Too Late For Your Proposal

Carter POV:

The bitter tang of cheap whiskey burned his throat, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest. "Ellie," he slurred, his voice thick, tears threatening behind his eyelids. "Ellie, don't leave me." He fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy, desperate to call her, to hear her voice, to somehow undo the last week.

"Carter, stop it!" Bridget snapped, snatching the phone from his hand. "You're pathetic! She's gone! She made her choice! Why are you still moping over her?"

She tossed the phone onto the plush sofa, out of his reach. He glared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Give me my phone, Bridget! I need to call her!"

"No, you don't!" she yelled, her voice shrill. She slapped him across the face, a sharp, stinging blow that momentarily sobered him. "Snap out of it! She threw you out! She humiliated you! Have some damn pride!"

He stared at her, his cheek throbbing, the slap doing little to clarify the haze in his mind. "You don't understand," he mumbled, shaking his head. "You don't know what she means to me."

Bridget scoffed, a cynical sound. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "I know you, Carter. You're just hurt because she finally stood up to you. Because she took away your comfortable little world. But I can give you so much more than she ever could." She pressed her body against his, her hand tracing the line of his jaw.

His mind, however, was a chaotic mess, a tangled web of memories, all of them centered around Ellie. He remembered the ski trip. The one he had chosen over her.

Flashback:

"It's just a guys' trip, Ellie, calm down!" he'd yelled, pulling on his ski boots. "Bridget and her friends are going too, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Carter, is that she clearly wants you, and you keep entertaining it!" Ellie had pleaded, her voice cracking. "And you refuse to set any boundaries! She texts you constantly, she flirts, and you just laugh it off! I'm asking you, Carter, please. Don't go on this trip with her. Not this time."

"You're being unreasonable!" he'd retorted, his anger rising. "You're trying to control me! That's what you do, Ellie! You try to control every aspect of my life!"

"No, I'm asking you to make a choice," she'd said, her voice quiet but firm. "It's her, or me. This weekend. If you go on that trip, Carter, we're over."

He remembered scoffing. She's just being dramatic, he'd thought. She'll never actually leave. She always comes back.

He used to love that about her, her fierce loyalty, her inability to truly let go. It had made him feel secure, invincible. She'd cried before, pleaded with him. And every time, he'd given in a little, just enough to soothe her, then done exactly what he wanted. He'd always known how to make her forgive him. A sad look, a mumbled apology, maybe a small gift. She'd always melted.

His phone had buzzed. Bridget. "Still coming, big boy? Don't let the little woman chain you down!"

A wave of irritation, fuelled by Ellie's ultimatum, had washed over him. He hated being called "whipped." He hated feeling controlled.

"What's wrong, Carter? Your girlfriend giving you grief?" Bridget's voice had been laced with mockery, a challenge. "Tell her to chill out. It's just skiing. Unless... she thinks you'll run off with me? Is that it? She doesn't trust you?"

"Of course not!" he'd snapped, his pride stung. "She's just being dramatic. She thinks I'm going to cheat on her." The lie had sounded convincing even to himself.

"Well, then, prove her wrong, or prove her right," Bridget had purred. "Or better yet, prove you're not her puppy. If you don't come, I'll tell everyone you're on a leash."

He'd hated that. He'd hated the idea of his friends laughing at him.

"Fine!" he'd screamed at Ellie, his voice raw with a sudden, irrational fury. "Don't come crying to me when you're lonely!" He' d slammed the door shut, the sound a cathartic release of his anger. He' d walked out, leaving her standing there, probably crying, as he'd expected.

As he walked away, he'd heard a crash from inside the apartment. He knew it was the small ceramic vase they had bought together from that cute little pottery shop in Vermont, the one they had painted side by side on their first anniversary. He'd almost turned back. Almost. But Bridget's text chimed again, a reminder of his "freedom."

He remembered Ellie's tear-streaked face, her outstretched hand, her desperate plea. "Please, Carter! Don't go! Don't do this!" But he had pushed past her, ignoring the raw pain in her eyes, telling himself she was being manipulative, trying to trap him. She was always trying to trap him.

He had wanted to be free. Free from her rules, her expectations, her emotional demands. He had wanted to live life on his own terms.

And now, he felt like he was drowning in that freedom.

End Flashback.

He pushed Bridget off him, her touch suddenly repulsive. "Get off me!" he snarled, his voice guttural. "You disgust me!"

Bridget stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock. "What are you talking about?"

"Ellie was right!" he roared, standing up, swaying slightly. The whiskey, mixed with the sudden surge of adrenaline, made him feel dizzy. "She was right about you all along! You're a toxic, manipulative bitch! You were never my friend! You just wanted me!"

He remembered Ellie's words, her desperate pleas for him to see Bridget for who she was. "She' s not your friend, Carter! She' s trying to break us up! Can' t you see it?"

He had dismissed her, called her paranoid, jealous. He had even accused her of having a "dark heart." The irony now felt like a physical blow.