#pg 13

Your Carter. Yours. 

The music starts playing louder and a bunch of people start dancing together in the middle of the empty space, like a makeshift dance floor. 

You look at Carter and smile, “can we get away from the bar, I want to stand somewhere else.”

His gaze softens, “yes, of course,” he says as he guides you away from the bar.

The pair walk around for a second until he leads you to an empty corner that is the perfect place to watch the party from somewhere not far, but not close. He leans against the wall and pulls you in front of him so your back is pressed against his front. The blush that creeps onto your face as his hands go around your shoulders and his chin leans on the top of your head is not noticeable. You reach up and your fingers wrap around the tips of his fingers as you both watch the drunk teenagers dance. His arms tighten just a little, wanting to keep close. 

You look around and just as you feel safe and comfortable in his arms, three girls come up. Without even saying anything, obviously drunk, two girls tear you away from him and drag you to the makeshift dance floor. You look back quickly at Carter and furrow your eyebrows, but can see him slightly panic and grit his teeth. You look back at the two girls and realize they have pulled you into the line dance of The Cupid Shuffle. As you follow their leads, out of the corner of your eye, you see the other girl rubbing up and down Carter’s suit. The same suit that you were holding onto just moments ago. 

The line dance is fun once you get the hang of it, until it gets to the point where everybody shimmies down. You don’t realize you were supposed to so you take the chance to look for Carter. When suddenly you make eye contact with the one thing that could ever make your stomach curl over. The girl holding onto Carter is kissing him, he’s kissing her. It’s almost cinematic the way that you are watching the man you love make out with another girl from afar. Suddenly realizing that the world hasn't stopped, but only yours has. 

You quickly tear your feet to walk, though it feels as if they were stuck in ice. The sickness in your stomach doesn’t fade as you look for a quick exit. You spot stairs that might look as if leading to a roof and quickly run up, holding back tears. That’s when you hear heavy steps behind you. Your name sounds like an echo, a calling from him that’s too late. You open the roof door quickly as you squeeze your way through people making out in the stairwell. 

“Wait! Please!” You hear him shout, and the roof door shuts behind him. You run towards the edge of the roof and take a deep breath, trying not to vomit. “Wait.”

You don’t respond, but rather close your eyes trying to relearn how to breathe. You can’t turn around, your brain stops working, I might die here. 

“Please,” he says in the most pleading tone you have ever heard from him, almost like his lungs are about to collapse.

You hear a step behind and you tense. “Don’t-”, you say abruptly, “don’t come closer”. 

“Why not?” He says in a slightly cracked voice.

You turn around as tears start to fall. “Why not?” You slightly raise your voice as you repeat his words. You watch as he stands frozen, his face falling apart. “I waited for you. My father sent me to Paris for four years, but I waited. It was foolish of me to think that you would wait too. But, for a fourteen year old, I guess I was hopeful.”

He just stands there watching, the right words not even coming close to what he needs to say. You shake your head and your voice cracks as you say “I waited…god, I am so stupid.” You say that partly for yourself. His face contorts and his fingers flex. “You didn’t. If you had the guts to kiss someone right in front of me, what else did you do while I was gone?” Your stomach feels shaky as you speak.

His jaw clenches and his eyes trail the tears that stream down your face. “I-”. That’s all. 

You swallow back the sickness, “was he right? You were my friend to corrupt me? Did that get you off?” You say bitterly.

He looks sick, “no, no, no-” he repeats. “No, god no. I never wanted that, you have to believe me.” 

“How can I?” You whisper and shake your head, “you held me, you kept me close to you, but suddenly it’s okay if you feel the urge to makeout with some girl?” You say, your heart beating out of your chest. His eyes travel the floor and the sky, landing on anything but your face. 

You take a step back and swallow a violent cry, my best friend, my first love. “I came back for you,” The whisper is strained. “Everytime I thought about not wanting to come home, I thought of you.” He tries to take a step closer, but you take another step back. “What happened? Maybe I was just young, but the Carter I remember is not you.”

