Chapter 26
Silence blanketed the room like a heavy fog, broken only by the occasional distant rumble of passing cars. I lay in bed, consumed by loneliness and mind-numbing boredom.
To kill time, I texted Ilya earlier—but our conversation quickly fizzled out once things got weird after I mentioned we booked a motel.
Ilya: ahahaha a motel??
Max: It was the best option we could find.
Ilya: ahaha, I bet you two won't be able to keep your hands off each other.
Max: Shut up, Ilya, seriously.
As I read Ilya's teasing texts, a hot blush crept up my cheeks, burning brighter with each word. Hastily, I silenced my phone and shoved it under my pillow, hoping to bury both the messages and the embarrassment they ignited.
Glancing at the nightstand clock, I saw it was 2:00 AM. I'd been tossing and turning in bed all night, and when it became clear I wouldn't be able to drift off anytime soon, I decided to check on Carson. I wondered if Carson had managed to find any rest, considering the events of the day.
I slipped out of bed, the soft fabric of my plaid pajama shorts brushing against my skin, and padded across the hall to his room. Pausing outside his door, I leaned in, pressing my ear against the wood. The murmur of voices reached me, muffled by the door's barrier. Either Carson was on the phone, or the TV was on. His blinds were pulled tight, so I couldn't tell if he was still up.
I didn't want to bother him, so I headed back to my room, feeling lonely and empty. Minutes passed, each one stretching into an eternity as I lay on the edge of my bed, listening to the quiet hum of the motel outside. And then, just when the silence threatened to consume me, there was a knock on my door. With a mixture of relief and surprise, I opened the door to find Carson standing there, clad in a hoodie and plaid pajama pants. The expression on his face and the dark circles under his eyes said it all.
"It's okay, I couldn't sleep either," I said, motioning for him to come in.
Carson flopped onto my unmade bed, sneezing as a cloud of dust erupted around him. "Well, I guess the dust bunnies are having a party tonight too," he said, wiping his nose.
"Hope they don't mind us crashing the party and bringing our own snacks."
Carson looked like he was holding back a smile. "I hope they're not too picky. We might have to share our crumbs with them."
We both burst into a fit of delirious laughter. As I stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, I suddenly became acutely aware that my shorts had ridden up higher than I had intended.
"You know," Carson started, slowly, his dark eyes fixed to my face, leaning back on his palms.
"What?" My voice came out like a squeak.
"We've got the entire motel to ourselves. I scoped out the place earlier."
Something about the way he said that stirred something in me. Alone together in my room, his gaze held a hunger that was hard to ignore.
After composing myself with a deep breath, I tried to lighten the room with a a joke. "Are you planning a midnight snack raid on the vending machines, or something?"
Carson's smile faded slightly, his gaze locking onto mine. "Or something."
"I've got a better idea."
I crossed the room to my bag and rummaged through its contents, my fingers closing around the familiar object. Drawing it out, I held it in my palm, heart pounding with anticipation.
Carson's eyes went to my palm. "Not what I had in mind."
"Come on, you're practically a chimney. Don't be a chicken," I said, trying to ignore the double meaning in his words, flicking it on. Inhaling deeply, I took a drag, laughing softly as I sank back on the bed. Damn, that hit the spot.
Carson reached out swiftly, plucking the joint from my grasp. He smoked a few puffs, exhaling wisps of smoke before carefully resting the joint on the nightstand. He collapsed beside me, and we both sprawled on our backs, looking up at the ceiling. His body heat emanated in waves that seemed to engulf me, his hand slightly grazing mine on the bed. My muscles were so tightly wound that they throbbed with tension. I was so tense, afraid that any move would push us over the edge, knowing deep down, I wouldn't be able to resist once that line was crossed.
Carson tilted his head toward me a moment later. His pupils were dilated, one corner of his mouth sliding upward. "Do you ever," he started, his voice low and suggestive, "think about the stories behind motel room walls?"
I could feel the heat rush to my face, and other places too. "Stories?"
His eyes lingered on my face as he spoke, his voice a soft murmur in the dimly lit room. "Yeah. Like imagine what these walls have seen..."
"And what do you imagine they've seen?" I dared to ask, my own voice barely concealing the desire that pulsed within me.
"If only these walls could talk."
I couldn't think of a witty reply. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. Either he was implying something, or what Ilya said earlier messed with my head.
