Seven days.

It has been seven days and Carson still hasn't come out of his room. 

My mom didn't have much of a problem with it, as of right now. As long as he allowed her in his room at least once a day to check on his self-inflicted injuries, and ate some amount of the food she would bring to his door, she wouldn't fight him on it yet. 'There's nothing more we can do until he's ready to be helped,' she said when I pressed her on it.

I just- I thought this would only last for a day or two. But it's been seven. And with every day that goes by, I'm more and more frustrated about how little I know.

I didn't want to push him or anything, but I had just assumed that he would want to talk about whatever the hell had happened by now. 

I couldn't force him. I guess I understood what my mom said: it wouldn't mean anything unless he wanted it to. I could lock him in my room until he told me what was going on, but it wouldn't do any good.

At this point, I didn't even care if he wouldn't talk to me. I just wanted him to talk to someone about what was going on. As long as he let someone in, as long as he had someone he felt comfortable talking to, it didn't have to be me. I wish it would be him, but just as long as he no longer felt alone, or the need to isolate himself. 

Another bolt of lightning struck out across the sky, illuminating the world for a mere second. Then, the sky was back to the pitch black it had been for hours on end. 

The cool breeze felt good from my balcony. It was going to rain any time now. I always enjoyed the calm before the storm. However, it wasn't as comforting as it usually is. The more I tried to not think about Carson, the more I thought about Carson. It was like he dug a hole in my brain and now he was stuck in there forever. 

It was weird: I wanted to be angry at him. I wanted to yell at him for what he did to himself. And I wanted to kill him for being so stupid instead of asking any of us for help or to talk. In fact, I wanted to hate him. In fact, I did hate him. 

But I couldn't hate him, not really. Not anymore at least. 

Placing my head in my hands, I took a deep breath before heading back inside. I had a good feeling that the power would soon go out, so I pulled a bunch of candles out of my drawer and started placing them around my room, lighting each with a match along the way.

Just as I finished, thunder grumbled loudly from the distance, shaking everything in my room. The rain came next. It was poured down, hitting the ground with loud pitter-patters. 

Once I could smell the wet pavement, I closed the doors to my balcony, locking them and closing the curtains. The room glowed in a warm, yellow tint from the wavering light of the candles.

The ceiling light above me flickered after an especially bright crack of lightning. I decided to switch my light off now and rely on the candles. I was going to go to bed soon, anyway, so the dim lighting wouldn't be too much of a bother.

Another loud bout of thunder caught me by surprise. I could hear the rain splattering against the ground, even with all my windows closed. My thoughts returned to Carson again. It occurred to me that even though he would probably try to get rid of me again, I should check on him.

To be honest, I probably didn't need to. He's a grown man and it's a thunderstorm, not a tornado. Really, if I was being truthful, it was just a lame excuse to go to him and possibly get him to talk to me.

I wasn't even sure how to go about it. What could I say to make him not kick me out immediately? 

I debated it for a minute, whether it was even a good idea to try. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and accidentally make it worse, and make him even less inclined to come to me when he was ready.

I opened the door to my room, shocked to find Carson standing there. My mouth fell slightly open on a silenced gasp. His head was down and his eyes were half-closed, and it seemed he hadn't noticed that I opened the door and was standing in front of him now.

He finally looked up when he moved to knock. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes were pleading, begging me to make the first move.

"Um, do you want to come in?" I asked, my voice catching a bit in my throat.

He jerked his head, in an almost-nod fashion, but didn't move at all. His feet stayed planted where they were as he hugged his arms around himself. Slowly, as to not startle him and scare him away, I reached out and took hold of one of his hands. 

 "Come in. Come sit down." His hand tightened around mine as I led him over to my bed. He sat as close to the edge of the bed as possible, like a calculated measure so that he could run.

He stared down at his hands, folded in his lap around the hand of mine that he hadn't let go of. I decided to give him a moment to settle, and took the opportunity to get a good look at his injuries. His black eye was starting to heal; it wasn't nearly as swollen and the edges were taking on a yellowish tint. His face was no longer a ghastly pale, as some color had returned. Most of his cuts and gashes were starting to scab.

Overall, he looked much better now. However, anything is better than seeing him covered with fresh blood and open cuts. 

"I um-" he started, but cut himself off. He shook his head. 

"I-" he tried again. 

I watched as the stony facade he had put on gradually became undone. His lips faltered, pursing downward into a pout. His brows loomed closely over his glossed eyes, and he blinked frantically to keep a tear from falling.

I wanted to reach out and touch his face. I wanted to soothe the crease between his brows and stop his lip from quivering. His grip on my hand tightened, effectively clamping it between his hands. I didn't move in fear of frightening him. 

He just kept repeating it over and over, "I um, I um, I um."

