𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, charlie conway

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | the knight and the superhero

     IT'S 7:15 AND CARRIE is already in the bathroom at school. The morning had been quite eventful, by her own intent of course. She had an early morning practice for the cheerleading squad which had finished up about 15 minutes before. And in those last 15 minutes, a lot had transpired.

Cheerleading had a morning practice one day each week, while varsity hockey had three. Today was the one day of crossover; the one day where her and Cole would cross paths out of school hours. And considering it had only been a few days since they had talked and she had taken his jacket, this was the perfect time.

Now, staring at herself in the dented plastic mirror, she wonders if her choice was the right one. She first washes her hands and dries them, before realizing she still felt gross and washing them again. Then she wets a paper towel and starts washing around her eyes, wiping up the mascara streaks; cleaning the canvas. She downs an Ibuprofen and follows it with a stick of gum, chewing so hard she thought her teeth would get stuck in it. Gripping the porcelain sink, she's trying to talk herself through what she just did.

He really likes you, and he's been nothing but kind to you. I mean, he gave you his jacket for crying out loud. If all he wants is one measly little favor from you, you're doing well — scoring big. And so what if you don't like the favor, it's a rite of passage, and it was quick. It wasn't hard.

But she's lying to herself. While her feelings toward Cole were true, Carrie wasn't dying to suck him off. She tried to rationalize it as a necessary evil, a pit-stop on her fast track to love and a trust fund, but what she did felt nothing like the love she was so eager to give. It was even more degrading to her that she had been on her knees in the darkness of an empty closet; she wanted to be looked at, to know what she was doing. But she wasn't able to.

She takes a few more deep breaths before leaving the tiled room, knowing Cole is waiting for her. She takes his jacket off and lets her hair down as she walks to him.

"What are you trying to give it back to me for? I gave it to you, I want you to keep wearing it." Cole sighs.
"Really? You're sure? I do have my own if you're just worried about me being cold." She smiles.
"No, take it." He takes her hands, trying to focus her on him. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, fine. Just had to fix my mascara is all."
Uneasy. She was reading as uneasy, and Cole knew that somehow. But he didn't know why.

"It was on my mind the whole time... what Rick was trying to do with your sister." He continues.
"I'm sorry about all that, my brother has a tendency to overreact, but you know that already."
"No, you don't have to be sorry. I'm sorry he did that, I saw the look on your face. We just didn't know she was, uh..."
"Didn't know she had amnesia? That's not your fault. We don't exactly talk about it." She tries to deflect. The problem to her was Rick, not Cole at all, even though Cole was a major contributor to the system that continually persecuted people like Charlie.

"Still, she was clearly young and he knew she wasn't all right. He just wanted to get back at Conway."
"I know. Charlie gets himself into trouble..."
"Yeah, he does."
The two notice the once-quiet hall is now beginning to fill, and decide they don't have long until Chris and their friends come along. They don't want judgment — they need to keep this a secret.

Cole kisses Carrie quick and pats her shoulder. "I'll see you."
"See you." She tries to smile, but as soon as he turns she's overcome with this feeling of mortification. She would have told him she loved him right then if he wanted her to, even after all that, but all he had to say was "I'll see you?"

She tries to focus on the good of it for the rest of the day, how she finally had somebody who cared about her (and apparently about Crystal, somewhat) and would go out of their way to show it. But part of her feels like for once, maybe she should have just stuck to what she had with her family.