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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My heart thunders in my chest. Carter just got off the phone, and I swear I heard the deep rumble of Ricky's voice filter through the phone.
Lying beside Carter, my body is tense despite the warmth permeating from his. The room is dark, the only light filtering in from the street outside, casting soft shadows on the walls. I can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, but all I can focus on is the silence that hangs between us—heavy, oppressive.
"Who was that?" My voice is soft, filled with years of fear and trauma. My heart thuds in my chest, and my fingers curl into the sheets as I await his response.
I want to say I asked the question without thinking, but the words didn't tumble out before I could stop them. He owed me these answers, but now I'm scared to find them out.
The longer the silence stretches, the more my anxiety grows, like a knot twisting tighter in my stomach.
I turn my head slightly, my eyes tracking the outline of his face in the dim light. Was he avoiding the answer? Or was he simply thinking? The uncertainty gnaws at me, making my chest feel tight. I bite my lip, wondering if I pushed too soon, if he wasn't ready to answer yet.
My pulse races and my thoughts spiral with every second that passes. I hate waiting—hate not knowing what's going through his mind. It makes me feel vulnerable in a way I'm not used to, like the ground beneath me is crumbling, and I have no control over the fall.
It's too soon to rely on someone like this. Too soon to feel vulnerable with him. But I can't not be.
The silence drags on, and all I can do is lie here, trapped in my thoughts and fears, hoping that when he finally speaks, it isn't the answer I fear the most.
He inhales sharply, like what he's about to say will pain him. "My mother is an alcoholic."
I furrow my brows, confused about what this has to do with the fighting or the voice I just heard over the phone. "Okay?" I drawl, hoping he'll elaborate.
He swallows, and I can tell this is going to be tough for him. He pinches his eyes shut tightly, almost like he's trying to chase the memories away. I clutch him firmly, tightening my hold to let him know he isn't alone. Pressure always helped me during my panic attacks, and so I apply pressure where I'm sure it hurts the most: his heart.
"She's been a mess. For a while," he says mutely. His voice is rough and grave, and I realize he's fighting back the tights.
My chest clenches, and tears unknowingly sting the back of my eyes. Confused, I look within myself to see if I'm truly crying right now. The last time I cried—outside of my panic attacks—was at Olivia's funeral and when Ricky hurt me. Otherwise, I've been putting up this front that I'm strong, holding it together.
But here I am, crying for Carter's pain. Once again, I'm struck by how much I rely on and relate to Carter. I feel for him on some subatomic level. His pain has slowly become my pain.