Every time he said it, he began to shake more, and the rest of his words would catch in his throat. His eyes flickered around the room frantically, His foot, which was hanging down the side of the bed, was shaking up and down furiously. And soon, the seal broke, and he was crying. And he let himself cry. He didn't try to rub away the tears or keep them from falling. The cries turned into loud sobs that competed with the sound of thunder outside.  

"Carson," I said gently.

He didn't look up right away, and at first, I wasn't sure he heard me. I questioned whether I had even spoken at all. 

But then, he looked up at me with sad, watery green eyes, and it was enough to make my skin crawl. I took his face between my hands, bringing him as close to me as I could. He was still crying as I placed a kiss on his forehead. I guided his face to my shoulder, letting my arms fall to encircle him. He pressed himself into me, his arms shooting around my waist as he ducked his head into my chest, sobbing once again.

I had my chin rest on top of his head, and gently rocked him between my tightly wound arms. I felt something wet on my face. It took me until I watched a tear drop into his hair for me to realize I was crying, too. 

Something about seeing the strongest person you know cry is kind of terrifying. No one really prepares you for that.  

I don't know how long we just sat there. It was a while though, and for all of it, I hadn't said anything. Eventually, his sobs slowed down into hiccups and became less frequent than his sniffles. He never let go though; his tight hold on my waist was enough to leave marks.

He pulled away a minuscule amount. Not enough to no longer feel the warmth of his body, but enough for me to see all of his face. He used his shoulder to try and dry off his cheek. I took his jaw and my hand to get him to stop, and reached to my nightstand for a tissue.

"I'm sorry," he said, as I gently dried his face of his tears. He stared blankly at my collarbone. 

"Don't be."

"I need to tell you something," he continued, his voice trembling. "And it's not easy."

"Okay," I responded. I took one of his hands in mine, interlocking our fingers, and placed them down on his knee. "Whatever it is, I'm right here."

He took in a deep breath. "I have a sister."

I smiled, "Honey, I know that. When you first moved in, my parents mentioned that she would be staying at her boarding school." I felt even more confused now. There had to be more. Of course I knew he had a sister, and regardless, I couldn't understand why that would upset him.

He closed his eyes and took another deep inhale through his nose. And then the other shoe dropped. 

"She's sick, Madeline. She has cancer."

My smile fell from my face. My mind felt overwhelmed as I re-processed everything I knew about Katie. It was a painful realization that most of what I knew about her was a fabricated cover story. I would only ever see her when we hung out at Carson's place, but we haven't really been there much since freshman year. I always accredited not seeing her around at all now to her being at boarding school. But it was all a lie.

Now I understood why Carson rarely talked about her, and I know that most of what has told me is probably an altered version of the truth. The teacher that she loves, Miss Mary, is probably her favorite nurse. She has her own room, most likely because she is too sick to be with anyone else.

"How bad is it?"

He shrugged, "She was supposed to be getting better. I've been on the phone with her doctor almost every day trying to figure out what the hell is going on."

He paused again, screwing his eyes shut and shaking his head. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. I squeezed his hand, pulling it closer to me, and patiently waited for him to begin again.  

"She's um- she's not going to live much longer," He began shaking again. "I tried calling my parents, but they haven't answered. I don't think they're going to make it back in time."

Up to now, getting him to say anything was like pulling teeth. It was like every word was being physically plucked from inside him, and he was trying to save himself from the hurt. But now, now that he started, he couldn't get himself to stop.

"She was supposed to live. She's supposed to be getting better," he said again, his words coming out as hoarse, half-sobs. "She's supposed to get to go home soon, and walk and live. And now she's going to have a funeral, and-" his eyes widened, as the reality of what he said reached his ears. He shook his head frantically, his eyes welling up with tears again. "She can't have a funeral. I can't go-"

He was spiraling, now. His mind lost clear sight of the facts, and now his emotions were preying on him. I placed my hand on his jaw, quietly hushing him until he stopped his ramble. "Let's take this one step at a time. Okay?" He nodded. "Is this what the whole alley thing was about?"

His eyes dashed away from mine, fleeting somewhere to my right before he hesitantly nodded his head. "That night. Katie's doctor called. He finally had an update. Three weeks. He gave her three lousy weeks."

Carson looked like he was going to cry again, his bottom lip jutting out. I knew he must love his sister; whenever he does talk about her, you can see it on his face. But still, he's not really the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve. I never thought I'd ever see him so broken over someone. But here he was, and I felt helpless.

"Carson," I started. "I know it's hard. Something is happening that you have no control over, and that's hard and frustrating, but that's just it. You beat yourself up about something that is out of your control. And now, you've spent a whole week having to take care of yourself rather than your sister, who probably needs you right now."

"I know," he said, hanging his head. "I fucked up. I'm a fuck up."

"No, you're not," I responded, taking his face in my hands. "You're just in shock. You're hurt and you're angry. But you should have talked to someone. You should've... you should've come to me."

