Carter
August 2014
How many more times can I be forced into going out by my teammates or my best friend, Becky? I know I'm only twenty-two years old, but I'm so tired. I find it funny, but according to my doctor, I may also have a drinking problem. Since when is having eight drinks at college a big deal? By that logic, wouldn't most college students have some form of a drinking problem?
Honestly, I’m not sure why I even drink. Part of me loves it because of how amazing it makes me feel. Who doesn’t love knocking back a few vodka sodas and seeing where you end up or who you end up with? I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but drinking is also a way to help alleviate my anxieties.
I know…why would a star running back on the Albany Bobcats, who's destined to get drafted to the NFL, have anxiety? Well, I wish I knew. Anxiety definitely plays a significant role in my life, and alcohol helps my mind feel more relaxed.
Becky is on her way here, so getting dressed should be my top priority. I'm an extremely basic person. Light brown khaki shorts and a wrinkled blue Henley usually do the trick.
"HELLO! Are you ready to forget our names?" I hear Becky scream as she barges into my one-bedroom apartment. You'd think someone that loud and annoying would get on my nerves, but I can't help but love her. Becky's one of those people who stick around. No matter what's going on, my family issues, my anxiety, football, Becky is always there. She may also be a terrible influence. Or maybe I'm the bad influence.
"Hey, hey," I greet Becky as she starts making our usual vodka sodas.
"Carter, what's the plan for tonight? Obviously, we're going to the Football House, but I mean, what's the plan after?"
This is a typical conversation between Becky and me, and it always revolves around whether I'll be her wingman and whether she'll need to be my wingwoman.
“I’m going to lay low tonight and get extremely drunk,” I exhale. “If I hook up with someone, I hook up with someone. You know me, I always end up hooking up, but it never goes further.”
“Yeah, what’s that about, Carter? You’ve gotta stop being a little bitch and live it up.”
As much as Becky is my best friend, telling her everything about my life isn't in the cards. I've always enjoyed hooking up with girls, even going down on them. The issue is the actual sex part. It's embarrassing, but getting it up when I'm with a girl is rare for me. I always make some excuse when it gets to that point. I don't want rumors spreading that I'm unable to get it up or, God forbid, that I don't like girls. I know Becky is as liberal as they come, but I have no idea what I even am at this point, so I'm just letting it ride.
As we walk into the Football House, I'm already four drinks deep and feeling good. Becky isn't friends with anyone on theteam, so she immediately makes her way toward the bar. I'm greeted by the team's quarterback, Greg Morgan, and our star defensive tackle, Marcus Jones. Besides Becky, I'd say Greg and Marcus are my best friends.
Greg is about 6'4" with hair as blond as Draco from Harry Potter. He’s definitely on the quieter side, but once you get to know him, he’s a total lunatic. Marcus, on the other hand, has dark skin and is built like an ox. Honestly, he terrifies me just by existing due to the fact that he could kick anyone’s ass in a second. But he’s also probably the nicest person I know. The best part? These two love to party.
“Yo Carter, how we feeling tonight? Practice under this new coach is brutal,” Greg says as we walk toward the keg.
“Coach Mitchell kind of sucks. Can you explain the point of having us tackle each other and actually hurt each other during practice?” I say while filling up my drink. “I understand that I
get hit during games, but the last thing I need is to get destroyed during practice!”
Marcus looks at me and laughs. “I personally enjoy doing the hitting. Now stop being a little bitch and fill my drink.”
As I fill it, I can't help but feel good. I'm with my friends. I see Becky chatting with some guy from her English class. But I still can't get out of my head. Usually, alcohol helps when I feel this way. I randomly get these weird sensations, like something's wrong or something bad is going to happen. When it hits, I get these heat flashes. At least, that's what I call them.
“Bro, you good? Your face is leaking,” laughs Marcus. He’s not wrong; I’m legit sweating so much it looks like my nipples are lactating.
“I’m gonna head outside for a quick breather. I’ll be back,” I whisper to Marcus and Greg, then walk toward the back door.
It makes no sense. I know most of the people here. Everyone’s nice. I just randomly get in my head and need thesebreathers. Luckily, it usually happens right when I enter a party or new place and goes away after a few minutes. I just need those ten minutes of bliss outside, alone, with my icy Bud Light.
I do love this backyard. It's spacious and welcoming. The house is massive, with seven bedrooms and three bathrooms. Both Greg and Marcus live here, which works great for me since I always feel at home. But the backyard is my favorite part. There's a five-person hot tub, a grill, a patio sofa, and way in the corner of this 10,000-square-foot yard, a hammock.
You don’t have to ask me twice. I head for the hammock.
The netted hammock, which could probably fit three people, is so far in the corner it’s hard to see. As I walk over, I see a guy lying there. The only thing he’s holding is a guitar.
At first, I’m jealous, jealous that he’s at a party without a drink in his hand. I find that admirable. Maybe even impressive. It might be pathetic, but that’s how I feel.
Nate
“Please stop walking here, please stop walking here,” I whisper out loud. Why is Carter Elliot walking toward me? What could he possibly want? I purposely sat on this hammock to practice my guitar set for the few songs I’m playing later. I still have no idea why the Football House is paying me to perform for half an hour. Is this some kind of joke they're playing on the quiet kid?
As Carter moves a bit closer, I can see his blue-green eyes, short dirty blond hair, and lightly tanned skin up close; he's definitely attractive. I don't know much about him other than that he's a great football player, and everyone in the damn school seems to love him. He probably has women drooling over him all the time. The last thing a straight guy needs is some quirky, confused guy ogling him.