We lounged in silence for what felt like forever, but who could really tell when you're high? Time sort of just melts away into this fuzzy blur.
I couldn't say if it had been minutes or hours since we last spoke, but Carson shot up from the bed then, putting his head in his hands. "Holy fuck."
I laughed, figured he was just finally feeling the buzz. But when he rose abruptly and stumbled out of the room, I felt a twinge of concern. "I'm gonna grab some water," he said, voice shaky, before disappearing from view.
After Carson left, the room felt emptier somehow, the silence heavier. I sank back on the bed, feeling a heavy sense of solitude settle around me. I couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened if Carson had stayed, if we had slept in the same bed like I had suggested.
I wanted him to stay beside me, and maybe I wanted something more. The closeness we shared, the way he looked at me—it stirred something within me, something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Everything felt fuzzy, like I was swimming in a sea of thoughts. And right there, bobbing in the waves, was the crazy idea of telling Carson how I felt about him. I felt ready to take that leap, ready to risk it all for the chance of something more.
What if I just spilled everything? But then, like a splash of cold water, reality hit me. The last thing I wanted was to jeopardize our friendship and create an awkward rift between us.
Still, throughout that all, there was this tiny voice whispering, "what if?" What if keeping quiet means missing out on something incredible? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
I couldn't let fear hold me back anymore. I recognized the longing in his gaze, his desire mirroring mine. He wanted this just as badly as I did.
So, I did what any slightly stoned, courage-fueled person would do – I shuffled to Carson's room, heart pounding like crazy. Each step felt like a leap of faith. I knocked softly, the sound echoing in the quiet of the night. And then I waited, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
Time dragged on as I waited there. My senses were on overdrive, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. It was like a drum solo, pushing me to just go for it, to take that leap into the unknown.
Chilled to the bone in my shorts, I waited what felt like an eternity. Unable to endure the cold any longer, I pushed open the unlocked door, but the room was empty. Instantly, concern prickled at my skin. "Carson?" I whispered, squinting in the dark.
The bathroom door was left slightly ajar, spilling a hint of orange light into the room. I crept closer, and that's when I heard the muffled noises coming from inside—guttural gasps and stifled cries. I found Carson hunched over the toilet, his bare torso glistening with sweat. Violent tremors shook his body, and his ragged breaths echoed off the walls, followed by choked sobs of distress.
Fear surged through me like a jolt of electricity. My heart raced in my chest, its beats echoing in my ears like a loud drumroll. "Carson!" Stumbling over to him, I gently lifted his head, brushing his sweaty hair away from his eyes. The stench of vomit filled the bathroom, clinging to both him and the air. "Hey, are you alright?"
When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, barely audible above a whisper. "Max," he croaked.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against his bare arm. "Hey, it's okay. You're not alone. I'm right here with you."
He looked at me, his eyes wide and wild. "I think I'm dying."
I swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in my throat. I couldn't let Carson see my own fear, not when he needed me to be strong for him. If I crumbled in that moment, giving in to the urge to break down, who would be there for him?
"You're not going to die," I said firmly, willing myself to sound convincing despite the tremor in my voice. "I'm here, okay? We'll get through this together."
Carson's response was a choked sob, and my heart ached at the sight of his distress. Gritting my teeth, I sprang into action, grabbing toilet paper and dampening it to wipe away the sweat from his clammy skin.
I'd seen this before with Miles. I knew what to do, but getting Carson to calm down and cooperate was easier said than done in his current state. Part of me considered calling for help, but I knew it wasn't a medical emergency. It was just a bad high, something he'd come down from on his own eventually. I remembered the advice I'd heard before—that the best remedy for a bad high was simply time.
"Everything's going to be okay," I repeated, holding his drenched face in my hands. "Let's get you to bed, alright? You'll be more comfortable there."
But Carson's response was a feeble protest, his body limp against mine as I guided him towards the bed. With each step, I felt the weight of his heavy body pressing down on me. And when he collapsed onto the mattress, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, I hovered anxiously at his side, my gaze never straying far from his face.
Guilt twisted in my gut like a knife. Claudia's voice echoed in my head, reminding me to take care of him. Yet here he was, greening out, right in front of me. I was on the verge of breaking down. The day's events had drained me completely, leaving me feeling like I was about to collapse under the weight of it all. I felt useless as hell, and wished I could snap my fingers and make everything better.
