Meant for More

by Liza James

  "It won't feel like this forever, Bloom." I remind her, pulling her close and pressing a gentle kiss to her salt-stricken lips. "I know it doesn't feel like that now. But at some point, it'll feel better. Your mind will linger on the beautiful moments you guys had together, and the hard memories? They'll fade away and feel like old, bad dreams."

  "Promise?" She asks as she tucks her head down and moves against my chest. I wind my fingers through hers, wrapping her up as tightly as I can.

  "I promise."

  It's Friday night, and the house is slammed with students and teammates. The music pounds through the walls, loud and incessant as I sit on my bed and attempt studying.

  It's useless though. Part of me wants to go out and see what everyone's up to. And the other part of me wants to drive over to Theta Si and spend the night with Bloom again.

  We fell asleep together on her bed, exactly as we were with her small frame tucked between my legs. I pulled the blankets over us, and whenever she'd wake in the middle of the night with new cries and fierce clings to my shirt—I was there.

  I like taking care of her in those moments. I like being the rock she can rely on when everything else seems to be falling apart. This is the first time I've ever genuinely thought about my future and what it looks like for me.

  Who I want by my side through any of my failures or losses. Who I want to be able to rely on when I'm the one lost in my own nightmare.

  But it's always been Bloom, hasn't it?

  Before I even realized she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, it was like my soul had already chosen her. My heart had already decided she'd be my ultimate endgame.

  A sudden crash sounds downstairs, and my eyes launch up toward my door in apprehension.

  Shit, am I going to have to go down there and break something up?

  But nothing else comes after that, and the music continues blasting in the house so I assume everything must be okay. If there's a mess, I'll have the guys clean it up in the morning.

  I tap my pencil against my Color Theory textbook, shifting to my notes in order to scratch down a couple important details. Bloom hasn't been around for the last week or so of class, so I've been staying on top of getting everything ready for when she comes back.

  But then there's another crash, and this time I can hear several people shuffling and shouting words I can't decipher.

  "What the fuck?" I mutter in frustration as I stand and walk toward my door. But just before I reach for my own handle, it flies open and Benj is breathing heavily in the open doorframe.

  "Dude, it's Bloom," he breathes out, and suddenly I hear Liv shouting from downstairs. I push past him and he immediately follows while explaining what happened. "She's trashed. Liv brought her, I think. She fell against the entertainment system."

  Fucking hell.

  Part of me can't believe it, because Bloom doesn't fucking drink. But it's that very thing which tells me how real this is.

  I finally reach downstairs and race toward the front of the house, following the sound of Bloom's slurred words and Liv's anxious voice.

  When I push through the crowd of students, I'm met with the sight of Bloom on her knees while Liv stands behind her. Her hair is a mess, falling around her shoulders in tangled waves. She's wearing one of my Cardinal hoodies, oversized and falling down to her knees which are scraped up and bleeding.

  Liv is holding onto her elbows, trying to pull her up to her feet while Bloom laughs and falls back to the ground.

  "Bloom," I bark out, shoving the guys aside as I walk toward her. I'm not angry, not at her. But I hate how everyone has their eyes on her in this painful moment.

  Go the fuck away and leave my girl alone.

  "Carter—" Liv starts as her head snaps up to me and her eyes soften in relief. "She begged me to—"

  "Carterrrrrrrr," Bloom's loud and boisterous voice rings out in the space and her head lazily lifts toward me while she suddenly tries pulling out of Liv's hold.

  I bend down in front of her, taking her hands in mine when she launches forward. "I told Liv—I told Liv to bring you to me," she says, giggling between her words and grazing her lips across my neck.

  My hands fall to her waist and I attempt putting some space between us so I can look her in the eyes. But it's difficult, and I don't want to upset her while she's like this either.

  "Baby," I whisper, pulling back in order to search her empty gaze. That's exactly what I was worried about. Seeing nothing in the midst of her drunken riot. "Why don't you come crash in my room tonight?"

