But the reality is I don’t come from a politically entrenched family, I have no clue how to go about running for public office in the first place, and,hellooo, Carter had to teach me how to fold my damn clothes.
Like I’d be able to keep track of campaign finance laws and all that bullshit.
Besides, I’m not exactly some narcissistic, macho asshole who can go grab the highest office in our state by the balls. I’m not built like that. I’m more a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. My ignominious start in the dorm this year notwithstanding, I’m usually a pretty organized kind of guy. Power behind the throne.
That’s where I’m most comfortable. Especially since I don’t want to trade my personal freedom for public attention.
I helped a friend of mine get elected to student council all four years in high school. He went to college in Colorado, though. But I helped out with student elections here last year. Helped with campaign organization.
I’m great with that kind of stuff, analyzing data and making it make sense, crunching numbers, seeing patterns.
I want to do something…bigger than myself. With bigger meaning.
Make a name for myself away from my mother and her voice in my head slicing through my hopes and dreams and telling me that I’m not smart or persevering enough to make it on my own without her help and her money.
I need to survive college first. That’s step one.
Step two? Law school.
Passing the bar exam is step three. A pretty big step, because it’s fucking hard to pass.
Carter turns in before I do, so I use my laptop and earbuds to watch Netflix instead of turning on my TV. I don’t want to keep the guy awake after how nice he’s been.
I also don’t know him well enough to risk watching porn tonight. I need to get to know him better before I take those kinds of risks around him.
It’s around midnight when I finally shut my laptop off so I can get up to use the bathroom before turning in.
Removing my earbuds, that’s when I hear it.
A muffled moan from the other side of the room. It does not sound like a sexy moan, either.
I peek around the end of the bookshelf. Carter lies splayed on his bed, facedown, both hands tightly fisted in the covers and his face buried in his pillow.
He’s thrashing a little, and I realize he’s having a nightmare.
Torn, I stand there watching, listening, feeling guilty and uneasy. He warned me not to scare him, so I’m afraid to walk over and touch him and shake him out of it.
I also realize he’s crying.
Whatever nightmare currently has him in its grasp, I don’t want to know the details. It must be miserable to make him sound like that.
I end up taking the coward’s way out and fake a loud cough before stepping into the bathroom, where I close the door behind me with the amount of noise I would normally make if we were both awake. I make no attempt to stay quiet as I do what I need to in there.
When I emerge, Carter’s sitting on the edge of his bed, near the end, feet on the floor, head in his hands. In the dim light spilling through our shared window, I can see his chest heaving, like he’s just run a marathon.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he hoarsely says without looking up.
I get settled in bed. On the other side, I hear him stand, a long exhalation of breath, and then more sounds, like he’s straightening the covers.
“Thanks,” he softly says in the dark. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” I wish there was more I could do for him.
Unfortunately, I suspect it’s a battle only he can fight.
Chapter Five
