Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 23: Carter

Coming here might be the worst thing I've ever done, which honestly isn't saying much. Most people would be surprised that I could qualify this as the worst thing. But most people don't know me.

When I saw Emma confront Stacy today, it made me think about the people in my life. Specifically about how certain people wrote me off for simply existing, for being who I am. Mostly, these people don't matter. They have their own problems that they can't see past. They want to make me some kind of scapegoat so that they feel better about their pathetic little lives. If I'm the gum on their shoe, then they can always be better than me. At least they'll have that.

But two of these people matter, and I hate that they do.

My fist hovers over the front door of my mom's parent's house. I've never considered these people my grandparents, because they should have been present at least once in my life to earn that title. One moment, one instant, and I would gladly call them that.

When Mom was dating Dad, her parents threatened to kick her out of the house, and when they found out she was pregnant, they threatened to disown her. They actually did force her to move out when she made the decision to keep me.

They told her to make a choice. Me or them.

My mom has talked to me about this a lot. She has told me time and time again that the choice should be up to the mother. It's her life, her future, her body. Her parents pressured her, and she hated it. They made her feel like the "right" thing to do was to get rid of me.

She told me, "Being pregnant as a teenager sucked. It felt impossible sometimes, and being a teen mom was even harder. But it was my decision. No one else's. You get that?" She'd end her speech by smacking me on the shoulder and telling me to never get anyone pregnant, because she'd leave it up to the girl to make the decision.

And to be honest, I'm terrified that said non-existent girl would want to start a family. I am proud that my mom chose to raise me, but I am no where near ready. Might never be.

Mom, despite keeping me, does believe in the right to choose. "Just because I want all women to have the right doesn't mean I had to make the choice for myself. It's my choice. Not my parents, not your father's. It was always my choice, and that's how it should be."

Her parents hated her decision, but a part of me suspects that she decided to keep me after Adam died. I'm not sure, but from the timeline I've put together, it makes sense.

Point is, she made a choice. Her parents thought she was throwing away her life, so they threw  away her. There's something so hypocritical about this fact that it makes anger seethe into my veins. This frustration is part of why I've never come here before. They are the only people who make me feel like actual trouble. Trouble before I was born, and trouble now.

I knock on the door. Three clear concise knocks, and I cross my arms over my chest, preparing for whatever happens next. I wait. My heart beats rapid fire as the anger burns inside me, because they have been so cruel. How could they claim to love my mom when they drove her away?

Parents should be better than that.

Footsteps sound on the other side of the door, and I hesitate. I still have enough time to turn and run away, pretend it was just a prank. I don't want to be here. I don't want to face them. I'm going to explode and say things I do mean, and that's why standing here is terrifying.

There's a slide of a bolt and a click of a lock, and I already think these people are crazy before they swing the door inward.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. My mom never had photos of them around our place. But these people look young. Younger than most grandparents. And it starts to click into place, why they would have forbidden my mom to become a teen mom herself. They appear to be in their late forties, maybe fifties. Barely any gray hairs showing and only some trace whispers of wrinkles around their eyes. They're a bit rounder, a far cry from the thinness of my mom. Though, these people probably eat better than my small family.