His eyes soften and you could swear you can see a gloss coaxing his eyes. “I am still the same. I promise”, he reassures, his voice cracking slightly. 

“Really?” You almost yell, then lower your voice, “what did you do while I was gone? Please tell me. Honestly, Carter I already feel the worst I ever have so just tell me.”

He takes a shaky breath and runs a hand through his hair, “you would hate me if I tell you.”

I could never hate you. “So?” He doesn’t speak for a moment, and neither do you. 

He clenches his jaw, then looks right at you. “I-” he swallows thickly, “I got addicted to drugs. I got arrested for possession.” He pauses and looks away, “my father bribed my way out.”

You look at him, sorrowed, but nod “and…?”

He takes a shaky breath, his eyes roaming your face. You watch as a single tear escapes his eye as he speaks, “I slept with other people”. He looks away, and practically grimaces at his own words.

You purse your lips together to hold back a cry and nod, “how many?” You rasp out.

He swallows, hating the words that spill from his mouth, “lost count. Over a dozen.” You let out a shaky breath as you cry and sit down, feeling your knees buckle. I want to scream, or yell, or possibly jump off of the building honestly. 

“Well,” you say through tears, “we were only friends.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he says softly, his throat tight. 

“If you knew then why did you do it,” you say bitterly.

He takes in a shaky breath “I- I was weak, I was-” He cuts himself off, “I’m a shitty person, I know.” He says, knowing he could make up a million different reasons, but at what cost, he knows he’s going to lose you, or at least a part of you that he will never get again.

You nod, “yeah, you are.”

He still stands a couple feet away from where you sit, staring at you. He made you cry, he killed you. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it,” he says quietly. You don’t say anything. You know you could never forgive him, and how could you ever forget. 

As much as you hate him at the moment, the need to make sure he is okay takes over. “Are you still addicted?” The question is quiet and unsure.

He looks back at you and sees your eyes. He doesnt deserve this, he knows, it hurts to know you still cared for him, but it meant the world to him. “No,” he mumbles, “I’ve been clean since I got out of detainment.” You nod and look away, the two of you staying silent for what feels like ages.

“I had offers, but I told them I was coming home to someone I love, and that he was waiting for me.” You whisper, breaking the silence. “Didn’t kiss anyone, let alone have sex with someone,” you pause, “I waited four years, Carter. For you.” You watch as his face falls even further than it ever could. You waited to come back to him, while he was out doing things you didn’t even think about.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly through tears, his voice strained. 

You nod, “I am going home,” your voice cracking, “please don’t call me.” You get up and start walking towards the staircase.

“Please don’t go, let me explain,” he pleaded helplessly. 

“I have to go,” you strain as you try to walk past him. 

His hand reaches out to stop you and you flinch, remembering the way that same hand was just holding onto another girl’s waist as he was kissing her. The way that hand pleasured dozens of other girls. That same hand that protected you and held you in comfort. “No, Carter.” 

He shakes his head, “please, please…”

“No, no, no, no…” you mumble as you repeat that word, tears streaming down your face silently. He tries to reach out again, but you walk past him. Right before you walk down the staircase you say fatigued, “good job Carter Baizen, you’ve officially corrupted me.”

You hurriedly rush down the stairs and fly out the main entrance of the party. “No, no, no,” he almost falls to his knees, but without thinking, he begins to chase after you. Before he can catch you, the taxi door closes and the driver drives off. You don’t look back, you can’t. 

You'd think he has never been in a bed with a girl before.  Jesus, he's been in bed with you before.  Why can't he calm down?  Where is he supposed to put his hands?  Are you supposed to be snuggled up together?  Do you fool around until somebody falls asleep?

What if he can't sleep?  Does he just get back up?

What if he falls asleep but wakes you up with nightmares?

You're wearing this little shorts and tank top outfit, and Dallas stops worrying about nightmares for a second, because he doesn't know how he's going to sleep next to you while you're wearing that.  He hopes you're not expecting him to keep his hands to himself.  At least that solves the question "do we try to fool around a little," he supposes.

