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The door shut, and Carter’s footsteps disappeared. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Given the events of the night, Tate looked peaceful. His dark lashes fluttered against the freckles smattering his cheeks. His chest rose and fell softly with each breath. He had a rough morning ahead of him, but he was at least getting some rest for now. I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling far different from the last time I took to that perch. The sounds inside Tate’s apartment faded away and soon, silence fell over the dorm, all except for the quiet sound of his breathing.
I used my wings to cover myself, the thick skin serving as a shield for the chill in the air, and only once I was certain that Tate wasn’t going to wake up, I let myself fall into a deep sleep.
Chapter 7
TATE
I didn’t look back once I ran out of the frat house. I couldn’t bear to see Luc’s face. My vision swam in front of me, and the evidence of my crimes quickly created a sticky mess in my pants. My quick pace jolted my stomach, and I didn’t make it ten feet before the stupid organ lurched, the burn of the tequila threatening to repeat.
By some miracle, I made it back to my dorm. I hadn’t even known that Carter followed me until I heard his voice. “What the hell happened?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to answer, but it wasn’t words that decided to crawl up my throat. It was the tequila, slithering up my esophagus like its sticky, slimy namesake.
Carter must have seen the color drain from my face, because he had his hands on my shoulders and steered me toward the bathroom before I could think twice about it. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet, officially determining that the tequila tasted even worse coming back up. Now I knew why Carter didn’t drink. This was fucking awful.
Why did anyone drink?
In spite of my protests in between heaving, Carter stayed with me the entire time. He somehow worked my hoodie off in between bouts of vomiting, and peeled sweat-sticky hair away from my face, whispering soothing words to me the entire time, which only made my eyes water for a whole other reason.
My sister had been a sick baby, which required a large amount of my parents’ attention. If any one of us boys got a cold or the stomach flu, we were on our own. I spent many nights hugging the trash can next to my bed, or setting alarms to remember to take cold medicine on time and monitoring my own temperature. I’d never had anyone to sit by my side and rub my back, or bring me a cold glass of water when I could finally breathe. In favor of drinking it, I pressed the glass to my heated forehead, trying to catch my breath. My lungs burned and my stomach ached.
I needed to get up and brush my teeth.
I needed to change my pants.
The dried cum in my underwear was past the point of uncomfortable, but I didn’t trust myself to stand yet. My legs quivered at even the thought. Carter leaned in the doorway, eyeing me warily. When a knock sounded from our front door, he hesitated.
“Go ahead,” I told him. Maybe I could slip away and change my clothes while he was distracted.
“You sure?”
I could only nod. My mouth was beginning to water again in that ominous way that happened right before I started spewing my guts again.
Carter pointed at the glass in my hand. “Drink that,” he commanded, and then he was gone.
I heard him talking to someone, and a sinking feeling in my stomach told me it was Luc. I sipped at the water to ease the swirling in my gut, but it was in vain. I only got a couple of sips in before my stomach protested and I was throwing up all over again. Even worse, the only thing I could think about was how Luc felt with his arms around me. It was like my body craved his touch.
Fuck, how did I have anything left? My stomach ached. I splayed a hand across the burning muscles. Tears burned my eyes, more out of frustration than anything else. I… didn’t feel right. My head was starting to spin, my vision beginning to blur at the edges, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Carter,” I whimpered before I could even stop myself. I’d adjusted way too fast to having him around.
And it did little to help my fragile state when he called back, “I’ll be right there, baby.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur. I didn’t get sick again, but there were times where I wished I had—such as Carter walking in with a change of clothes for me, and pointedly glancing at my lap. “Do you need my help?” he asked.
I originally shook my head no but after standing outside the door for a full ten minutes, Carter made the executive decision to ignore that answer. I prepared myself for the teasing and ridicule, but none of that came. Instead, Carter murmured soft phrases in Korean, cleaning me up with a warm washcloth and dressing me in fresh pajamas. He even supported me so I could brush my teeth.
Finally, I found the sweet solace of my bed. The mattress probably wasn’t as comfortable as it felt but after hours of my head spinning and my stomach emptying its contents, I welcomed every lump and the old, tattered comforter I’d brought from home.
Before I could complain about the bright overhead light, my bedside lamp flipped on and the offending light was turned off. I swore Carter said something before he left, but I was already too close to sleep to focus too hard on what it was.
I awoke the next morning to a pounding headache and a rumbling stomach. How the organ had the audacity to demand food after the night before was beyond me. My eyes were stuck shut with the dried evidence of my pathetic tears the night before, and my tongue felt like it was wearing a wool sweater, even though I’d brushed my teeth.
Well, I guess the hopes of blacking out and not remembering the embarrassing events was a lost cause.
Rolling onto my back, I stretched out and groaned at the ache in my stomach.
Carter had the right idea–drinking sucks.
Sunlight filtered in through the window, and it was then that I noticed that my curtains had been left open. It was odd, but I didn’t think too much of it. Carter had done enough babying last night; I could forgive the curtains.