  It's at that moment everything changes. When I attempt stifling the breakdown she's clearly having.

  Her eyes harden, her frame tenses, and she pulls out of my hold in the next instant.

  What words do I have to describe how I'm feeling? There's several.

  Empty.

  Lost.

  Forgotten.

  Worthless.

  Hopeless.

  Because clearly, I meant nothing to my father—for him to choose this route over getting sober and staying with me.

  I meant nothing.

  I don't know how to fix this. So, I decided to indulge in the very addiction my father so desperately chose over everything else. I needed to numb the pain eating away inside of me. The agony, the desperation, the guilt.

  That leads me here. In this angry, volatile moment with my boyfriend—is he my boyfriend? Not really. No.

  "No," I bite out, feeling the word roll of my tongue in a heavy wave. "I'm having fun tonight. Right? That's what this is," I laugh, because even while I'm angry, this seems really fucking hilarious. "This is fun."

  Carter's eyes soften in concern, and I fucking hate it. Because fuck that, fuck this, and fuck him for trying to stop me.

  "Baby, this isn't it though. We can do this another night, when you're feeling better and we aren't getting ready for—" He pauses, but I can finish his goddamn sentence for him.

  Everything spins as he cuts off, the weight of his unspoken words filtering through my head in stupid, angry, helpless reminders.

  "For what?" I snap, falling back on my ass while Liv tries to catch me. "For my dad’s fucking funeral tomorrow?" I scoff and look away, feeling the floor give out beneath me while I try to make sense of what's happening.

  And then I feel it, the way my blood slows, my movements blend together into one solid obscure haze. Every sound is too loud, and it feels like Carter's still touching me, maybe Liv too, and it's too fucking much.

  It's all too much.

  How could I have fixed this? How could I have saved him?

  I want to throw up, but I force it back down my throat while my hand reaches out for Carter. I want him to hold me, and yet I want to run away from everyone at the same time. I can't make sense of anything, let alone my own fucking feelings.

  I just want to turn back time. Go back to the day I was with my dad, when we were walking in the courtyard and he was telling me how much he loved me.

  He said he loved me. So, why? Why did he do this?

  What did I do wrong that day? Oh god, I did something...I did something that day to make him do this.

  "Baby," Carter's rough voice sloshes through my ears and his eyes look concerned while he grips my shoulders. I fall forward, leaning my head against his chest for a moment. Just for a moment, before I pull back again and fall against Liv.

  "Let me get you some water," he says, his tone kind and yet all too fucking worried at the same time. I can tell—I've known him long enough now to know when he's afraid.

  He's never afraid.

  And for some reason, that makes me laugh. I'm scaring him? Me?

  "I'm just having some fucking fun, Carter!" I scream. I literally shout it through the room as I lean back on my own hands and he slowly stands above me. Why can't anyone understand that?

  He turns around and walks away, moving toward the kitchen.

  Good. Fucking leave.

  "Come on, Bloom. Let's get you
to the couch?" Liv is acting so involved now. She's ridiculous. She's the one who poured all of my shots earlier.

  One more. Another. A fourth. Seventh. And here we are. I'm the one completely obliterated and on the verge of fucking puking. I can't blame her though, I swore to her I just wanted to let loose tonight.

  I even used my dad as an excuse, to tug at her heart strings a bit.

  It clearly worked.

  She lifts my arm and helps me up off the ground. I stumble forward, holding onto her waist as she walks me toward the couch. But my hand slips over her jeans, and it’s then I feel something I should ignore...I know I should.

  But I don't.

  "Carter's getting water?" I ask at the same moment I pull my keys free from her pocket. She drove us here in my car, and I remember where she parked.

  "Yeah, he'll be back in a minute."

  "No, now." I say, forcing a slower beat to my voice as I look at her. "I need water."

