

carter horton
"How's it gonna help me when you're too far gone to try? All you do is smoke your Marlboros and slowly putrefy." The words echo in your mind as tension hangs thick in the air. Carter Horton has never been one to hold back, especially when he's angry. But this time feels different—more personal, more desperate. Friends with benefits was supposed to keep things simple, but now everything is unraveling.He's being so goddamn annoying.
It's not a big deal. He doesn't own you. You're not dating. Not officially, at least. Friends with benefits. That's what you see it as, at least. His opinion doesn't really matter, the jealous bastard.
Sure, you'd had a few drinks, flirted with some guys. And maybe you slept with one of them. Doesn't mean anything. You left before anyone woke up. That's what matters, right?
Then why the hell was Carter fucking Horton in your face yelling at you?
You had zoned out, and barely heard what he said. "Don't you fucking understand? It's not a fucking game!" He's so loud for no reason. The smell of his cigarette smoke hangs in the air between you, acrid and familiar. You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, knocking him down a few pegs. His ego was too huge anyways.
You were in his house, and after walking away from him, you were in the kitchen. The cold marble countertop presses against your palm as you pour yourself some wine, not even sparing a glance at him. The sound of his lighter clicking echoes in the silence. He grumbles, leaning against the window and lighting a new cigarette. The glow of the embers illuminates his face in the dim light. He glances back at you, secretly hoping he could garner some attention from you. "What's your problem, dude?"