He shook his head, "I didn't know if– I didn't know. I didn't want to put this on you."

I felt like punching a goddamn wall. There was more I wanted to say. You shouldn't have shut me out. You shouldn't have pushed me away. You should have just let me fucking in for once.

But I didn't. I couldn't be angry at him right now– that would be selfish.

"I would listen, Carson," I responded. "I'd always listen."

"I'm sorry," he sniffled. "I should've come to you. I wanted to. All week. I didn't know how to."

"It's okay, Carson. You don't need to apologize."

"I do. I can't- I can't remember anything from that night after getting that call. I don't remember when I left the house, or how I ended up where I did, I don't remember coming home. All I remember is hearing the words 'three weeks,' and my next memory is a blurry version of you sitting next to me while I was throwing up."

It's funny how most of that night for him is completely blacked out, but for me, it was all in screaming color. Every millisecond of that night is etched into my brain.

"You were with me," he continued. "All night."

I nodded. "I was."

"You were there. You never left."

"No."

"You stayed. You stayed with me."

Of course, I stayed. Where else would I go? "I care about you, Carson."

"I'm sorry I wouldn't come to you," he apologized again.

"It's alright, Carson, but that's not what we should focus on right now. Katie has two weeks. Don't let her die alone."

He wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I can't go there," he said. "The last time I was there, she was happy and walking. I thought she'd be able to come home soon. And now-" He cut himself off. 

"I know it's not easy, but if you don't go, that's on you. You're choosing to waste your chance. You are choosing to not be with her for her remaining time. And you are choosing to live with that."

He kept shaking his head vigorously, "I can't. It's too much. I can't."

"This can't be about you. It's about Katie. You may not get to control if she lives, or if she can walk or talk, but you can control how she dies. Do not let her die alone."

"I can't watch her die," he choked out. "I don't want to see her go."

Something about growing up with doctors as parents has put me in a position to see and hear a lot about death, and I'm guessing it's the same for Carson. The thing about death is that you can see it. It's not some instantaneous thing. At first, it creeps in and shows up in small ways. Slowly, slowly, it overtakes a person, draining them of life. Watching it happen to a stranger is painful. Watching it happen to someone you love is ruining.

"It's going to hurt, Carson. But your love for her has to outweigh your fear. Support her and love her until she has to leave you."

"I can't go," he whispered out. "I can't see her like that."

I pulled him as close to me as I could, letting my hands smooth over his face and hair. "I know you're scared, but you need to go. You will regret it forever if you don't."

His lips were pressed in a thin line and he shook his head. His eyes were focused on the small space on the mattress between our legs.

"I'll go with you," I offered. "Just please. Go."

He nodded his head, reluctantly, "Okay."

He let his head fall to my shoulder, his arms following as they rewrapped around my waist. I pulled his body in between my legs, pressing myself as far into him as I could. I let my hand tangle in his hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

"Thank you, Madeline. For listening. For not leaving."

A small part of me felt guilty. He seemed so fixated on me not leaving him that night. But I wanted to. So bad The entire time. I wanted to leave when I parked my car a block down. I wanted to leave when I found Zach. I wanted to run when I saw Carson. I didn't want to be there, and I had to convince myself over and over to not run, to not leave. Staying was the hardest thing.

"Carson, I- I've been worried about you. This entire week."

"I'm sorry."

I kissed his head again. "Stop apologizing to me. I-I'm okay. We're okay."

He nodded his head, but I'm not sure he believed me. He sniffled again, burying his head in the crook of my neck as he let out a sigh.

"Have you been sleeping alright?"

"No."

"No?"

He made some sort of soft, grunt noise and shook his head in response. "Every time I close my eyes, I just, I see her. It was easier, not thinking about her, when... you were next to me. 

"Do you want to sleep in here tonight?" He nodded, his nose rubbing against my neck with every movement.

Eventually, I sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed. I got up, too, walking around the room and blowing out all the candles, all of which had melted down quite significantly from when I first lit them.

Outside, the rain was still coming down hard, but the sound of thunder was hushed now, and not as frequent.

I climbed into bed again, laying down close to Carson but allowing him enough space to choose for himself. His arms came around me again, and he pulled me into him. His head rested above mine on the pillow and I sank back into his chest. 

"Carson?"

"Yeah?"

I was still angry, but I don't know why. I felt like I was fighting a war, but my enemy never showed up. I wanted to be mad at him still. I wanted to let out how I was feeling. Something along the lines of:

"You pull that shit again, beating yourself up in an alleyway, I swear to God I will kill you with my own bare hands. And just to make sure you've learned your lesson, I'll bring you back to life so I can kill you again. Got it?"

But I didn't. Because I couldn't be angry, and this wasn't a war.

"Never again," I said at last. 

"Understood, Princess. Never again. I promise."