  "Okay, okay," she says, eagerly looking for any way to take care of me. I shift my hand under my thigh, tucking my keys underneath so she can't see. "I'll be right back."

  "Thanks." She hurries away, and the few strangers around us have buzzed off as well and gotten back to their own shit. Benj is following Liv, and Lucas hasn't come downstairs. It's a party after all, and one drunk girl isn't anything out of the ordinary.

  I glance to the door, and vaguely wonder how quickly I can make it out without anyone noticing. But I have to go now, because Carter will be back any second. So, I brace my hand on the arm of the couch, pushing myself up and working my way as quickly as I can to the front door.

  I reach the handle and pull it open, missing a step as I walk out and stumbling a few paces forward. I look behind me, but don't see any of my friends yet, so when I see my car straight ahead—I take off.

  Reaching my car door isn't an issue, I get there in only a few seconds and have enough aptitude to unlock my car when I'm there. I pull my door open and fall inside the driver's seat, shuffling with the keys and the ignition until I finally slide it in.

  Lock the doors.

  I do, and when I turn the car on, my heart thumps in my chest at an uncontrollable rate.

  Slow down.

  The voice in the back of my head is fighting to break through, but the haze from feeling this drunk is louder. The pull to do this, to break free, to get away from everyone else.

  That's the strongest.

  I fall forward for a moment, letting my head rest against the steering wheel while my car idles in front of the house.

  Everything feels so heavy. My head, my arms, my legs. My feet when I try to lift them over the fucking peddles.

  My head whips to the side as something crashes against my window. At first, all I can make out is a fist and muffled words I can't seem to comprehend.

  But all of a sudden, it all clicks, and the haze clears enough for me to realize it's Carter.

  My Carter.

  His eyes are wide, his lips pulled tight across his face. His shoulders tense as he fist slams forward again, colliding with the unbroken glass of my window.

  "Bloom!" he shouts, pulling at the door handle while I sway in the front seat. "Open the door, baby."

  "No," I reply, my voice quieter than I intend it to be. "I want to leave."

  "Then let me take you back," he urges, his palm lying flat against the glass while he watches me.

  He's worried. I can see it in his face, hell I can feel it in his presence. I don't even know how that's possible—but I can't always feel him. The unspoken language between two people who care so deeply for each other. It's in the actual atmosphere surrounding you, a voice all its own speaking the things you're unable to say.

  So, why couldn't I have felt that with my dad?

  But I did, didn't I? I knew something was wrong, I felt something was off. Yet, I did nothing. I said nothing because I thought everything was different this time.

  "It's all my fault," I finally tell him. Because god, I have to confess this to someone. I need to speak my fucking sins, let someone know I'm the one who caused this by not doing enough when he was here. "It's my fucking fault he's gone."

  Carter halts his attempts at breaking into my car, his blood smeared across my window with tiny cracks in the solid glass. He watches me for a moment, his palms pressed against the surface while his chest heaves with rapid breaths.

  He drops his head, briefly not meeting my gaze before he finally looks up again. "Bloom, Baby. Let me in," he's begging me. I can hear the pain lacing his voice while his intense gaze bores into my own. "Please."

  I look ahead, breaking eye contact with him while I stare at the empty, dark road ahead of me. My car is still on, an easy switch into drive so I can finally fucking leave. I lift my hand to the shifter as I brace to pull it down two notches.

  "Bloom!" he shouts again, and the sound breaks through my movements in jagged shards of agony. "Don't fucking do it. Don't do it. Please."

  A new rage bursts in my chest, billowing through my entire body like a wildfire consuming my flesh.

  Everything hurts. God, everything hurts so fucking badly.

  I feel it before it hits, the sudden wave rolling up my throat and breaking free of my lips on a rough and sharp scream.

  I scream. Loudly and uncontrollably. Painfully and in suffering.

  My fingers wrap tightly around the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white while I release every ounce of pent up anger and sadness inside of me.

