My Year in Chicago - Carl Gallagher

First night in the hotel

The hotel room was small but charming, decorated in soft tones of cream and beige that did little to mask the tension between Carl and me. It was one of those places that seemed nice enough on the surface, but the cramped quarters and lack of personal space made everything feel more intense.

Carl and I had barely spoken a word since we entered the room, both of us quietly unpacking our bags and trying to avoid eye contact. I felt a mix of frustration and unease. I'd managed to avoid being alone with him for weeks, and now here we were, forced into each other's space.

"So," Carl said finally, breaking the silence as he tossed his jacket over the back of one of the chairs, "what's the deal with the beds?"

I looked up from my suitcase, where I was trying to fold my clothes neatly. "I guess we'll figure it out. There's only one bed, so..."

He grunted. "Great. Guess we'll have to take turns or something."

I tried to keep my voice calm, though I could feel my irritation bubbling up. "Or we could just use the bed and the pull-out couch. I don't care as long as we're not crammed together all night."

Carl snorted. "Yeah, whatever. I'm used to sleeping on the floor. Just don't expect me to get all cuddly or whatever."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not exactly looking for a cuddle buddy, Carl. Just trying to get through this trip without any more drama."

He muttered something under his breath, and I could feel the tension rising again. We'd managed to avoid discussing our past, but the air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. It was like trying to dance around a minefield—every step was calculated, every word measured.

I moved to the window, peering out at the Parisian skyline. The city lights were beautiful, but they did little to lighten the mood in the room. Carl came up beside me, giving the same view a distracted glance before turning away.

"Look, Anabelle," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know what you want from me. I didn't ask for this, okay?"

"I didn't ask for it either," I shot back. "But we're stuck here together. Maybe we should just make the best of it."

He huffed, walking over to the pull-out couch and examining it with a frown. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just don't expect me to be all friendly. I'm not here to make friends."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Fine. We don't have to be friends. Just... let's try to get through this without killing each other."

He glanced at me, a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, maybe, or maybe something softer. But it was gone as quickly as it came. "Yeah, whatever you say."

I busied myself with setting up the pull-out couch, trying to ignore the growing lump in my throat. The reality of the situation was setting in. We had unresolved issues, and being thrown together like this wasn't helping.

The silence stretched between us as we finished setting up the room. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside me. It was hard to focus on anything but the fact that we were sharing a room and that our past was looming over us like a dark cloud.

Carl sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in hand, scrolling through messages. He looked tired, worn out, and it made me feel a pang of sympathy despite everything. But I wasn't ready to let my guard down just yet.

We eventually turned off the lights and settled into our makeshift sleeping arrangements. I took the pull-out couch, trying to make myself as comfortable as possible, while Carl took the bed. There was an awkward moment when we both reached for the bedcovers at the same time, and our hands brushed.

We both quickly pulled away, pretending it hadn't happened, and settled into our respective spots. The room was quiet, except for the distant sounds of Paris nightlife filtering through the window. I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep, my mind racing with all the things I wanted to say but couldn't.

Carl, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling with the same restlessness. I could hear him tossing and turning, and a few muttered curses escaped his lips. It was clear we both had a hard time shutting off, but neither of us was willing to break the silence.

I wanted to talk, to clear the air, but I knew it wouldn't solve anything. Not now. Not with all the baggage we had. So instead, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the fact that this was only temporary. Paris would bring its own set of challenges, but for now, I just needed to get through the night.

As the minutes dragged on, sleep finally began to take hold, and I felt myself drifting off. I tried to focus on the idea of exploring Paris the next day, of finding a bit of solace in the city that once felt like home.

And as I finally fell asleep, the last thing I heard was Carl's restless sigh. It was a reminder that, despite everything, we were both just trying to find our way through this tangled mess.