November 30
*.*.*.*.*.*
My cheek pressed firmly against the cool, wooden floorboard, I slowly open my eyes. The first sight I see as I drift from sleep into wakefulness is the dull beams of light flooding in through the gap in the curtains and leaving streaks of orange across the perfectly-made bed. I can almost see him sitting there, watching me with a teasing smile on his face.
"Sleeping on the floor again, Tay?" he asks, his voice so distant.
I close my eyes slowly and inhale deeply.
"You're not real," I whisper, opening my eyes to find that he's no longer there.
Carter's absence hurts.
Groaning, I sit up and push my hair out of my face. My neck is stiff from having fallen asleep in a fetal position on Carter's bedroom floor. I dreamed about him, though, and talked to him for a long time.
I almost didn't want to wake up.
Exhaling a deep breath, I stretch my neck both ways and push myself to my feet. My right knee pops when I straighten my leg and I wince. I probably had it twisted at an odd angle all night. Nonetheless, I propel myself forward and pull open the door, walking into the narrow hallway and looking toward the quiet stairs. For a few moments, I stand there, trying to detect the slightest of sounds.
Nothing hums and nothing creaks, and I make my way to my room. Closing the door behind me in the semi-darkness, I trudge toward the bed and wiggle under the covers. Once I'm in a comfortable spot, I reach for my phone and frown at the screen when I see seven missed calls and three voice messages aside from the eleven text ones. I open the text chat first and read the array of messages.
From Shane.
It's not like I had expected it to be him. He's never texted me and only called me twice when he wanted to see me at ungodly hours. But I hadn't expected anyone to be texting or calling me at all. Not only do my friends know I'm not much of a phone person and will probably ignore them for weeks unless I'm truly interested, they also know I'm not going to appreciate birthday wishes this year. It's not a happy occasion for me anymore and I'd rather sleep through today than wake up and find myself alone in the world.
Carter's death has done that to me.
It's strange how close I now realize my brother and I were. When he had been alive, I'd barely paid him much attention. We'd shared the same roof, talked about everything, and fought every day. He'd always know how to cheer me up and I knew what bothered him about Mom and Dad. And yet, we just just existed. We were together but we weren't inseparable.
Now, I realize how much he meant to me.
I know I'm not the only one who feels that way. I've heard and read that people mostly appreciate things after they're lost. That's human nature, they say. I think we all just take for granted what we have. We become secure, so sure that what we have will always stay.
It isn't until that very important but frequently ignored part of us is ripped away that we realize how helpless and weak we truly are in the face of fate.
I never believed in fate. I always told Carter, argued really, that we can make whatever we want of our life. We can choose who we want to be with, what we want to do, how an event will play out. It was always him who said I'm wrong.
'Sometimes you can't control life,' he'd once said. 'It slips out from between your fingers and you can't stop it. In the end, you're just left wishing you'd done something differently. Wishing you could turn back time.'
It wasn't until I lost him that I learned what he meant.
I've lost count of how many times I've replayed that day in my head. What if I'd followed Carter to his room when he went in? What if I'd knocked and told him I'm here if he wants to talk? Maybe if I'd interrupted him before he took the pills or found him as soon as he had, I could have done something to save him. Maybe I could have saved my brother.
Closing my eyes and sighing, I try to put the thought of Carter out of my head. I know I should try to move on. It's been over a year. I should get back to life and focus on what I have rather than someone who is gone. But what do I have? I lost the support of my brother, the love of my parents, the perfect family I had.
I lost everything when I lost Carter.
Struggling to rip free of my dark thoughts, I click open the array of messages from Shane, hoping they'll provide a distraction from everything I'm unable to escape from.
1:13 a.m. 'I know you said you'll handle it but I feel super shitty for getting you into trouble. Your dad isn't too mad, is he?'
1:46 a.m. 'Tay? Is everything okay?'
2:02 a.m. 'You're not asleep, are you?'
2:03 a.m. 'I mean, it's pretty late so you might be but ... I don't know, I'm kind of panicking. Maybe.'
2:37 a.m. 'I should sleep too. I'm sure you're asleep by now.'
3:22 a.m. 'Shit, Taylor. Please answer as soon as you see this.'
3:25 a.m. 'You can't be asleep because you answer my calls even when I wake you up, you know? You're not in trouble, are you?'
3:49 a.m. 'Okay, fuck it, I'm coming over. Please answer my calls, Tay, I'm freaking out. WTF!'
4:00 a.m. 'Taylor?'
4:01 a.m. 'I'm dying over there.'
