Page 124 of The Naughty List

“No, we did,” I tell her. “But we got into another fight again this morning and I’m not sure how to handle it yet.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I just want to let it simmer for a while. Think through things, look at every angle, you know. Be responsible.”

She giggles as she picks up her yarn and knitting needles. “Oh, hun, matters of the heart rarely have anything to do with responsibility.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

The night winds on and Mom and I decide on pizza for dinner and head to our rooms early. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and that’s when we start our holiday baking. We always head over to Carson’s on Christmas Day and have a huge dinner and exchange presents. Usually it’s something I look forward to, but this year my excitement is held under something else. Anyway, the dinner is more of a potluck and we always bring a side plus the desserts. That means many long hours in the kitchen, preparing everything for the dinner.

I take my shower, spending way more time than necessary, but I enjoy the alone time and the quiet. It gives me time to think. It makes me start to question everything I thought I knew about Carson and me. I mean, before all this started, I would have loved to hear him say the words he did today, so why it is that now that he’s said it, I’m so freaked out? I love Carson, I know I do, so why am I so scared?

I guess I’m starting to feel the way he did before this started. We’re best friends and we’ve been in each other’s lives for a long time. Any time I had a hard day, a bad breakup, or just needed someone to talk to, he was there. But now that we’re in this stupid fight, who am I supposed to talk to?

Why couldn’t he tell me he loved me back then? Why wait until we started sleeping together? Did it take sleeping together to make him figure out his feelings? He’s always had some sort of claim to me and I thought that was more of a big brother thing. Like, he watched me grow up, and he watched out for me and protected me. On some level I knew he loved me, he had to to stick around that long. But I didn’t know what kind of love it was. Now I do.

Ugh, this whole thing is so confusing. I mean, why didn’t he tell me before I stripped in front of my window? Why didn’t he tell me before I was throwing myself at him, trying to win him like some prize? Why did I do those things to begin with? I should have just been myself and if he liked it, great. If not, fine, nothing changes. But I was hell-bent and determined. And this is what I get.

A buttload of confusion and heartbreak.

I get out of the shower and pull on a pair of pajamas. I brush through my hair and slather on my face cream. Then I walk back into my room and see my closed curtains. I want to open them. See if he’s there, but I’m too scared to. What if he is there, waiting? Then what? He’ll want to talk and I don’t know if I can do that right now. I need to figure out what I want and what I want to say.

What if it’s true? What if he does love me? Then what? He’ll go back to the city because that’s where he lives and works and I’ll what? Stay here. Live with my mom while I try to find a job and then hope and pray that I land one in the city to be close to him?

I sit at my desk and open my computer, applying for every graphic design job I can find all around the country. I want to keep my options open. That only takes about an hour since I only have to fill out the info once and the computer imputes it into every app for me. When that’s done, I sit on my bedroom floor and start to wrap presents. I look around my room and notice that I’m not exactly feeling the Christmas spirit. This is one of my favorite times of the year. I shouldn’t let this thing with Carson bring me down. I get up, light some Christmas-scented candles, put on some Christmas music, and change into my red, white, and green pajamas I wear every year to wrap presents in. I pull the hood over my head, hoping to hide away, mostly from myself and my feelings. I wrap the gifts I bought for my mom, Carson’s mom and stepdad, and of course, Carson. Then I sneak out to the living room and put them all beneath the tree.

Walking back into my room, I feel alone and sad. Pity party at its finest. I walk over to the window and try willing myself to peek. Just a little peek. I move the curtain slightly to the side and peek out the window. His curtains are open and the bedroom light is on. He’s sitting at his desk, looking at the blue light of the computer screen. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looks handsome sitting there, focusing. His dark hair is styled neatly and his jaw is covered in thick, dark stubble. I see him look down and pick up his phone. He looks at it, puts it down, and then looks over at my window. I quickly move to the side so he can’t see my eye peeking out at him.

Slowly, I release the curtain and back away, sitting on my bed. My phone dings and I pick it up to read the message.

Carson: I’m here when you want to talk. I’m not giving up on this.

His message makes me feel guilty. I should just go over there and talk to him, but I can’t. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I want. I want him. I want him to want me for me, not for some character I’ve been playing or some mask I’ve been wearing. I guess this is all my fault. I should have just been honest with him from the start. I wasn’t and now I’m paying the price.

I drop the phone and sit up, daring another peek. I pull the curtain back slowly and see that he’s moved his chair from the desk to directly in front of the window as he gazes at my window, just like he did the night I danced for him. I move away from the crack in the curtain and go back to my bed. I lie down and look up at the ceiling. I take a deep breath and try to think of a happier time when things weren’t so complicated.

“Come on, Felicity. You’re so slow with those short legs.”

“Piss off,” I tell him, trying my best to catch up as we run across the backyard and to the forest behind our houses.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, you know?” he says, giving me a dirty look.

I laugh and roll my eyes. “I’m thirteen, dummy. It’s not like you don’t cuss.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t cuss. I just said you shouldn’t. I’m older and a guy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Women are supposed to be polite, sweet, innocent,” he reminds me.

I snort. “Yeah, fuck a bunch of that shit. You know me and I ain't any of those things.”

“You’re never going to get a boyfriend with a mouth like that,” he says, leading me through the woods to the creek so we can swim.

“Who’s looking for a boyfriend? I’m not. Have you seen the guys I go to school with? Ugh, all skinny and smelly.”

“Smelly?”

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