Camp Wisahickon

Chapter Nineteen

Enjoy all the feels in this chapter and vote & comment :)) Xo

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My heart stopped at his words, and my blood went cold with the silence that followed them. I didn't know what to say, mostly because I wasn't sure what happened, but I didn't want to ask. I know that I should probably feel scared being alone with Carter: his reputation proceeds him, and he just told me that his fathers death is his fault.

Yet, I'm not scared at all. Deep down, I knew that Carter wasn't capable of anything bad. Sure, he broke the law and partook in a few illicit activities, but he wasn't bad. That much I was absolutely sure of. So, when he said those words, ones that I knew took a lot for him to say, I didn't judge him, nor did I get up and leave him alone. I just stayed silent.

And, after a moment, he spoke again. "I played guitar growing up and preformed in coffee shops when I was still in middle school. By the time I reached high school, there were these group of guys that were in a band, and they knew about me. They invited me to a party when I was a freshman." Carter paused, his eyes flickering to me before abruptly turning back to the ceiling. "My dad told me not to go because I was too young. They were seniors in high school and I was only fifteen. But I waited for him to fall asleep that night and then snuck out to go to the party. I ended up getting way too drunk and calling my dad to come pick me up, because I couldn't even stand straight. He was pissed, but he came at three in the morning to come get me."

He stops again, and I feel my stomach churn when I see his pained expression. I gently put my hand on his as some form of comfort, and Carter flipped his hand to interlock our fingers.

His eyes squeeze shut before he speaks again. "A drunk driver hit him and made our car flip off the road into a ditch when we were going back home." A horrible feeling set in my stomach as he paused, letting the daunting silence torment him momentarily. "He died upon impact, but I only broke a few bones. My dad is dead because of me. Because I wanted to go to a party."

And right then, my heart broke for Carter. He genuinely blames himself for his fathers death. More importantly, from what I've heard- or rather, what Carter told me- about his dad, I could tell he looked up to him.

And thus, my heart broke even more. I sat up in the small bed and moved onto my knees, so I could face Carter. He was glaring at the ceiling with his jaw clenched and free hand balled into a fist by his side, trying to hide his sadness and anger with a hardened mask.

"Carter," I murmur, both of my hands pulling on his, trying to get him to look at me. "Look at me."

"I don't want to watch you pity me," Carter spits, almost as if by reflex.

I shake my head. "I don't pity you." Finally, he looks at me, his hazel eyes boring into my gaze. "I'm sorry that happened. But you can't blame yourself."

He immediately starts shaking his head, as if he can't even consider the possibility that it wasn't his fault. Carter sits up too, his legs swung over the side of the bed, his hands beside him on the bed. His back was tense and facing me, so I couldn't see his expression.

"I know it's my fault," Carter says roughly. "That's why I have nightmares every night about the crash. Because the fucking guilt eats away at me every day."

My heart cracked a little more at his words, and I felt my face fall. Right now, I felt like I had to do anything I could or say anything I could say to make Carter feel better. So, sitting behind him on the bed, watching his tense shoulders rise and fall, I decided that's exactly what I would do. Make him feel better.