Fall from Love

you said you slept with Carter last night.”
    “ Over. .. I slept over at Carter’s,” I exaggerate the words and glare at her.
    She shrugs and a smile spreads across her lips. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m cool if you want to sleep with or over at Carter’s.
    I nudge her and she falls over, almost completely tumbling off the stool she’s sitting on.
    “I suspected you were over there anyway, I was just curious to see if you’d tell me the truth,” she says, popping another chip in her mouth.
    “Why would I lie?”
    She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m glad you didn’t, though, things could’ve gotten ugly if you did.”
     
    ❧
     
    Later in the day—after taking a shower and brushing my teeth—I curl up on my bed and take out my notebook. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything in it, mainly because nothing other than depressing thoughts are going through my head. The past couple of months, though, I’ve changed, my outlook on a lot of things has changed.
    As I stare down at the empty page, so many feelings, words, and thoughts run through my head. When I used to write, I used to think a lot about love, a lot about life, and a lot about Adam. Now, I mainly focus on the emotions that have been consuming me over the past few months; what I’ve gone through. I can’t deny that Carter’s face pops into my head a lot, too. The past few months he’s been stirring up feelings inside me I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again.
    After feeling satisfied with the few lines I have written, I close my notebook and put it back in the top drawer of my nightstand. Just as I reach over to click off my lamp, my phone chimes and I reach over to grab it, already knowing who it is before I see the screen.
    Carter: Did you make it to ur test?
    Me: Just in time. Sorry I ran out on you like that.
    Carter: Glad you made it. Next time we’ll set an alarm.
    Me: Your couch is horrible to sleep on.
    Carter: You were sleeping mostly on me.
    My whole body warms as I remember waking up on his chest this morning and how good it felt.
    Me: Sorry about that.
    Carter: Don’t be sorry.
    Me: Goodnight.
    Carter: Goodnight, Holly.
    Before shutting off my light, I scroll back through our messages, smiling and feeling an ache in my chest that I’m not sure how to define. Carter is a friend—a good friend—but I can’t help wondering if maybe I want him to be more.
     
    ❧
     
    The rest of the week is fairly uneventful. It’s Friday afternoon and I find myself getting excited for the weekend since we have the entire next week off for Thanksgiving.
    As I jog across the courtyard, the snowfall begins to pick up and, by the time I reach my car, it’s really coming down. When I get on the main road to head back to our apartment, I’m leaning forward and both of my hands are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The snow is so thick I’m having trouble seeing if the stop light ahead of me is red or green. I’m just about to comment on how things can’t get any worse when I hear a loud thud come from the front of my car. A small vibration shoots through the steering wheel, causing my hands to shake.
    “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me? This is so not happening right now,” I say, gripping the wheel even tighter. Slowly applying pressure to the brake, I veer off to the side of the road. Once I have the car in park, I hop out to inspect the loud noise that was coming from my car. The snow is coming down hard, but I squint and see as plain as day that my right front tire is completely flat.
    “Crap,” I breathe. Once I’m back in my car, I crank the heater and lean my head back against the seat, trying to think of what to do. I fumble through my purse, digging for my phone. There’s a good chance I have roadside assistance, I think I remember my dad telling me that one day. Curse words are flying out of my mouth and frustration takes over when I turn my purse upside down and dump it in the passenger seat next to me. Disgusting is the next word that pops into my head as I realize that my purse should be declared toxic. I sift through the trash, finally finding my phone and insurance card. Turning it over, I find the number for roadside assistance. After two rings, a stupid automated machine picks up. Following the prompts I finally get to the point of annoying music playing in my ear, hoping that an actual human will come on the line soon.
    Ten minutes pass and I’m tempted to hang up and just hitchhike.