Perfect Strangers

16| Trauma

Chapter 16: Trauma (Carter's POV)

It was about ten pm and I was lying in bed, scrolling through Netflix on my laptop, looking for something to watch. I was a little worried when I dropped Alex home earlier because I could hear them arguing from her front door. It's a rich neighborhood and all the houses are huge. 

That only worried me more because that must have meant they were arguing pretty loud. 

My phone rang on my nightstand and I glanced over, answering immediately when her name flashed on my screen. "Hello?" I asked. 

"Are you home?" she asked, sniffling a little. 

I sat up while closing my laptop, already on my way downstairs. "Yeah, I'm home," I answered, "Come over." 

She doesn't have to ask, she can come over whenever she wants. 

"Thanks," she said before hanging up. 

I opened the front door and waited outside while she walked, staring down at her feet. I waited till she made it over to me before saying anything. "Are you okay, Alex?" I asked hesitantly. 

It's not always the smartest question. 

"Yeah, I just um- I uh-" 

"It's all right. Come on," I nodded. 

"Maybe I should just-" 

"Come on," I didn't let her finish as I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her towards and into my house with me right behind her. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked as we entered my kitchen and I handed her a water bottle. 

"I don't know," she groaned, resting her arms on the table and her head on her arms. 

"Take your time," I replied. 

"I just don't know how to deal with it anymore," she let out an exhausted sigh while sitting up. "It's been happening my whole freaking life and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hearing them arguing non-stop. It's like I'm replaying the same moment over and over again and I have to live through it each time. 

It caused so much trauma as a kid and when I'm up in my room trying to block it all out, I still feel like that six-year-old girl whose parents are arguing downstairs in the kitchen," she paused, "I just can't put up with it anymore. It's every damn day, it's just too much. She needs to leave. 

They're divorced, it doesn't make sense for her to stay. Just because she can't get a place? That's not our problem then. She doesn't even come out of that freaking studio she's made. I've had one parent my whole life and that has been my dad. Even at the times where I needed a mother. I've had one parent, and one woman living off of my dad. It's just annoying," she rambled. 

"Tell her." 

She looked up at me, "You don't think we have?" 

"No, Alex. You tell her. Straight up. Tell her to leave. You're her daughter, she'll listen," I nodded. 

"I'm her daughter, that's why I can't do it. She's still my mom, you know? However, she is. Every time I think of telling her, I start thinking about how quiet the house would be. How there would be no paint stains around the place, no brushes lying around. It'll be like she was never there," she groaned into her palms. 

"Yeah, but maybe if she leaves, she'll realize that she does have a daughter," I said while walking over, pulling her hands away from her face, "Who is worth more than paints and a canvas." 

She stared at me while slowly shaking her head. "What if she just leaves and- she never looks back?" 

That could happen, there's no doubt it could.