Fractured

3. Suffocating

Long chapters ahead.
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After a long bus ride home that was somehow peaceful, but not really—I walked the rest of the way. It wasn't far, but honestly, I didn't wanna go home. Not to my mother. Definitely not to Carter.

I still can't believe his fucking audacity. Like, who shows up with dead flowers and tries to act all sweet? After everything? And somehow, he's still got the nerve to pull that shit off like nothing ever happened.

I gotta admit, the dude has balls.

But, God, he's so... fucking condescending. Like he's always talking down to me, making me feel small in a way that's almost impressive.

I wanna leave him. So bad. But I don't. And I can't. We've been best friends since, 5th grade. Letting him go feels like letting go of that part of me that existed before all of this—before I was... whatever I am now.

And maybe that's it. Maybe I still love him.

After another five minutes of walking, I finally got to the house. The house my mom still tries so hard to keep up with the rest of the neighborhood. I mean, I get it, but let's be real—she can't. Not since my dad died. I respect her for trying, but sometimes I wonder, why doesn't she just let it go? I did. A long time ago.

I opened the front door, and at least there was one thing that made sense. Mango—our little corgi-Shih Tzu mix—was there to greet me. Her tail wagged like she didn't have a care in the world, licking my hands before darting back to her toys.

Dogs, man. They're the only ones who get it.

I made a beeline for my room, praying I wouldn't run into my mom. The coast seemed clear, so I assumed she was out back or something. Honestly, I didn't care. I just needed to be alone.

The second I walked into my room, I shut the door and locked it behind me. Took off my shirt, hoping for maybe five minutes of peace. But then, of course, I hear Carter snickering from the corner. "You forgive me already, huh?"

I freeze, heart pounding. The calm I had for all of one second evaporates, replaced with pure anger. I yank my shirt back on and glare at him. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Carter! Take a hint."

He put his hands up, like I'd pulled a gun on him, hitting me with that faux kindness bullshit. "I'm sorry. Bad time for jokes, I know, babe. But I wanna talk—"

I couldn't help it—I laughed, loud and sharp. "Talk? What is there to talk about exactly, hm, Carter?"

Carter took a step closer, slow, calculated. His hands—pale and cold—landed on my shoulders. He started rubbing them, trying to soothe me like he wasn't the one who made me feel like this in the first place. I felt trapped, but my body betrayed me, relaxing just a little under his touch. It always did.

"Jessie," he said softly, leaning in closer, voice low like he was telling me a secret, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I don't wanna lose you. I'm so mad at myself for even—well, you know."

His words were like a hook, sinking in deeper the longer he spoke. I wanted to rip them out, but a part of me—some sick, twisted part—wanted to believe him. Maybe he really was sorry. Maybe this time would be different.

But then, his voice shifted, just a little, like he was slipping something darker in underneath. "I mean, I get it, Jess. It's been hard on you. You've got all this... stuff going on. I mean, the whole thing with... what happened last week," he said, his fingers pressing just a little harder into my shoulders, "that was rough. Really rough. I know it still haunts you."