"You're gonna be okay, Carse," I reassured him, my hand gently caressing his cheek. He shivered violently, his body wracked with tremors, lying there, stripped down to just his underwear, completely vulnerable.
When Carson turned on his side, facing away from me, I let the first tear fall. And then another, and another. The instinct to retreat to my room and let it all out tugged at me, but just as I began to pull away, Carson rolled on his back, his gaze meeting mine in the dark of the room.
His reached out, fingers tightening around my wrist, his head lolling to the side, eyes pleading. "Stay with me."
There was nothing more I wanted to do than to crawl under my covers and forget about the day, but I couldn't leave Carson in that state. So, with a nod, I climbed into bed with him, propping myself up against the pillows, hands around my knees. He angled his head up to look at me, eyes searching my face. Avoiding his gaze, I felt like a crumbling facade. After a few moments passed, I heard him sigh, then he shifted in bed, turning to face the wall.
In the stillness of the room, I put my head in my arms and cried.
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．
Carson was a restless sleeper.
In the dimly lit room, he tossed and turned in bed, the sheets twisting around him like a tangled web. And just when I'd started to nod off, he'd be up again, making his way to the bathroom like it was a marathon.
In the dead of night, the shower kicked on, and I lay awake, worried out of my mind. I mean, Miles once greened out and passed out in there.
As soon as I heard the shower turn off, I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I hadn't moved from the position he'd left me in; sitting upright against the headboard, knees hugged to my chest, head resting on my arms. After a moment, I sensed movement in the room, a subtle shuffling that broke the heavy silence. I expected Carson to slide back into bed beside me, but when the bed didn't creak, I lifted my sore neck from its resting place on my arms, scanning the room.
And there he was, sitting in a chair by the window, his hand propping up his chin, quietly watching me. In the dimly lit room, his silhouette stood out against the shadows as he lounged in the chair.
"You've been crying. I can tell."
Without thinking, I reached up, fingers trembling, to swipe at my cheeks, attempting to disguise any traces of my tears.
"Come here," he said, his voice low and demanding.
The way he said that quickened the pace of my heartbeat, a fiery heat engulfing my chest. I stood on wobbly knees, moving towards him, each step heavy with nerves and desire.
He drew in a slow, deep breath, his gaze searing into me. "Max," was all he said. My name sounded like a prayer, rolling off his tongue.
My breath caught in my throat when his hand reached out to touch my arm, fingers crawling up to my shoulders, burying themselves in my curls. A heat spread between my thighs; an ache that only grew stronger when he tugged at my hair.
"Carson," I said, my voice breathy, the words catching in my throat. My mind was a jumble of thoughts, but his touch had a way of silencing them all.
I couldn't help but wonder if he felt this way too, if this was the start of something more. But then, doubt crept in. What if I was misreading the situation? Was this just a fleeting moment between us that we'd forget by tomorrow, or something more? Despite the uncertainty gnawing at me, a deep longing ignited in me that was getting harder to ignore. All I craved was to give in to the intense heat pulsing through me.
"What are we doing, Carson?" I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.
He hesitated, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't know," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you've always been there for me. I don't know how to repay you."
"Maybe there's a way you can," I said before I could stop myself, my thoughts racing ahead of my words.
His dark eyes widened slightly. "Yeah?" Sitting up straighter in the chair, he shifted, his hand sliding down my arm. "What can I do for you, Max?"
I knew that whatever came next was something that we couldn't ever take back. All I needed was a signal from him, and then I'd go for it. And when he said that, his dark eyes moving all over my face, his lean fingers tracing my arm, the last thread of my self-control snapped. I couldn't care less if things get awkward between us. That, I decided, would be a problem for tomorrow.
With his hands still playing with my hair, I moved so that I was in his lap. Straddling him, I faced him, feeling a rush of warmth flood through me as our bodies pressed together. My hand instinctively found its place on his shoulders, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles. I felt him below me, thick and hard with want, and it made me ache for him even more. My fingertips traced the curve of his neck, tangling in the strands of his hair, and he drew back, fixing me with a penetrating stare, his eyes clouded in barely contained desire.