He pulls you toward him, and it's kind of different, knowing that you're going to fall asleep together after.  It feels more intense, but in a way that makes him feel nervous.   Vulnerable.

Glory's sake, his hands are shaking.  He kind of wants a weed.  You lightly scratch your fingernails over the back of his neck and he actually shivers.

You fool around for awhile, and it probably lasts as long as it does because Dallas is having a hard time getting out of his head and just enjoying things.  Afterward, when he kisses you goodnight, you look at him closely.  “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly.  You're still looking at him, and he sighs.  “I…shit, this is embarrassing,  I just..I've ever done this before."

"Never done what before?" you ask, gentle but a bit confused.

"Slept with a girl," Dallas says, looking away uncomfortably.  He realizes immediately how that sounds.  "That ain't what I meant.  I...I've only slept in the same bed with Johnny a few times.  Nobody else, and nobody I was seeing."

"We don't have to do this, if you're not comfortable," you tell him.  "You been real patient with me on some things.  It's okay if there's things you aren't ready for, or don't want to do."

He has never, ever, had anybody say that to him before.  He's not sure why it hurts.

He doesn't really want to talk about that anymore, so he changes the subject (to something he also doesn't want to talk about).  "I have nightmares, sometimes,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Don’t want to wake you up or nothing.”  He forces himself to look at you, and the expression on your face is soft. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to stroke your thumb over his cheek.  He closes his eyes at the touch.  “If you want me to stay, which we are gonna come back to, then we'll deal with it if it happens.  I get ‘em sometimes, too.”

“What if I hurt you?”  Dallas asks, and his heart feels like it’s pounding.  “What if I lash out in my sleep or something?  I can’t…”  He shakes his head.  “I don’t want to hurt you.  Don’t know if I could live with it if I did.”

“Honey, I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose,” you say sincerely.  He starts to protest, but you cut him off.  “I get that you’re worried.  But if something happens, we’ll deal with it together.”

“I don’t think I could handle it,” he says hoarsely.  “I really don’t.  If I hit you or something.  If....” he trails off, throat tight.

“If it happened, it would be an accident,” you tell him firmly.  “Accidents happen, but we’ll be okay.”  Dallas doesn’t think that he’ll be okay if that happens, but he doesn’t know what else to say to you about it right now.  He still kinda feels like he doesn’t want to fall asleep next to you.   You seems to pick up on his frustration, because you squeeze his hand.  “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, voice almost a growl he’s so frustrated.  "Most of my dreams are nightmares," he confesses. "About my old man, about times I've been jumped or attacked on the street." He swallows hard, and his voice is rough when he continues. "About Johnny, when he died." He closes his eyes, because now he feels like crying and he ain't sure he can handle the embarrassment. "About stuff that happened when I was locked up," he manages to say, but the words feel sharp, jagged and painful. He doesn't think that he can say any more about that right now, and he’s not sure he will ever be able to.  “It ain’t a once in awhile thing,” he tells you seriously.  “I have nightmares most every night.  And I ain’t scared of much, figure can’t get that much worse than it’s been.  But the idea of hurting you because of those damn dreams scares me to death.”

He startles a little when he feels you reach between the two of you and squeeze his hand. It makes the "about to cry" feeling worse, and he fights it back.

“I hear you,” you say softly.  “I get what the situation is, and if it happens, we’ll deal with it together, Dal.  Just don’t shut me out trying to protect me.  That’s gonna hurt a lot more than anything else could.  Okay?”

He nods, throat tight still.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?  Or do you want me to go?" you ask softly.  He can't meet your eyes.  "I don't want to do this if you're not ready to.  And it's okay if you're not."

"I'm being a damn baby," he mumbles.

"No," you say firmly.  "You're not.  Just give yourself a minute to think it through, okay?  I'm not gonna be mad, or upset.  We've both got some hang ups that we're gonna come up against and have to work through.  I don't mind sleeping on the floor, or going back home."  Dallas starts to say something, and you cut him off gently.  "Take a minute to think, honey."  You reach up and smooth his hair out of his face.

