The Misfortunes Of Carrie

Chapter Eighteen|The Misfortune In Soldiers Who Couldn't Save Each Other

Chapter 18| the Misfortune in Soldiers Who Couldn't Save Each Other

The early morning sunlight filtered into the room and I was barely conscious when I registered the feeling of fingers tracing a scar on my torso. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes glanced at clock. It was barely six in the morning and the early spring sun was already in the sky.

Overnight, we had split up a bit but not by much. We were spooning but there was room, between us, only enough for his wrist to hand over the curve of my waist where his fingers lazily traced a scar.

"What's the scar from?" He asked sleepily.

"Surgery. One of the many I had and some of the lighter scars are skin grafts," I answer quietly.

"I have a scar too, do you want to see?" He asks

"Is this a dirty joke I won't get because if you pull down your boxers-"

"it's not." He answers, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. It was kinda cute. "It's legit scar."

"From what?" I ask curiously.

"I got stabbed," he answers bluntly and I turn around, clearly interested.

"Really? In what situation did you put yourself in to be stabbed?" I turn around and face him, almost as if I'm on top of him and he smirks.

"I was saving a damsel in distress," he replies haughtily and I roll my eyes.

"What damsel would wish to be saved by you?"

"Many, obviously. Even Quasimodo got a girlfriend, why can't I have one?" He pouts and I laugh.

"You do have one, me," I reply and he smiles.

"Yeah, I guess that's good enough for me."

"I better be."

~-~

"How about Fruit Loops?" he picks up the box that was sitting on the top shelf and I shrug.

"Fine, throw them in," he places the box into the shopping cart and I we move down the grocery store's aisle.

"That test kicked my ass," he remarks and I nod.

"I know, it was way harder than I thought-"

"That's what she said."

"Shut up, as I was saying, like what was with the essay? He didn't even give me extra time to finish!" I complain, moving the cart to the check-out line.

"Right? Anyway, what do you want for dinner?" He asks and I shrug.

"Anything is fine by me, I thought you were going to dinner with your family," I remind and he rolls his eyes.

"I'll ditch."

"You should go, Alec. They miss you, I'm sure of it." I remind him.

"Alright, I'll go. But you have to come with me," he adds and I shake my head.

"I can't do that, this is your family's dinner," I remind him and then he shrugs.

"Fine, then I'm not going." He moves down the aisle.

"Don't be stubborn, Alec," I scold and he scoffs.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You know what, I'm not arguing with you," I snap at him and place the groceries on the conveyer belt, "Do what you want."