Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

“Constantly. If they so much as looked at him, I wanted to claw out their eyeballs. I lived in a constant state of terror that some bitch would steal him away from me.”

I’m surprised by the honesty of her answer, by her ability to admit that, but it triggers a strain of real sympathy for her. I completely get Carter making someone lose their damn mind. “You couldn’t trust him. It wasn’t your fault, Erika. He’s a hard person to trust. Not trusting him is probably the smart thing to do.”

Her eyes widen like she didn’t expect me to agree with her. “So, if you know that, then what are you doin’ with him?”

Sighing to myself, I sift through a few possible responses, but she won’t like any of them. He’s different with me would sound moronic. It’s an oversimplification for the better explanation, I fit him better than you do. She would hate that, though. It would make her feel like I’m putting the weight of their relationship’s failure on her shoulders, saying she was somehow inadequate. It’s not inadequacy, they just weren’t compatible. Carter is a handful, and the average woman is not equipped to deal with him. I don’t think Carter could make an average woman happy; luckily for him, I’m just a weirdo.

“I’m of the belief that why someone does something is super important. If you want to understand who someone really is, you don’t just need to know what they’ve done, you need to know why they’ve done it. I don’t know why Carter has done every bad thing he has done, but I do know why he cheated on you. Without being mean or hurting your feelings, I’ll just say, the same circumstances do not apply to our relationship. You and I are very different people, and I think that’s why Carter behaves differently with each of us. It’s not that I’m better or worse than you, we are just different, and I am more what Carter needs.”

I tried really hard not to offend her, but that last line slipped out, and now her eyes gleam with an embarrassed kind of anger that lets me know she feels attacked. “You think you’re so much better than me, Zoey, but you fall for the same shit. You think he always openly cheated on me? No. That was at the end, when everything had gone to hell and he didn’t care anymore. When it first started, when he still wanted to keep me, he lied about it. He tried to cover his ass, just like he’s doing with you. Carter is incapable of fidelity. He’s too damn selfish.”

That does not logically fit with what I already know about Carter’s opinions on cheating. Lying and trying to scare me off does fit with what I know about Erika though, so it’s easy enough to dodge this particular dollop of bullshit.

“I’ve gotta get to class, Erika,” I tell her. “I don’t believe you more than I believe him, I’m sorry. I think your motivation to lie to me about this is much stronger than his, so please, stop wasting your time with this. It’s gettin’ old.”

When I start to speed up so I can walk away from her, she stops and calls out, “I have proof.”

My steps slow. Proof? That’s a pretty bold claim to make baselessly.

Pivoting on my heel, I cock my head to the side and ask, “What kind of proof?”

Chapter 36

I don’t know what to expect when Erika pulls out her cell phone, but the smug look on her face tells me she has something up her sleeve. Something she thinks will work.

On one hand, I don’t believe her words, but on the other hand, I’m not about to stick my head in the sand just to protect my idea of Carter, either. Even though class is starting any minute and I need to hustle if I don’t want to be late, I fall back and stop beside Erika, glancing curiously at her phone for this supposed evidence.

She opens up her photos and leans closer so I can see. “Now, I figured you wouldn’t want to believe me, so I was pretty thorough.” First, she pulls up a photo of her and Carter to show me. They are on her bed, Carter is wearing a white T-shirt, his arm stretched around her. Erika is wearing a thin sleep top and no bra. Her head is tilted in toward his, a little smile on her face. Carter is asleep and she’s snuggling with him, but this picture could have been taken literally anytime. It could have been taken when they were together.

Raising my gaze back to hers and cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “This is your proof?”

Pointing a well-manicured fingertip at various spots she wants me to pay attention to, she says, “Take it all in. This is a current picture. See what we’re wearing? I’m just giving you all the ground work you need. This is Carter at my house that night.” Now she drags the picture up to show the data. A little square of the picture on a map to show where it was taken, the day, and the time.