Who Can Really Blame You?

I just sit there, on the still wet grass, and silently thank everyone for leaving me alone for awhile. They haven’t lowered him yet. Apparently they will later.

I take a shaky breath.

“Hey, dad,” I say, looking at the coffin. It doesn’t answer, and I feel disappointed, and then stupid for feeling disappointed. My eyes well up. “I just wanted to say bye. This is as close as I’ll ever get to you again, and I guess I j-just needed this time. I miss you so bad already.”

Still, silence. I look to the sky to try and stop myself from crying, but the movement and my blinking makes the tears roll down my face.

“I’m sorry dad,” I say, “I wish I had talked you out of it. You didn’t have to die.”

No one says anything. I look back at his coffin, and try to convince myself that he’s not in there.

I can’t.

“I love you,” I tell him, “I really hope that I made you proud. I’m sorry I couldn’t be normal for you. I know you just wanted me to be happy and all, but I know you wanted a regular son sometimes.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so I stand up. I stare at his coffin, and rub my eyes.

And then I walk away.

The twins and Hadley have left me alone for two days now, and I’m really thankful for that. Hadley asked if she could move in with me in a couple of days, and I agreed, because yes takes less effort than no and an explanation.

I’ve been in my room the whole time, only leaving to use the bathroom. I haven’t eaten, because mostly everything here is fruit roll ups and I don’t even eat those. I haven’t eaten because I’m too tired to get up from my bed. I can’t sleep. I keep having nightmares. I haven’t eaten because I don’t feel hungry.

I suddenly have to go to the bathroom, and I realize that I should have some water while I’m up. I’m really thirsty.

I wobble into the kitchen, and down an entire glass of water, and then leave that, along with all my other empty cups and dishes in the sink. I head to the bathroom. I really need to pee.

So I do, and when I’m done, I just stand around, considering my options. I climb into the bathtub, and lay there. I breathe in deeply, and scowl at how bad I smell. I turn on the water and just lay there, still clothed, with the shower pounding water into me. It’s oddly relaxing.

The water goes cold, and I still stay there, shower curtain wide open, door wide open. I don’t care enough to move. I don’t care how cold I am. I look at the ceiling, and close my eyes. I just want to slip away for awhile, and come back in a year when Carter’s off to college, and my dad’s death isn’t so… now. I want to go and come back when everything is better.

I open my eyes when the door swings open into the hallway. I don’t move. Maybe if someone comes in here and stabs me a few times, I’ll go into a nice calm coma. That would be nice. I close my eyes again.

Footsteps approach the bathroom, and suddenly I am afraid. I don’t move though, and just hope they’ll think the shower’s been left on by accident.

“Ainsley?” someone calls. I don’t answer. I don’t care.

Another person calls my name.

“I found him,” the new voice says, and I open my eyes when someone’s hand goes around my arm. “What are you doing?” Carter asks me. I pretend he’s not real.

“What the hell?” someone asks. I stare at Talia when she comes into my view. Carter pulls me up while Talia turns off the water.

I look at the sink and don’t say anything.

“You look like shit,” Talia says bluntly. I shrug, and stand up shakily, shivering, and walk out of the bathroom, and into my room. I pull off my shirt, and rub my arms, before sitting down on the floor, with my feet out in front of me, and pull on another shirt, dry and clean.

“Jesus, close the door,” Talia says, and slams it. I jump when she says something. I thought she had gone. “What were you doing?” she asks me.

“Showering,” I mutter, wriggling out of my wet jeans.

“Nobody showers in their clothes, Ainsley,” She sighs, and takes the leg of my pants to help pull me out of them.

“Well, friends don’t bring people I don’t want to see to my apartment,” I mutter. She drops my leg.

“Don’t be a dick,” she sighs, “This is hard for him.”

“I thought you were mad at him,” I snap, and growl when my pants tangle at my feet. I tear them roughly from my ankles. “Don’t look,” I mutter, and change my boxers, and then pull on some sweat pants.

“I was mad, but he came and talked to me,” she says, peeking and removing her hands when she sees that I’m dressed. I cross my arms.

“Listen,” I sigh, feeling bad for being so mean.

“No,” she replies, “Listen to me. He’s so confused. Don’t you remember when you realized you were gay? It’s hard. You know that.”

I sit down on the bed, sighing dejectedly.

“Talia, this isn’t a good time,” I say into my hands.

“When will it be a good time? When you’ve died of hypothermia in your shower?” she asks. I don’t have the energy to glare at her, so I just look at her normally. “God, you’re really trying to kill yourself, aren’t you?” she asks, and reaches for my hands, which I move away from her.