4:11 a.m. 'Tay?'
Peeking at the time, I notice it's some time after eight a.m. Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply through my nose to ease the ache in my head, I dial Shane's number and put the phone to my ear. My head continues to pound, probably a side-effect from crying so much last night. He answers on the second ring.
"Taylor?" he speaks, his voice thick.
"I thought you said you shouldn't be contacting me," I remind him, attempting to make light of how hoarse my own voice sounds.
"Shut up, Tay," Shane grumbles, groaning. "Where the hell have you been? You know how worried I was?"
"Your texts give a pretty good image of it," I tell him, lying in bed and not moving.
"Great," he mumbles. "Is your dad okay? I'm sorry I got you in trouble."
"I didn't get in trouble," I admit. "I got a good excuse to tell my dad how I feel about him, though, so I'm all good."
There's a brief pause.
"I'm kidding, Shane," I lie. "I'm okay."
"Why didn't you answer me then?"
"I fell asleep --"
"Really?"
"-- in Carter's room."
Shane doesn't speak for a few moments and I hear him sigh mournfully. "You miss him, don't you?"
"All the time," I confess in a low voice. "Every minute of every day. I miss him with every breath because we literally breathed together. We were born together, Shane. You don't get closer than that."
He exhales a breath. "I know."
"You know?" I tease, a smile playing along my lips.
"Yeah, you know," he plays along, chuckling.
The soft sound of his husky laughter calms the headache I'm nursing and I shift in bed, burying my face in my pillow.
"You didn't sleep all night, did you?" I ask, already knowing his answer. He's been texting me all night and probably didn't get an hour of shut-eye.
"I did," he tells me. "After I arrived outside your house."
My eyes snap open and I shoot up in bed. "What the fuck?" I gasp.
Without knowing what I'm doing, I throw off the covers and jump out of bed, racing barefoot to the window and ripping apart the curtains to glance outside. Sure enough, there it is, Shane's blue Navigator.
"Fucking hell, Shane," I breathe, wide-eyed and gaping. "You slept outside my house?"
"To be fair, I only drove over after four," he says, sounding embarrassed.
"Why?" I exclaim.
"What do you mean why? I was worried about you, okay?"
The defensiveness in his voice gives him away and I'm sure he was not only worried about me but also willing to play the knight-in-shining-armor in case I was a damsel in distress who needed rescuing. What he planned, though, I can't be sure.
"Shit, Shane." I shake my head slowly, my brain bouncing this way and that.
"You think I'm a stalker, I get it," Shane groans.
"Well, yeah, creepy as hell," I admit, teasing him for the most part. "It's also adorable, though."
"You think so?"
I snort, unable to get past the fact that he's still disbelieving that I find him cute. How could anyone not, though? It's inhuman and unnatural to find Shane not-cute.
"Go home, stalker," I say, turning away from the window but unable to wipe the smile off my face.
"Says the girl who sounds like she's been crying all night," Shane points out. "You know you can talk to me, right? I know I'm not one of your girlfriends but I could be your boyfriend and then we can talk all kinds of emotional shit."
"What the hell, Shane?" I burst out laughing. "How are you so smooth?"
"I try." Shane laughs too. "At least it makes you laugh."
Still giggling like a prepubescent middle-school girl, I slide back in bed and tell Shane, once again, to go home and get some rest. He stalls some more, talking about this and that, until I'm sure he's only trying to distract me from Carter and whatever he assumes made me cry all night. I smile throughout our pointless conversation and I hang up at last, telling Shane he needs to go home before his parents come raid my house. He's okay with talking while driving, but I'm not. That's when I hang up without saying goodbye.
He calls me back to question me about it but I refuse to answer, sending him a quick text.
'Leave me alone and go home, stalker. I don't know you.'
He replies as soon as he reads the text. 'Ouch. Rejection stings.'
'Sure does. Now scram!'
'You're not getting rid of me this easy, Taylor Ming. I'll sleep out here until you say goodbye.'
'Goodbyes scare me. Go home and sleep. I'll see you on Monday.'
He doesn't reply for a few moments, probably thrown off by my sudden seriousness. When he does respond, though, he makes me smile again.
'I'll see you on Monday, she who finds Gray worth it. <3'
Unlike last night when I fell asleep crying, now I fall asleep smiling.
*.*.*.*.*.*
A/N: I want to finish Seeing Gray in April because I want to write more stories. Gah, why am I so compulsive? I said two updates a month and now I'm updating multiple times a week again. Curse my overactive brain!