The sound of my phone vibrating against my bedside table woke me suddenly. It was still completely dark in my room, no light peeking in through the gap in the curtains, and besides, my alarm had a sound, not a vibration. Disorientated, I picked it up and squinted at the screen.
Carter.
Quickly, I fumbled to press answer before it rang out and held the phone to my ear. "Hi, Carter, what's up?"
"Syd, you busy?" His voice was too muffled for me to be able to determine much from it.
I frowned, moving my phone from my ear to check the time. 04:12. What did he expect me to be doing at 4am? "I was asleep, why?"
"I'm outside."
"What? Why?"
Of course he avoided me and ignored my texts for weeks then showed up outside my house in the middle of the night, anything else would be too logical and boring for him.
"Can you come let me in?"
I sighed, really not feeling in the mood to finally have the conversation we desperately needed.
After I didn't reply, Carter added weakly, "Please, Sydney. I need you."
So, I did the only thing I could do; I climbed out of bed, turning on my desk lamp so that I could see what I was doing as I grabbed the nearest thing to pull on over my scruffy pyjama top. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I headed to the front door and pulled it open.
When I laid eyes on Carter, I gasped, the sleepiness jolted from my system. He was leaning against the doorpost, looking like it took all of his effort to even stand. His lip was split and oozing blood, and his t-shirt was ripped slightly at the collar.
I thought Kyle had said he was coping better, but this looked like evidence of the opposite.
Instantly, I forgot all about everything that had happened between us recently and all the tension and awkwardness it should have caused. Carter needed me, so I'd be here for him. It was as simple as that.
Taking hold of his arm, I guided him inside then shut the door behind him, careful to be quiet so as not to wake the others. I led him to my bedroom and onto my bed.
When he still hadn't spoken, I asked, "What happened?"
"There was a fight," he said candidly.
I could tell now that he wasn't drunk like I'd initially suspected when I answered his call, but I presumed there had been alcohol involved in his night at some point.
"Oh, Carter." I couldn't help the despairing tone to my voice. "Why?"
His posture straightened, defensive. "I didn't fight anyone. It was one of my friends and some random guy; I was just trying to break it up. I hate fighting, or any violence. I thought you'd know that."
Ouch. Of course he didn't like violence. I moved to sit beside him, resting a hand on his back.
"Sorry if I'm overstepping by coming here, I know we're exactly in the best place right now," Carter mumbled. "I just... I was feeling kind of shaken up, I guess, and I was on my way home but then next thing I knew I was walking up to your door. I can leave if you want."
I took a deep breath, biting down hard on my bottom lip. I was glad that the dim lighting of my lamp meant he couldn't see me clearly. It took everything in me to keep my emotions in check, to restrain myself from crying or kissing him or both.
"Hey, I love you, remember?" I said quietly, nudging his side with my shoulder. Even just saying it casually felt like I was tearing out my heart and handing it to him, but I meant it and wanted him to know. "I've always got your back, Carter. Always."
He nodded, staring down at his hands. Swallowing thickly against the lump in my throat, I stood up briskly. "Let's see what kind of shape you're in then, shall we?"
When I flicked the main lights on, I saw that Carter was in an even worse state than I'd realised. A large bruise was blossoming across his cheekbone which would inevitably become a black eye by the morning, punctured by a deep red cut scarily close to his eye. His knuckles were covered in small cuts, too, and I noticed a slight tremor in his hands.
I walked back to the bed, this time crouching in front of him so that my eye level was below his. Gently, I wrapped my hands around his, feeling how cold they were. I looked up at him, close enough to kiss him, if I were to try.
It hurt to look at him. He was beautiful in a way that always surprised me when I saw him up close. But, beyond that, beyond the injuries, even, there was a pain in his face that made my heart hurt. It was the most open I'd ever seen him, as though he no longer had the energy to hide anything.
"I'll go and get some stuff to clean your cuts, okay?" I murmured.
Again, he silently nodded. For someone usually so charismatic and confident, it was disconcerting to see him looking so small and vulnerable.
I returned to my bedroom a minute later, armed with supplies from the bathroom. Crouching back down in front of him, I dipped cotton wool pads into a bowl of warm water and dabbed them against his cuts, working my way from his cheek to his lip and then his hands.
"I would never get into a fight on purpose, Sydney," Carter said, unexpectedly breaking the silence between us. "I need you to know that."
"I know that," I told him. I carefully took hold of one of his hands in mine as I continued to clean the cuts on his knuckles.
"And I'm not a bad person, I swear." At this, his voice cracked. I looked up at him and saw his eyes were glassy under the light.
"I know, Carter, I know," I repeated soothingly. I put down the cotton wool and reached up to brush a stray lock of golden hair from his forehead.
His eyes locked with mine, wide and anguished. When he next spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. "Can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
Tearing my eyes from him, I picked up a tube of antiseptic cream and squeezed a small amount onto my finger, then began dabbing it onto his cuts.
"Do you remember when I told you I had bad in me, that I didn't want you to know the worst of me?" he asked. I nodded, unsure where this was headed. "Well, I think you deserve to know the worst now... so you can be informed in your decisions."
"My decisions?"
He coughed awkwardly. "To, uh, love me."
Despite everything, a small smile crept onto my face. "That was never a decision, Carter. I mean, I actively tried not to love you, but it was impossible. You wormed your way into my heart when I was thirteen and, try as I might, I never managed to get you out."
I'd finished tending to his injuries, so I put the cap back on the tube and shifted so that I was sat cross legged in front of him.
