Wanted - Part 7

wanted - part 7

Colson Baker x Original Female Character x Pete Davidson

Warnings: swearing, alcohol usage, angst, discussions of mental illness (specifically bipolar), blood, facial injury, hospital visit, stitches

Word Count: 4081

Find parts 1-6 in my masterlist!

More Colson. Pete will be returning soon, I promise!

I’ve decided that I need to avoid feelings for both Colson and Pete.

I love this group of friends, but I’ve already been hurt by both of them, and it’s no one’s fault but my own for catching feelings or giving into my attraction. Either way, this is my friend group. Not a group where some people are my friends and I like some of the others more than friends. I need to continue to protect myself.

Sure, I’ve been lonely forever, but rejection hurts worse than longing. I can deal with loneliness but I can’t deal with the pain of rejection again. After being rejected twice in such a short amount of time, I’m stung. 

So when I go over to Pete and Colson’s house for dinner with everyone, I strategically place myself between Slim and Baze. I love these guys, but I don’t have feelings for them, and they don’t have feelings for me, as far as I know. Immediately, Slim starts asking me about my week and I’m able to relax. 

“What we getting into tonight, Kells?” Justin asks. We’re all sitting around the living room eating pizza while the guys take turns playing each other in Mario Kart. It’s a Friday night, and last weekend’s show went so well that everyone is still on a high. 

“I say we invite people over and party,” Colson says, eyes fixed on the TV screen as his character fights neck and neck with Rook’s. “Call everyone you know and tell them BYOB.”

“Okay, bet,” Justin says. Everyone takes out their phones and starts texting. I relax even more. It’s even easier to avoid the guys when a ton of people are at the house. I’ll hang close to others in the group, avoiding Colson and Pete. 

Within two hours, the house is packed and overflowing into the yard. I’m on the back deck with Baze, who’s trying to teach me how to play bass, but I’m drunk enough that my fingers are slow moving and lazy. He keeps laughing as I slaughter the songs he’s been trying to teach me, and finally, I shove the instrument back into his arms. “I give up!” I say, slurring slightly. 

Baze laughs. “Maybe we’ll try again when you haven’t won three shotgunning contests,” he remarks.

I smile, proud. I beat Alicia, Sophie, and Logan in a shotgunning contest, and chugging beer that quickly, coupled with a few mixed drinks has me feeling good. So good that I don’t notice Pete coming over until he’s right in front of me. Much to my dismay, Baze is already walking away, talking to someone across the deck. 

“Hey,” Pete says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He’s his usual cozy self in a zip-up hoodie, hood pulled over his head, and jeans. He looks sheepish as he leans against the deck. 

“Hi,” I say, looking everywhere but him. I realize all at once just how angry I am with him for ghosting me, for getting me to trust him and then pretending it never happened. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive or maybe I was bad, but it doesn’t give him the right to do what he did. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. I finally meet his eyes, and the look I give him must bear my entire soul because he takes a step back, almost as if he’s startled. 

“Everything’s fine,” I say sharply. “I need to pee.” With that, I push past him and disappear into the house. Despite all the alcohol in my system, I don’t have to pee. I just needed an escape. The bathroom door is cracked, so I push it open but stop cold when I see Colson bent over the sink, blood gushing from somewhere on his face. 

“Holy shit, what happened?” I ask, startled, rushing over to him. 

He doesn’t have toilet paper, paper towel, or anything, and I see all at once that the blood is gushing from the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. I find a washcloth in a cabinet, soak it in water, and grab gently at his wrist. “Move your hands,” I command gently, feeling sober already.

Colson does as he’s told, and his brow is knit together in pain as I press the washcloth right to the wound. Colson hisses and his hand covers mine as I hold the cloth. There’s blood all over his face and down onto his shirt. 

“What the fuck happened?” I ask, heart thumping wildly in my chest. 

“I broke a glass on my face,” Colson mutters as if it’s no big deal.

I blink, startled. “Christ, Colson. You’re not in Motley fucking Crüe.”

“Hey, me and Tommy Lee are the same person, just different ages,” he insists, and I shake my head. 

I remove the cloth cautiously and wince. “Colson, this needs stitches,” I say. “Come on. We’re going to the ER.”

Colson groans. “I don’t need stitches, Alex,” he insists, turning to look in the mirror. After a second, he winces, looking at me sheepishly. “Fuck. Maybe I do need stitches.”

“Come on, I’ll drive,” I say, grabbing a dry washcloth out of the cabinet and handing it to him. People barely notice us as we weave through the crowd and down to the street where my car is parked. 

“Alex! Colson!” a voice calls. We turn around to see Sophie jogging over. “What the hell happened?”

“Rockstar smashed a glass in his own face,” I say, shooting a look at a sheepish Colson. “He needs stitches.”

“Are you okay to drive?” she asks me. 

“Yes,” I say honestly. It feels like all the alcohol has left my system. 

Sophie nods worriedly, glancing at Colson. “Okay. Keep me updated,” she insists. I nod and help Colson into my car before hurrying to the driver’s seat.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Colson asks once I’ve pulled onto the highway. “Weren’t you shotgunning beers?”

I snort. “I can hold my alcohol better than you must think,” I say. “Besides. My mom instinct kicks in and I don’t even feel the alcohol.”

“Mom instinct?” Colson asks.

