Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

I can’t put my finger on the problem, exactly. The first gift card had me questioning whether or not it was even okay to use it, but now that he’s given me a second one, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s trying to make me feel like I owe him something. That he’s building good will with the sole intent of exploiting it later.

I don’t know if these concerns about him are all in my head, or these are instincts about him I should listen to. I hate how unsure of his motives I am. I hate how this constant swirl of questions about him gives him a permanent place in my mind. Every single day now, I live my life with questions about Carter Mahoney as constant background noise.

“You never answered me yesterday,” I tell him.

“About what?”

“Before Cartwright interrupted, I asked if you had ever…” I pause, trying to figure out how to refer to what he did without making it even more awkward.

He doesn’t make me say it. “Ah, that. No, I haven’t. Never had an opportunity present itself to me the way you did.”

“That’s all that’s stopping you? Lack of opportunity?”

He glances over at me. “That’s not what I said. I said the opportunity with you was too good to pass up. That’s not the same thing.”

“How is that not the exact same thing? Same words, different order.”

“I’m not running around victimizing other girls, if that’s what you’re asking,” he states. “Believe it or not, I have an endless stream of willing women, all a phone call away. I don’t have to try this hard, and I don’t have to force myself on scandalized innocents to get off.”

“Then why do it to me?”

He shrugs, more cavalier than I appreciate. “Variety is the spice of life.”

“Bullshit.” I don’t even know why I’m so confident this is bullshit. He could mean that, I just don’t buy it. He looks over at me wordlessly, so I keep going. “I deserve the truth,” I tell him. “If I don’t get justice, if I don’t get to defend myself, I at least deserve to understand why it happened.”

The last thing I expect is for my words to harden him, but that’s what happens. As decent as he has been throughout lunch, now he turns it off. It appears to be as easy as flipping a switch, like he did at the bookstore when he thought I was judging him, but less fleeting this time.

“You want to know something, Ellis? I’ve got bad news for you, so listen up. Sometimes people do bad shit to you, and they don’t get punished; they get away with it. Hell, sometimes they get rewarded for it. If all this shit with Jake didn’t show you that, if all this shit with me hasn’t shown you that, maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that, but we’re at the school now, so I don’t have to. Carter parks aggressively, slamming the car in park and killing the engine. Without another word, he shoves his car door open and climbs out.

I follow him silently, unable to find words to respond. I’m not sure I would anyway. Whatever nerve I just hit, it was a real one, and I’m wary of tangling with him when he’s mad. I shouldn’t even care if he’s mad, or what I said to upset him. I certainly shouldn’t feel compelled to lessen the blow or make peace, but I wasn’t raised to make waves. I’m teaching myself to do that on my own, but every bit of my upbringing tells me the right thing to do, the thing I’m supposed to do, is smooth over the feathers I just ruffled. My mother’s voice echoes in my head.

Don’t be rude, Zoey.

I shake it off. I love my mother, but that’s bad advice. I’m not morally required to be polite to my abuser, and the conversation that pissed Carter off was one where I brought up what he did to me. If it touched a nerve, maybe it should have. It if made him feel badly, maybe it’s because he should.

But then Grace buzzes around in my head, telling me it’s perfectly fine to defend myself, but sometimes the better thing for everyone is to act with love.

There are too many people in my head pushing me in too many different directions. I take a breath and do my best to silence them, focusing on my own inner voice. My own instincts. Not the defensive ones I’ve had to adopt to combat the well-meaning guidance of my mother, but what’s in my own heart. It’s not purely anger or resentment. I would never be interacting with Carter this much if that’s all that was there, and I refuse to entertain the notion that it could possibly be his extreme physical attractiveness that keeps my interest on him. I am not that shallow. It’s not that. It’s something more.