Choices
As soon as I’m inside Carrick’s house, I realize that I’m soaking wet and dripping water all over the floor. My shoes are squishy and full of water, and I struggle to pull them off so I’m not leaving wet footprints all through the house. The pillow and blanket that I brought with me are soaked, too, and I feel so stupid. But Carrick doesn’t look at me like I’m stupid. He just claps an arm around me and leads me toward the stairs. I barely manage to mumble hello to Austin, who’s slumped on the couch watching tv, as we pass by.
Carrick stops at the foot of the stairs and pries the pillow and blanket from my hands. He tosses them to the floor, then gives me a long, hard look. With what seems like a carefully measured neutral expression on his face, he asks, “Are you alright, man?”
I shake my head. Talking to Kate and driving across town had temporarily allowed me to forget just how stoned I am, but now it’s hitting me full force. My mouth is dry and all the words seem to have fallen out of my brain. Carrick still doesn’t seem phased, though. He just wraps his arm around me again, tighter this time, and helps me up the stairs. This is starting to feel very familiar.
We end up in his bedroom again, and it makes me a little nervous, but I don’t really know how else I was expecting this to go. I did bring that pillow and blanket in the vague hope that Carrick would let me sleep on the couch, but I’m so tired of sleeping on couches that I don’t really care if Carrick wants to spoon with me all night long. In fact, that sounds kind of nice.
“Here, put these on,” he says, handing me a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that looks about two sizes two big for him and maybe big enough for me.
I do as he says, not oblivious to the way he he quickly turns away to give me a little privacy. I’ve just barely got the shirt pulled over my chest when he turns around again and hands me a towel. I run it through my hair a few times until I don’t feel quite as much like a drowned rat and toss it back to him.
He gives me a slow look up and down, then asks, “You wanna talk?”
I shake my head.
“Smoke?”
“Nah.”
“Drink?”
“Not really,” I reply, letting myself collapse onto his bed.
Carrick sits next to me, but I can tell he’s deliberately putting some distance between us. I don’t like it. I inch closer to him, just enough that our legs are touching. I can tell Carrick notices, because his eyes flicker ever so quickly downward, then just as quickly back to my face. He heaves a sigh. “So no talking, smoking or drinking. What do you wanna do, then?”
“I just want to turn my brain off and rest,” I say, not even caring how pathetic I sound.
“We can do that,” he replies, nudging me backward a little.
I take the hint and crawl back toward the pillow, wiggling under the covers. Carrick follows me, pulling the covers up over his own body as well. I’m nestled between the wall and him, but it’s not an uncomfortable place to be. It isn’t like last weekend was even the first time the two of us have slept together; on more than one occasion we’ve sacked out on the same bed or couch after a marathon of video games and weed. Even sober and in light of last weekend, it doesn’t feel all that strange to be so close to him.
Okay, maybe it feels a little strange.
It’s mostly his hand on my arm, rubbing gently up and down, that makes it feel somehow wrong – or, more accurately, like it should feel wrong. I glance over at him and see that he’s staring at me, his brow furrowed gently with concern. He’s probably frustrated that I won’t talk about whatever it is that made me drive through the pouring rain to end up on his doorstep. My tongue still feels two sizes to big for my mouth, but I do want to tell him something.
“It was Kate,” I finally manage to say, my voice gravelly and low. “We had a fight.”
“It had to be either her or Taylor,” he replies, his hand sliding over to wrap around my waist.
Anyone who didn’t know us would probably be highly confused by our body language, the way we’re practically cuddling, but it’s just the way we are together, always touchy feely and practically glued to each other’s side. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought until last weekend. But it still feels so comfortable and so right.
I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. “She wanted me to choose, you know. Between… you and the weed, and her.”
I can’t even look at Carrick when I say it. I don’t know why I’m so ashamed; the fact that I’m laying here with him should be a damn good hint at which choice I made. He heaves a heavy sigh that I can feel practically running through my body and asks, “And you chose me?”
“I didn’t not choose you,” I reply. “I didn’t really say anything… but I’m here, aren’t you?”
“You are,” he replies, tightening his grip on my waist almost protectively, like he’s trying to make sure I don’t leave. But I’m not going anywhere. “Even if you didn’t say it, it’s not like you can just undo this – coming here, I mean.”
“I don’t want to undo it,” I say, turning my head up to stare at Carrick. We’re in an awkward position, though, so all I can really see is his chin stubble. Good enough. “You know me better than anyone. You’re where I want to be right now.”