“No,” I say, “I’m trying to deal.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” she asks. How does she know?

“I dunno,” I mutter, “Some time before the funeral.”

She sighs, and stands up, taking my arms (since my hands are hiding) and pulls me up.

“We’re feeding you,” she says.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say, panicking.

She stares at me.

“Why are you scared?” she asks.

“I—I dunno,” I mutter.

“Yes you do,” she corrects me, “Tell me.”

“I—I guess… I really don’t know,” I mutter. She gives me a look that says I’m a liar. I feel anger bubble in my stomach. “God, Talia! It hurts enough as it is. Can we not make the rejection formal? Please?” I ask her, and pull my arms away. I wrap them around myself. “I want you both to leave.” I say, moving away from her. I sit down on the floor next to my closet.

“Funny, since that’s not what I want,” she says, and goes to the door.

“Don’t,” I say, knowing what she’s about to do.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m just letting him do what he wants to do,” she says, opening the door and yelling for Carter. He appears hesitantly in the door a moment later, and I stare at my hands. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. No one moves.

Finally, Talia shuts the door, Carter still outside, and I hear them talking.

The door opens suddenly, and he’s shoved in. Talia mutters something about us, and shuts the door. Carter doesn’t try to open it. I don’t look at him.

“Hey,” he mutters. I don’t look up still. I don’t speak. He approaches me and sits down next to me. I move away.

“Don’t do this to me,” I mutter, replacing my arms around my legs. I rest my forehead on my knees as Carter sighs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts. I stop him with a glare.

“Epic fail,” I mutter, after looking away from him.

“Ainsley,” he sighs, “you have no idea what this is like…”

“What what’s like? Coming out? Liking a boy for the first time?” I ask, and look up to glare at him, “Yes I do fucking know. It’s fucking scary.”

“I know,” he says, looking away from me. I growl.

“What do you want? Did you just show up here to make me feel like even more shit? Good job so far,” I say.

“You always do that,” he says, rubbing his forehead.

“Do what?” I shoot back.

“You try to hurt me,” he says. I’m taken aback, so I just rest my cheek on my knees and face away from him.

“You deserve it,” I mumble.

“No I don’t,” he says, obviously offended.

“Do you even remember what happened last time you were here, or the time in the bathroom or any of the time in between? You’re a jerk.” I remind him quietly, glaring.

“I do remember,” he mutters, and looks away from me again.

“Then why do you think you don’t deserve to feel like half the shit I feel like because of you?” I question. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I feel my patience fade fast. “Get out.”

He doesn’t move, and I feel myself getting really pissed off.

“Goddamnit, Carter!” I yell, standing up. I move in front of him and glare down at him. He doesn’t look at me. “What the fuck do you want?!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “Do you want me to tell you, “Oh I forgive you, Carter, even though you hurt me worse than anyone else ever has! Oh, I’ll always like you, so when you’re ready, I’m here! Oh, we can still be best fucking friends, don’t worry!” I’m not going to say any of that,” I say, losing volume as I continue. I finally just collapse in front of him, and hide my face. “Goddamnit,” I mutter, trying to keep myself from crying, again. I fucking hate it when I cry.

I guess Carter looks at me finally, because he’s saying my name.

“Ainsley,” he says, “Please don’t.”

“I h-have a right to!” I reply, trying to steady my voice and trying desperately to keep myself from crying.

“I know you do,” he says, touching my hand gently. I don’t pull away. I guess he takes that as a good sign, because he puts his arms around me.

“Please, Carter,” I say, shaking, “don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not,” he replies, and lifts my face to press his lips to mine. I can’t help the sob that escapes me as I shove him off me.

“Stop! You don’t mean that!” I exclaim, scrambling back away from him.

“Yes, I do,” he says, and grabs my arm to keep me from getting away. He takes both of my wrists and pulls me to him.

I struggle to get away from him.

“I don’t know what you want, Ainsley,” he sighs, pulling me onto his lap, “Just tell me.”

I try to free my wrists again, as my face goes red from my position.

“Let me go,” I mumble, looking away from him.

“Is that all you want?” he asks me. I don’t answer. He leans the side of his face on mine. “Or do you want me to kiss you again?” he whispers in my ear. I shiver. He starts to move his lips towards mine, and I move away quickly. “I know it means something to you too, Ainsley,” he says seriously. I look up at him and look away quickly, turning redder. “You mean something to me,” he says. I look up at him again, and don’t look away.

