Academic Rivals to Lovers in a Boarding School
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"You wanna know the really dumb meaning behind my name?" He muses and I walk ahead of him. "Nope."
"Basically, it means the transporter of goods by cart or wagon, it's from an old french word I be...
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Mila's Pov .....
I wake up to Carter sitting up and pulling the duvet with him, he's panting over and over, attempting to catch his breath.
"Carter, baby, what's wrong?" I pull him back by the arm and wrap my hands around his neck to stop whatever he's going through.
Thinking that my presence and touch would stop his shaking was a silly thought, until it actually worked.
He focused his eyes on me as I sat up in bed, climbing into his lap and kissing all over his pretty face. "Breathe for me, okay?"
I interlock our hands together after rubbing slow circles on his palm. Christ, when did he sneak up on me like this, and when did I start to not hate his presence?
He takes a deep breath, squeezing my hand so tightly that I can't think straight, but it's worth it for him. "You're my best friend, Mila." He says quietly.
"Just lie down." I lean back again, pulling his body with me. Carter rests his head underneath his jumper that I'm wearing, sticking his head tight against my chest.
We don't exchange any more words until the morning, I don't ask him about his nightmare and he doesn't share. If he doesn't want to tell me then he doesn't have to.
But I'm definitely not letting him get out of the whole 'I relapsed but refuse to discuss it' topic. Whether it was because of me, our situation or his father. I have no idea, but I'm dying to know.
The next morning we walk down into the kitchen, I spring apart from Carter when we catch Blair at the counter, popping a pill with her cereal.
I know Carter huffs out an annoyed breath but he knows better not to say anything, or Blair would eat him alive.
"Hey Em..." She pulls out the stool beside her and I sit down, we forget Carters even there after talking about the cheer formation. My team has been average, recently, not great, but average.
It has to be perfect, god knows why. But the deep, but somehow squeaky voice of my mother circled my head. 'Remember Emilia! Nothing less than perfect.'
Blah blah fucking blah.
"What're you wearing to the boys party?" I was about to question what party she was on about before Adaline glided into the kitchen, the pink and sheer gown that sat on her shoulders followed after her.
"What party?" She waggled her eyebrows and poured herself a cup of coffee. "You got a hot date bear?" Blair cringed at the age old nickname.