"I think I want you to know. I mean, I don't, but also I don't want to have secrets from you."
I wondered how he didn't see the irony in saying this, with so much left unspoken between us still, but I just nodded, prompting him to continue.
"So there was this one time, when I was seventeen, I'd been out with some friends and I got back late, later than I was supposed to. When I got in the house my parents were in the kitchen and there was all this shouting. I hung back for a minute and realised it was about me; my Dad was mad that I wasn't back yet and Mom was defending me. Then, when I went in there I saw him push her down and he just started hitting her, worse than normal, worse than I'd ever known--" His voice wavered, but he cleared his throat and regained his composure before continuing. "So I just... snapped. I launched myself on him. Grabbed him from behind and tackled him down to the ground. He fought back, and it should have been difficult, because he's a huge guy, but it just wasn't. I had all this adrenaline and three years worth of hatred and sheer rage. So I had him down on the kitchen tiles and I was just beating the shit of out him. I remember my Mom screaming at me, trying to pull me off him, but I couldn't stop. I'd never hated him more. I wanted him dead and... next thing I knew my hands were round his neck."
Carter's voice was heavy and slow, like in saying this out loud he was only just processing it for the first time. My breathing hitched when he finally ground to a halt at this awful conclusion.
At first, I was speechless. I couldn't imagine the Carter I knew acting so violently, nor could I imagine how it must feel for him to have carried the weight of this with him every day for three years.
"Then what happened?" I asked finally, voice scarcely audible.
He swallowed thickly. Shrugged. "I stopped. What else could I do? I hated him more than anything but I would never murder him. I just let go and took my Mom's hand and went up to my bedroom. None of us ever spoke about it again. He didn't hit her for a while though, I guess he was scared. Of me."
For what felt like the hundredth time in the last few months, I was overwhelmed with hopelessness. I wanted so desperately to help him but I had no idea how. Especially when he was so temperamental when it came to me; one moment he'd be sharing his deepest secrets, the next he'd be closing up completely. He'd run away at the mention of love, then show up at my door when he needed someone. I wanted to be mad at him for it, but I just wasn't. I felt so many things for him, but anger never seemed to be one of them.
Shutting my eyes for a moment, I let out a sigh. Then, I stood up, so that Carter now had to crane his neck to look up at me.
Feeling a wave of fatigue wash over me, I automatically glanced at my clock. 04:41.
Carter noticed and asked, "Do you want me to leave?"
My eyes met his and I saw what they were saying: please don't make me leave. It was written all over his face that he didn't want to be alone and, honestly, I didn't want to let him go. I wanted to look after him but a selfish part wanted this for me; I didn't know if or when we'd be close like this again, so I was making the most of it whilst I had him here.
"Of course not, Carter. Never."
His expression showed me a flash of gratitude and, slightly unsure of what else to do, I sat down beside him, making us equals once again.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, the moment I sat down.
"Don't worry about it. I'm happy to help."
"No, I mean, I'm sorry for walking out, and for not replying to your texts. I freaked out, and I was scared that if I tried to do something or say something, I'd only make things worse. So I just tried to remove myself from the situation completely. But you should know, even when you didn't hear from me, I was never not thinking of you, Sydney."
My chest ached hard and I swallowed thickly around the lump in my throat. Every time I thought that this was it, that I'd felt the most it was possible to feel about someone, he'd say something like that, and the emotions would become almost unbearable.
When I didn't speak, he added, "I'm not a violent person, Sydney. That was the only time. I'd never hurt anyone else... I'd never hurt you."
Woozy with the mixture of tiredness, pain and love I was feeling, I lent my head on his shoulder. I wasn't sure if the way our bodies seemed to fit so perfectly together made me feel better or worse.
"But I understand if you don't want to get involved with me for it. I get it, no one puts 'attacked their dad' or 'emotionally unavailable' in their list of what they look for in a guy. You deserve better than me."
I paused, frustratingly unable to find the words to reply. Maybe I was just too sleepy, but processing everything he'd said and knowing how to respond correctly felt like an insurmountable task.
So, I did the only thing I could think of to tell him how I felt. Tenderly, careful not to press on any bruises, I tilted his head towards me. With my fingertips still touching his jaw, I kissed him softly, our lips barely brushing.
When we slowly pulled apart, our faces remained close to each other, lips parted. But instead of kissing him again, over and over until we forgot what was troubling us, until the only thing we knew was the feeling of bare skin and wet mouths and roaming hands, I whispered, "Let's get some sleep."
Carter nodded silently, with an expression I couldn't quite figure out, then bent over to untie his shoes. He tugged off his jeans so that he was only in his t-shirt and boxers. Ridiculously, I averted my eyes, as though we'd not had sex before.
But, before I could climb into bed next to him, he looked over at me and his expression brightened.
"You're wearing my sweater."
I looked down at myself, only just now realising that he was right. I'd been so thrown by his appearance at my door that I hadn't even thought about what I was grabbing to put on over my pyjamas. My cheeks flushed and I tugged it off over my head, placing it back on the edge of my desk where it had become a permanent feature.
Quickly switching off the lights, I made my way back into bed. It was only a single so there was no room for any platonic bed sharing; instead I let myself snuggle into him, too exhausted to think about any of the implications. For now, it was just the two of us in this bubble, sharing the same space and warmth and a mutual sense of comfort.
The last thing I heard before drifting off to sleep was Carter murmuring into my neck, "It looked good on you. You should wear it more often."