorts cover his bottom half, and he's, as usual, gone shirtless. Though he covers the top half of his face, I can't help but glimpse the purple-black bruise forming along his jawline.
He must have had a fight again last night. That bruise is too fresh to be any older. I can't believe he spent the first day of the year fighting.
I don't care. He was rude and cruel.
Carter will never apologize for what he said or be honest, so why should I care?
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore his presence and stroll into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl of cereal. It's the only thing I can stomach right now. Anything else, anything substantial, just causes my stomach to turn and nausea to churn in my head. Olive makes her way toward Carter, who barely moves or makes a note of her appearance. She stands beside him, resting her head on his chest as it rises and falls steadily.