“No I don’t,” I whimper finally, looking away again. I gasp when Carter pushes me onto my back, and climbs on top of me. “Don’t do this,” I beg, though I’m not quite sure what he is doing.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, hovering over me, his arms on each side of my head, holding my arms down.

“I… I want—” I stutter, trying not to notice his hips on mine. He leans slowly into me. “I want you to get off me,” I breathe out. He looks hurt for a moment.

“No you don’t,” he decides for me, and leans back, adding pressure to my lower half. I can’t help but gasp. He looks concerned for a moment, but obviously realizes why I gasped, and smirks. “Do you want me to do that again?” he asks, leaning forward. I gasp again, and go very red, shaking my head frantically. “Really?” he asks, moving slowly backwards.

“Stop!” I gasp, and he doesn’t. “Please, stop!” I beg, turning red as I go hard.

“I will,” he agrees, “If you tell me what you want.”

“I want you st-stop doing that,” I gasp as he goes again.

“That’s not all,” he says. I actually moan the next time he leans backwards.

“I… oh god,” I moan again, and my eyes close. My face is burning. “Please stop,” I beg him. I open my eyes when he doesn’t move.

“Are you okay?” Carter asks me, feigning innocence.

“Fucking horny prick,” I mutter.

“This could be done already, Ainsley,” Carter sighs, “It’s a simple question.”

“I don’t know what I want!” I exclaim, feeling very torn. I want him to touch me and make me feel good for the first time in weeks, but I just want him to go at the same time. I don’t want to feel good right now and then be even more hurt afterwards. Plus, this is really embarrassing. He leans again, apparently on accident this time, but I still groan, and close my eyes tightly, trying to keep my back flat on the floor, and failing.

He’s stops, and when I open my eyes, breathing heavily, he’s looking at me.

“Do you want me to kiss you, or not?” he asks me calmly. I look away.

“N-no,” I manage out. I glance at him, unsurely, and see his hurt expression. I can’t say anything, and I want to cry all of a sudden. Why am I doing this? Why do I always have to ruin everything?

We don’t move for a long couple of minutes, and by the time the first few tears roll down my cheeks and onto the carpet, Carter’s scrambling off me, saying how sorry he is. He’s so sorry.

I turn on my side facing away from him, and pull my knees to my chest.

“I’m so sorry, Ainsley,” he tells me, “I shouldn’t have forced that on you.”

I don’t answer, even though I really want to jump up and grab him and make him feel better, but I don’t. The only thing going through my mind is how much I hate myself right now. I’m pushing him away, and for what? Because I’m afraid of being hurt? I’m willing to hurt him to save myself?

I shut my eyes tightly against the next wave of tears and Carter’s apologies.

“It’s f-fine,” I say, cutting him off.

Carter seems to want to say something, but he simply sighs. He leaves after a moment of silence.

I’m about to pull myself up to get in bed when someone barges into the room.

“What was all this then?” Carter asks angrily, moving in front of me, “Were you really just playing with me?”

I want to say no, but I have no words.

“You acted so fucking hurt when I was here, and I let everyone convince me you were! You don’t even care, do you?” he asks, and I want to tell him that I do, but I just look at him, my tears having stopped. “Answer me!” he exclaims, “Was I just there, and that was it? Was I nothing to you?!”

I open my mouth to speak, but Carter pulls me up harshly, and shoves me against the wall. I fully expect him to hit me, so I shut my eyes and turn my face away quickly. I make a small, scared noise when he grabs my chin to make me look at him. I open my eyes.

He glares at me, mere inches from my face, before pressing his lips to mine roughly, and pushing my body into the wall harder with his. He forces my mouth open with his tongue and takes control. I stare at his closed eyes, a feeling of sudden fear going through me that I’m not used to feeling in Carter’s company. He pulls away just as suddenly as he kissed me, and I remain against the wall, breathing heavily, while he steps back quickly. He glares at me.

“Do you even care?” he asks me.

“I—” I try to say.

“Fuck you,” he spits, “But you know, you might have a real career in acting.”

I want to scream that I’m not acting, but my mind keeps me from speaking. It will only hurt worse if I let this work out. He starts pacing.

“Do you just pretend to like people to get some entertainment from them or something?” He asks me, stopping to glare at me, and making me wince, “Is that what you did to Max?”

I finally find my voice.

“Max and I weren’t—”

“I know you weren’t!” he yells, and I press my back up against the wall further, “You probably played him like me, right?”

“I’m not—” I say. Carter rolls his eyes.

“Fuck this,” he says, seriously, “Fuck you. I’m done coming around trying to make you care about me when you never will.”

And that’s the last thing he said to me.