His guarded expression gave nothing away, but the intensity in his eyes, the way he'd been looking at me all day ignited a spark of longing in me. Leaning closer, I felt the crackle of electricity between us, the air thick with anticipation. My lips hovered tantalizingly close to his, the pull almost irresistible. I knew that whatever came next was something that we couldn't ever take back. All I needed was a signal from him, and then I'd go for it.
We looked at one another for a long moment, not speaking. And then his hand slid up, cupping my neck, and I thought, fuck it, letting out a heavy breath, before pressing my lips to his. I closed my eyes, and his lips met mine in a moment I'd replayed endlessly in my mind. His mouth, soft and demanding, pressed against mine, teeth teasing my lower lip, tongue sweeping across. He moved his lips in a captivating rhythm that erased all rational thought, sliding his hands down my back, drawing me in closer. Warmth filled me, starting in my chest and spreading deep into my core, as I gently wrapped my fingers around his jaw, pulling him closer.
His hands guided the rhythm, teasing and tantalizing with each movement, tongue exploring with a skill that left me breathless, while my hands couldn't seem to make up their mind. One moment, they were tangled in his hair, the next, they slid down to his neck, pulling him closer. Then, they found their place, resting firmly against his chest. The taste of his lips was intoxicating, a blend of mint and something uniquely him that I couldn't quite place. His lips were like a revelation, soft yet demanding, a perfect mix of tenderness and desire that left me breathless and craving more. In that moment, I knew I'd made the right call. How had I have gone so long without this?
His fingers wove themselves in my hair, and he teased my lower lip with his teeth, his tongue slowly dancing with mine. I responded by slipping my arms around neck, pulling him closer, until it felt like there was no distinction between where he began and I ended. I never wanted it to stop. At that moment, it felt like time stilled. There was no yesterday or tomorrow, no one else, but him, gasping in my mouth, bucking against me, holding me against him.
And then it was over before it could start.
Before I could fully process what had just happened, Carson pulled away from the kiss, his breathing ragged. I searched his eyes for any sign of what he was feeling, but his expression was unreadable. With a heavy silence hanging between us, he cleared his throat. "Maybe we should... get some sleep," he suggested, his voice strained.
But sleep was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to freeze this moment, to savor his taste forever. Deflated, I must've looked like a puppy left in the rain. His gaze bore into mine, pupils dilated like dark pools in the dimly lit room, lips slightly parted.
So, with a heavy heart, I nodded in agreement, masking my disappointment with a forced smile. "Yeah, sleep sounds good," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
As he stood up, his figure seemed to fill the room. I scrambled to stand, his hands, large and warm, finding my hips, holding me as he gently set my feet down on the floor.
The silence lingered thick in the air as Carson slipped under the covers, cocooning himself in the bed. I shifted awkwardly on my feet, unsure of what to say or do next.
Then, breaking the stillness, Carson's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Come over here."
Reluctantly, I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I climbed into bed beside him. The sheets rustled softly as I settled in, but the bed felt vast and empty. Sleep was the last thing I could think about; my mind was too caught up in replaying the moment we'd just shared.
Despite my exhaustion, I lay awake for hours, the minutes ticking by painfully slowly. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional sound of Carson's steady breathing beside me. How could he just drift off to sleep so easily, while I lay awake all night, tangled up in thoughts about what had just happened between us?
And then, while we laid together in the darkness, I couldn't help but wonder if this was just a fleeting moment of intimacy, destined to fade into memory like so many others before it.
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．
When I finally blinked awake, Carson had vanished from the bed, leaving behind only the tousled sheets as evidence of his presence. I sat up, feeling the ache in my body, and scanned the room for any trace of him. His belongings were scattered around haphazardly, but the bathroom remained eerily quiet, and he was nowhere in sight.
With a glimmer of hope, I imagined him downstairs, going about his morning routine as if nothing had happened. Maybe he was already seated at the diner, sipping coffee and flipping through the morning paper. Still in my pyjamas, I hastily snatched one of his hoodies, the fabric offering a faint trace of his scent, and hurried out to track him down.
But as I made my way through the quiet corridors of the motel, doubts crept in, and it felt like a dark cloud hanging over me, sucking the hope right out of my chest. What if things had changed between us? What if yesterday's kiss had irreversibly altered our dynamic, turning it into something awkward and strained?
To think I almost confessed my feelings. That would have been the final blow to this already disastrous trip. I pictured his face twisted in discomfort on the car ride home, the heavy silence suffocating us both.