  And then I keep going, I keep screaming and screaming and screaming until my voice is raw and hoarse. Tears stream down my face in salty reminders of what my reality actually is.

  No matter how drunk I am, he's still gone. No matter how hard I try to forget or change things, he's still gone.

  "Baby," Carter's sad voice finally slips across my ears when I fall back against my seat. My breaths are coming quickly, burning through my lungs when I twist my head toward him. "Open the door."

  My hand awkwardly fumbles with the handle until I pull it free, and the second I do, Carter's yanking my door open. The cool night air splashes my skin in everything I needed without realizing it. I gasp, forcing a deeper breath as his hands slide behind my back and under my thighs.

  He drags me into his arms and shifts us around so his back is leaning against my car while we sit in the street. He reaches out and shuts my door before bringing his arm back against me.

  "I'm sorry," I cry, pressing my face into his chest while his hands grip onto my tightly as if he's refusing to let me go. "I'm sorry." I don't mean to scare him. Shit, I knew I shouldn't drive, but the call was too loud, the need to be gone, to be free of all of this pain was too strong.

  "Don't be sorry, baby," he reassures me, pressing his lips to my skin while his chest rises and falls underneath me. I can feel his heart pounding under his skin, his warmth seeping into my form, marking my blood and bringing me home.

  Home.

  He always feels like home.

  "I should have done more," I say, forcing the words out of my mouth again. "I could have stopped this. I could have fixed it before it happened."

  "No, baby," he says, his voice gentle and hesitant. "You couldn't have though. This wasn't your fault, it wasn't his. It—it was out of your control, Bloom. You have to know that." His fingers weave through mine as he lifts my hand and holds it against his cheek. He's feeling me, and god, to be felt? I didn't know how grateful I could be for this moment.

  "But how could that be true, Carter? How could I have done nothing?" I look away from him as the sobs keep falling and my head keeps spinning.

  "He was sick, baby. I'm so sorry for that, but you cannot carry this on your shoulders for the rest of your life. You can't." Carter shifts forward and turns me toward him, so he can look directly in my face as he speaks. He presses both of his hands against my cheeks, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to face him. "Your dad loved you more than anyone in the entire world. But not even you could have
changed this. He gave you that last day as your final memory of him, and it’s a beautiful, beautiful thing, Bloom."

  My lower lip quivers, my hands shaking as I twist them into his shirt and against his hard stomach. His legs are on either side of me, caging me in while his hands continue caressing my face.

  It's like he's holding me together completely at this point, and I can't help but want to get lost in him while I fall apart.

  I fall forward and Carter's head rests against mine. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me while I lose myself entirely. Sob after sob slip from my lips while my body shatters in the darkness.

  But he picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he stands and walks us back toward the house. I don't hear anything else, I don't feel anything other than Carter's strength while he steps inside his home and walks us through the surrounding crowds.

  He carries me up to his room and inside, tucking me into his bed as he crouches in front of me. His eyes search my own, his hand lifting brushing my tear-soaked hair away from my face. I suck in my bottom lip and bite down, attempting to force back another sob as it threatens to break free. He leans forward and presses the softest kiss to my cheek, then to my jaw, to my chin, over my lips, across each eye.

  Slow. Gentle. Compassionate.

  He pulls back and with a kind smile on his face, he wipes a tear from my cheek and moves to lift it to his own lips. Our tradition. But I dart. My hand forward and grip his, pushing it down so he can’t. I don’t know why, but I’m too upset right now to linger on the thought.

  “No, Carter,” I say firmly, my voice hoarse on strained words as I fight back the tiniest smile.

  But his eyes harden just a bit as he grips my hand tightly and pulls it against his chest. “No,” he demands, just as he lifts his other hand and brushes his thumb under my eye again. “We don’t break tradition. You give me this.”

  I sigh out, strangely feeling the wash of familiarity and relief in what he’s asking of me. He slips his thumb against his lips and into his mouth, taking my pain for himself in the only way he can right now.