Page 10 of Too Late

She crinkles up her nose and rolls her eyes, but she locks the door behind her. I jump up and check the lock, then turn around, just as Jess comes barging out of my closet. She points her finger at me and practically spits venom when she speaks. “You sick fuck!”

I quickly cover her mouth with one hand, and then I grab the hand that’s pointing in my face and spin it around, wrapping her arm behind her back. I’m looking down on her with a silent warning to keep her mouth shut.

Once I hear the shower kick on across the hall, I slowly remove my hand from Jess’s mouth. Her eyes are growing red. She looks scared, which is a good thing. Fear will keep her from ratting me out to Sloan. I grab the dress from her hands and pull it over her head.

“Get dressed and go,” I say. “Me and Sloan have a date tonight.”

SIX

SLOAN

Islip into the bathroom before class for a quick hair and makeup check. I’ve never cared before if I looked like I just rolled out of bed, but knowing Carter will be sitting inches away from me for the next hour has me more concerned than usual.

The fluorescent lights are unforgiving. The bags under my eyes tell their own truth about last night. Just looking at my reflection, all I see is a girl who stayed up way too late worrying about the guy who promised her a date but never showed.

Asa left with his friend Jon while I was in the shower yesterday, getting ready for him to take me out for the first time in over five months. Despite the fact that neither of them was home, the house was still full of people. I stayed up worried about him until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. When he finally crawled in bed, then proceeded to crawl on top of me, I was so pissed I just started crying.

He didn’t even notice. Or he didn’tcare.

I cried the entire time he was on top of me, fucking me like he didn’t give a shitwhowas under him, as long assomeonewas under him. When he finished, he rolled over and fell asleep without a single word. Not an apology. Not a thank-you. Not anI love you. He just rolled over and fell right to sleep without a single thing on his conscience. I rolled over and continued to cry.

I cried for the fact that I allow him to do what he does to me. I cried for the fact that I feel like I have no other choice. I cried for the fact that I’m still with him, despite the person he’s become. I cried for the fact that I have no way out, no matter how much I want to leave. I cried for the fact that despite everything horrible about Asa, I was still worried sick when he didn’t come home. I cried because I realized that no matter who he’s become, a part of me still has empathy for him … because I don’t know hownotto.

I turn away from my reflection and head to class because I don’t want to look at myself anymore. I’m ashamed of who I’ve become.

Carter is already seated at our table when I walk into Spanish class. I can see him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look at him.

After spending an hour with him in class the other day, I think it’s safe to say I developed a slight crush. The thought of getting to spend time with him three days a week had me giddy, a feeling that had become all too foreign to me. But seeing him in my house, with Asa of all people, crushed any fantasies I may have had. I never intended for anything to happen with Carter. How could it have? There’s no way I can get out of the situation I’m in with Asa, and I’m not a cheater. I was simply looking forward to having a crush. Looking forward to flirting a little bit. Looking forward to feeling desirable.

Knowing now that Carter is more like Asa than I could have imagined, I don’t want any part of it. Any part of him. The fact that he’s now another constant fixture at our house makes him even more off limits. If Asa even had a suspicion that another guy was speaking to me, that guy would be dead. I’d like to say that isn’t a literal statement, but it is. Seeing as how he doesn’t seem to have a conscience, I one hundred percent believe that Asa is capable of murder.

Which is exactly the reason I’m not putting Carter in that situation. I keep telling myself that Carter is just another Asa, in different clothing. Not worth the risk. I treat this situation with Carter exactly as it is: another roadblock to my eventual escape.

I glance around the room for a vacant seat that isn’t next to his. I must have spent too much time in the restroom, because the class is almost full. There are two seats on the second-to-top row that are empty, but they’re directly in front of the seat Carter is occupying. I avoid his gaze and walk to the empty seats with my head tucked down. I don’t know if I can pull off pretending I didn’t notice him, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I take one of the seats and sit down, then pull my books out and place them on the table in front of me. I hear a sudden commotion coming from the top row and can’t help but turn around. Carter is scooting across the table behind me with his backpack in hand. He hops off the table and pulls the empty chair out next to me, then plops down into it.

“What’s this all about?” he asks, twisting in his chair to face me.

“What’swhatall about?” I ask, opening the text to where we left off on Monday.

I can feel him staring at me, but he doesn’t say anything. I continue to pretend-read, and he continues to silently stare at me until I can’t take it anymore. I turn to face him.

“What?” I ask, irritated. “What do you want?”

He still doesn’t say anything. I slam my book shut and turn my body toward his. The fact that our knees are pressed together doesn’t go unnoticed. He glances down at our legs and I can see a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” he says, “I sort of liked sitting by you the other day, so I thought I’d do it again. I take it that’s not what you want, so …”

He begins to gather his books and a huge part of me wants to rip them from his hands and make him stay here, right where he is. But an even bigger part of me is relieved that he’s taking the hint.

He shoves his notebook in his backpack and I keep quiet. If I say anything, I know it’ll be nothing but a pathetic plea for him to stay put.

“You’re in my seat,” a flat, monotone voice says.

Carter and I both look up to see a guy standing in front of us, staring down at Carter with an indifferent expression.

“I was just moving, man,” Carter says, pulling his backpack onto the table.

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