Tears pricked at my eyes, a heaviness settling in my chest. And suddenly I berated myself for making a move on him yesterday, for letting my desires overshadow the consequences.
I peeked out the diner's window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He's a tall one, hard to miss. But he wasn't there. So, I shuffled back to the reception, ready to sort out our room fees and check out.
Betty stood behind the reception desk, delicately arranging colorful brochures in neat stacks. "That pretty fella took off earlier," she said, as if reading my thoughts. "Said somethin' about jumper cables."
Betty's words brought me crashing back to reality. Carson was getting his hands dirty with the car, while I was here, fretting over nothing. I felt foolish, like a child seeking attention.
Back in his room, I tried to busy myself, tidying up the chaos of his belongings scattered around. Each item I picked up felt like a reminder of our tangled mess of a situation.
When Carson finally returned, balancing coffee cups like a peace offering, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance.
"Took you long enough," I said, avoiding his gaze as I straightened the pillows with unnecessary vigor. I didn't trust myself to look at him.
He sighed, setting the cups down. "Had to sort some things out. Your car's ready downstairs."
"Great," I replied, forcing a nonchalant tone as I reached for one of the coffee cups he offered
"I really wish you hadn't."
"You fixed my car. It's only fair I do my part."
"I know you mean well, Max, but sometimes you just need to let me handle things."
I bit back the retort bubbling in my throat, knowing it would only lead to another pointless argument. I'm sure that even if I offered to help him with something as simple as tying his shoes, he'd still insist on doing it himself, probably just to prove a point.
Instead, I focused on the coffee, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from our mounting tension. When I turned to face him, he was right behind me, so close that I caught a whiff of the motel's shampoo lingering on him—a subtle scent of pine.
My heart did a little stutter. I bit my lip, replaying the moment in my mind, wondering if it meant as much to him as it did to me. He's certainly acting like nothing happened.
He had sunglasses on despite the lack of sun that day. I figured he was probably concealing some bloodshot eyes. "Let's clean up and get out of this place," he said, leaning down to pick up his clothes on the floor.
"I don't know, Carse. After yesterday... I'm just not sure I'm up for it."
A long pause. Then, "Which part of yesterday?"
"All of it," I blurted, watching as a flicker of emotion passed across Carson's face, too fleeting to decipher before he resumed packing his belongings into his bag. Desperate to break the silence, I pressed on, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I mean, we were both kind of... you know, high and stressed, so the kiss didn't have to mean anything. It was just a moment, right?"
I tried to sound casual, as if I hadn't spent the whole night overthinking every second of that kiss. But deep down, I was afraid he regretted it as much as I did. It meant everything to me, and that was the problem. That it probably meant nothing to him.
"Okay," Carson said, shrugging, not looking at me. Or maybe he was. I couldn't tell because his stupid sunglasses were covering his face.
Anger surged through me. How could he be so indifferent? I poured my heart out to him, and that's all I got in return. "Okay?" I echoed, the disbelief in my tone hanging in the air.
He hesitated for a moment. I couldn't tell the expression on his face, but I was sure I wouldn't have liked it. "Is there anything else you want to add?" he asked calmly.
"No. But seriously, Carson, don't you have anything to say? Anything at all?"
He sighed, his demeanor remaining eerily composed. "You seem to have already made up your mind about everything, so there's not much else to add to this conversation," he stated matter-of-factly, before turning to walk towards the car, his bag slung over his shoulder.
As he walked away, a wave of sadness washed over me. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. If he was going to pretend like nothing happened, if he wasn't going to fight for us, then why should I? If he truly wanted me, he would have said something, anything because I gave him the commission to. But instead, he just carried on like nothing mattered – not his health, not his attitude, not even our relationship.
I hated how he could just shrug off everything, as if nothing mattered. Didn't he see the gravity of the situation? It was like he was living in his own bubble, oblivious to the chaos around him. Anger and disappointment churned within me, but beneath it all, there was a bitter sense of resignation. Maybe this was just who he was – careless, nonchalant, and ultimately, not worth my time and effort.
And that kiss... I had hoped it meant something, that it was a sign of something real between us. But now, seeing how easily he dismissed it, I realized I was foolish to expect anything more.
So, with a steely resolve, I made a decision. I would pretend like nothing happened too. In fact, I would go back to being exactly how I was before.