He wants to be normal about this.  He hates that he's scared.  Hates that it hurts to have somebody making a big deal about doing what he's comfortable with.  There have been so many times where what he wanted didn't matter.

"I don't know," he says hoarsely, closing his eyes as his face heats up.  "I don't want you to go, but I'm....I don't know what to do."  You reach to touch him gently, and he startles.  "Shit," he says, eyes open now.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you murmur.  "It's not a big deal.  Do you want me to keep my hands to myself right now?"

He nods, because he's overstimulated as hell, and he hates himself for it.  He breathes slowly, trying to calm down.

A few minutes later, he forces himself to look at you.  "You gotta be tired of this shit," he jokes weakly.

"I'm just fine," you assure him.  "And it's late, so I'm gonna ask you to walk me to my car if you want me to head home, but I won't mind that, either.  It's up to you."

"I'm-". He can't say it.  Why is it so hard to say 'I'm nervous but I want you to stay?'  "Stay?" He gets out.

"Okay," you agree.  "Just tell me if you change your mind."  He doesn't know what you see on his face, but you give him a soft look.  "I love you.  Everything's okay," you murmur.

"I love you," he whispers.  He still feels nervous in these kinds of moments when he says it.  Like you're gonna all of a sudden take it back and he'll be vulnerable and exposed.  "I'm still kinda surprised your folks didn't have a fit."

"They're more easygoing as long as we're...discreet," you say with a grin.  "They told me they figure teenagers been getting into all kinds of trouble with stricter rules anyhow, and we're both eighteen.  They just don't want us getting ostracized or nothing for it."  You blush a little.  "And I had to listen to a really thorough talk about safety and pregnancy."  You look at him curiously.  "How did you learn that part?  From friends?"

"What, you don't think my old man gave me the talk?" Dallas jokes.

"Somehow I doubt it."

"I didn't get it beforehand," he admits.  "Mr. Curtis talked to me about it when I was fourteen, but I'd already...well, you know," he says awkwardly.  He doesn't really want to go into more detail than that.  Doesn't really want to talk about those early experiences and how confused he was, and not just about the mechanics of it.  He's too worked up to have this conversation tonight.  If ever.  If you think anything about how young he was, or any of it really, he's grateful that you say nothing.

"Dal, you know that it's okay to say no to things, right?" you ask cautiously.

"Of course I know that," Dallas says defensively, feeling inner alarm bells ringing.  "I haven't pushed you on things you didn't want, have I?"

"I meant for you.  I know that you're fine when I say no or to slow down.  But I want to make sure you know that it's okay for you to ask to slow down, or say no."

"It's different for guys, doll," he says uncomfortably.

"No it isn't," you insist gently.  "It's the same thing.  If you want to slow down, or don't want something, that matters, Dallas.  With everything that we do, or might do.  Just because you've done something before doesn't mean you want to do it again.  Or that you want to do it tonight.  And that's okay."

He is speechless.  Actually speechless.

Again, before tonight no one has ever said that to him before.  He doesn't think anyone has ever even implied it.

He doesn't know why his hands are shaking, or why he suddenly feels like he might cry.

"Are you okay, honey?" you ask.

"I don't think so," he says roughly.  He sniffs and swipes his hand across his eyes aggressively.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he chokes out.  He presses his hands over his eyes tightly and swears.  His breath shudders.

"Talk to me, baby."

"I can't," he forces out desperately, voice thick.  "I'm sorry.  I can't-"  he shakes his head.  He rips his hands off of his eyes, then leans over and kisses you suddenly.  It's not that he wants to fool around more...he wants you to hold him, and he has no idea how to ask for that.

He feels a little bit of relief when you kiss him slowly and gently before just hugging him close to you.  You wrap both arms around him and hook your leg around his. You rest your cheek against his chest, and he wonders if you can feel his heart pounding.

Whether you do or don't notice, you're still holding him when he finally falls asleep.