The Carter Project ✓

five

0 5

✱

I SHOULD'VE LEFT by now. In fact, I should've been left, but there was just something keeping me here, a gut feeling that would always correct me whenever I thought of heading for the door. It never had a solid reason for refusing to let me leave, but I still found myself compelled to listen. Maybe it was just my body thinking this party would filter my breakup with Landon out of my system, or that I was not in the mood to stumble into my empty and lonely house again after being surrounded by people for hours.

          Or maybe, I had a newfound respect for Carter's presence in my life tonight and I didn't know how it would hold up when the sun rose and I was able to look at myself and how I had acted tonight in the light of day.

          It was coming on nearly two o'clock in the morning now and I realized I had been here for quite a few hours. I didn't notice exactly when other people had started clearing out of Carter's house, but looking up and at my surroundings there were probably no more than ten people left as opposed to the forty or so who had been there when I arrived.

          I had no idea how I had allowed the time to pass me by so easily, but then again, tonight wasn't really a night of clarity for me. When the drinking and partying initially made me forget about my breakup with Landon and put it on the back burner for a while, now it had decided to come back to me and I could remember how I idiotically thought he was talking about debate responsibilities. For a nearly perfect student, maybe I was always a bit dumbed down around Carter Abrams.

          Speaking of the devil, I felt like at this point I had to go and find him. So I got up quickly from the couch where I had situated myself only to crash into something hard and feel a wet sensation spread across my upper torso.

          "Fuck," I cursed, falling back down on the couch to look up and see Carter Abrams standing over me with two — now slightly crushed — red Solo cups in his hands.

          "Jesus Christ, Casey," he exasperated, setting the drinks down on the coffee table behind him. "Are you alright? Look where you're going, what the hell. All this liquor wasn't cheap."

          The audacity of this man, my dress wasn't cheap and now it was soaking wet. "I should look where I'm going? How about maybe you shouldn't stand over people with drinks in your hand like an idiot, pal?"

          "Pal?" Carter simply asked, making me realize all at once I had lost this argument.

          "Yeah, that sounded a lot more sassy in my head," I said, rolling my eyes and admitting defeat. Thankfully, Carter's eyes softened as he looked at me, the initial frustration passing over his features and it felt like everything was okay again between us.

          I needed to get my head checked, I was having too many conflicting feelings about Carter and my — extremely limited — relationship with him all at once.

          "Okay, pal," he said with a childish grin that let me know he was never going to let me live that down. "Let me take care of those wet clothes, I'm sure you don't want to be standing around like that all night."

          The night was almost over, or at least it felt like it since I should've been home right now, but I didn't correct him. I didn't want to.