He wiggles down so that he’s finally eye to eye with me. I’ve never noticed before just how strikingly blue his eyes are – comparable only to Taylor’s, really. For some reason, I feel this surge of guilt for thinking about Taylor while I’m lying in bed with Carrick. It’s not like I’m cheating on Taylor with him, but somehow it feels that way. I could never compare the two of them, anyway. They’re too different.
“Do you really know what you’re choosing, Zac?”
I stare at him, not sure what he’s asking. I know what I’m choosing. The one true friend I’ve got.
He shakes his head. “Forget it. You’re still stoned and I’m asking questions you can’t answer.”
“I know what I’m choosing,” I reply, but my voice sounds far less certain that I had hoped it would.
“I’m not asking you to do this or that or anything,” he says. “You know that, right? Kate’s the one with the ultimatums. I just want you to be happy with whatever… whoever… you choose.”
I’m still not sure I totally understand what he’s saying, but I can tell by his tone of voice that it’s very important. Maybe I shouldn’t have smoked that joint all by myself. Maybe then I could sort out everything I’m thinking and feeling. The rational, sober part of my brain is chanting he’s your best friend over and over. But the still stoned part of my brain is in love with the feeling of his arms wrapped around me and our chests pressed together. And that part of my brain really just wants to know what it would feel like to kiss him.
He’s breathing heavier, his chest rising and falling against mine rapidly. I lean in and press my cheek again his, enjoying the way his stubble tickles my skin. I don’t know how to ask him for what I want. It should be simple, just two small words – kiss me. But somehow, as I nuzzle the side of his face, I’m still speechless.
“Zac…” he breathes out, his lips grazing my cheek. “What do you want?”
He’s giving me a choice, but not in the way that Kate did. It’s not an either or situation where neither option seems all that promising. It’s an open ended question, an invitation to do whatever it is that will make me happy. And I know that whatever I pick, Carrick will be okay with it.
So I kiss him.
His lips are soft, softer than Taylor’s, and I like the way it contrasts with the stubble rubbing against my face. At first, he doesn’t respond at all, doesn’t move his lips even the tiniest fraction. Then he lets out this little sound that’s like a cross between a sigh and a whimper and suddenly he’s kissing me back.
There’s something about the way his tongue grazes my bottom lip and the way he tugs at my shirt that makes me think he wants this, too. Maybe he wasn’t only trying to make me feel better last weekend. I don’t know. I can’t make sense of all that right now. All I can do is let my mouth fall open and follow his lead, our tongues swirling together like they’ve done this a million times before.
I roll onto my back, dragging Carrick along with me. He’s on exactly the same page, his legs tangling with mine and his hands resting on the nape of my neck. Maybe it’s the weed, or the fact that Carrick has already touched me before, or something else I don’t understand yet, but I’m not ashamed at all by the fact that I’m getting hard. I’m sure Carrick can feel it pressing into his leg. In fact, I know he can, because he’s rolling his hips now, his own hardness pressing back against me.
He breaks the kiss, finally, both of us panting heavily, and rests his head on my shoulder. I rub his back, trying to still his breathing even though my chest is heaving too. He mumbles something unintelligible, but definitely containing a few curse words, against my shoulder.
“Carrick…” I say, my voice pleading, begging for a glimpse inside his mind.
He lifts his head a fraction, just enough to meet my eyes. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you came here?”
“No,” I reply. His brow furrows and I realize I haven’t been clear enough. I take a deep breath and try again. “I mean, it’s not why I came here, but I do want it. I don’t know why I came here.”
The haze is my mind has cleared some, but not enough for me to fully sort out all the thoughts swirling around it and confusing me. Something in Carrick’s face tells me he’s not satisfied with that answer, and I can’t say that I blame him. I’m not satisfied with it, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” He rolls off of me, the sudden lack of his weight and body heat leaving me feeling completely empty and alone.
I sigh, but I don’t argue with him. It feels like somehow I’ve disappointed him, though I don’t know how. Carrick doesn’t turn away from me completely, though. He still holds me close, though perhaps not as tightly, and he doesn’t object when I tuck my head into the hollow spot above his collarbone.
There’s still so much more that I want to say, but I just can’t. Carrick’s breathing has finally slowed to normal, so I’m not even sure he’s still awake, anyway. My mouth is still all dry and my head full of useless white noise that doesn’t get me any closer to explaining to Carrick that I came here because I did chose him.
I know it’s a choice that could change everything, and I’m not even sure what I’m choosing for. All I know is that I need Carrick closer, need him to always be in my life, in a way that I don’t need Kate or even Taylor. I want to tell him all of that, but I can feel his chest rising and falling slowly now. He doesn’t even stir when I run my bare foot across his. Maybe in the morning, I can get my mouth to form all the words he needs to know.