I nod. “When someone I love is hurt or sick, I immediately hyperfocus on helping them.” The words are out before I realize I’ve used the word love. “I wouldn’t drive us if it weren’t safe,” I add. “I wouldn’t risk that.”

“Okay,” Colson says, seeming to accept it. 

“Keep that cloth on your face, okay?” I tell him. Then, we’re quiet for a long time. I’m almost to the hospital when Colson speaks again.

“I think something’s fucking wrong with me,” he mutters.

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I just get so high and low all the time,” he says. “Like I know smashing a glass in my face is dumb, but it’s like I get so excited I can’t stop myself. I’m so impulsive.”

I pause. “Does anyone in your family have a history of bipolar disorder?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” Colson says. “Do you really think I’m bipolar?”

“Oh, Colson, I am in no way, shape, or form someone who can diagnose shit like that,” I tell him, veering into a parking spot. “But the high highs and the low lows can be an effect of bipolar disorder. Not saying you have it at all.”

Colson sighs. “Maybe I should talk to someone,” he says, slumping in his seat.

I bite my lip and get out of the car. He follows me and I hold his arm just in case he gets dizzy. Who knows if he hurt himself worse than a cut? I lead him inside and we check in, going to the waiting room to sit. By some miracle, we’re some of the only people there, so it shouldn’t be too long until we’re seen. It’s after midnight at this point. 

Colson’s been given a new cloth to hold to his nose and he leans forward, sighing. His t-shirt is stained with blood and some has even gotten on his jeans. I feel bad for him. It must be uncomfortable. “Do you want to go clean up in the bathroom?” I ask.

Colson shrugs. “I can’t take this off my nose,” he says, and I nod.

We’re quiet for a few moments before I speak again. “If you’re concerned,” I say, “I could ask my therapist if she can recommend someone for you to talk to.”

Colson is quiet for such a long time that I almost think he hasn’t heard me. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

We’re quiet again. This time, for a long time. I’m starting to doze before he speaks again. “Alex,” he says but he’s cut off when a harried looking nurse comes into the waiting room, calling his name. We hop up out of our seats and follow her back to a room. 

Colson sits atop the bed and I take a seat in the little chair against the wall. Before the nurse leaves, she hands him a new cloth for his nose, which is somehow still bleeding. The room is small, but I’m glad to be out of the waiting room and relieved that we’re already being seen.

“The doctor will be back soon,” the nurse says, then shuts the door and leaves us alone. 

My legs jitter nervously and I twist the rings on my fingers. “How are you doing?” I ask quietly, looking up at him.

Colson shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “I don’t even really feel the pain.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding. “That’s good.”

Colson nods. I wonder what he was going to say to me in the waiting room, but we’re both silent until the doctor comes in. Colson explains what happened and the doctor is kind and nonjudgmental about it. He explains to Colson that someone will be back to stitch him up soon and then he leaves. 

“Are you okay about the stitches?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Colson sighs. “I’ve had them before. Believe it or not, I’ve hurt myself a lot.” He gives me a wry look and a laugh bursts out of me, surprising me. Colson grins too, tiredly, and studies me for a moment. My smile fades and I watch him back, wondering why he’s looking at me like that.

“What?” I ask after a moment. 

His Adam’s apple bobs. “In the hotel,” he says, eyes locking on mine. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or anything. I just didn’t want the guys saying shit about us.”

I nod, looking down at my lap. I don’t want to admit how much it hurt when he pulled away from me like he’d been burned. Like I was something that hurt to touch. I remind myself silently that my walls need to stay up. “It’s fine,” I say. 

“Sounds like we need some stitches in here,” says a cheerful voice as the door opens. A lady bustles in with a cart and pulls it up beside Colson’s bed. “Lie down for me, sweetie.” Colson does as he’s told and wordlessly, I get to my feet, going to his side. I know he said he isn’t worried, but I would want someone to hold my hand while I got stitches, so I set my hand over his, silently offering. I’m slightly surprised when his hand turns over and he laces our fingers together.

“Okay, here comes the shot so that you won’t feel the stitches,” she says. “This will sting a bit.” Colson is silent as she carefully injects the area. I would be crying and squirming. It worries me how little pain he feels. “Ready?” she asks Colson, tools in hand for the stitching. 

“Ready,” he says, closing his eyes. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze and I squeeze back, watching in fascination as she sews his skin closed expertly. She cleans up his face and the wound quickly, then smiles. 

“All set,” she says. “Be careful, honey. Your paperwork will let you know when to go to your physician for stitch removal.”

“Thank you,” Colson says, and she leaves. 

“You okay?” I ask.

Colson nods. “Just starving, tired, and need a shower,” he says. “You?”

I wasn’t even thinking about myself, but now that I am, I realize just how much is wrong. My head hurts, my eyes hurt, I’m starving, and I need to pee. “Also starving,” I say. “Let me just go to the bathroom and then we can go.”

“Okay,” Colson says. “Thanks for going with me.” His eyes catch mine and he smiles softly.

“Of course,” I say, letting go of his hand to sit down again.

We’re discharged pretty quickly, and after a trip to the bathroom, we find the car. We don’t talk on the way home, opting to stop at Taco Bell. When we pull up outside of his house, Colson lets out a disheartened “Oh.” There are still tons of cars and the sound of music is muffled but loud. I can tell Colson wants nothing more than to just shower, eat, and sleep. 

“Hang on,” I say, texting Rook. Within five minutes, Rook jogs out of the house with a bag in hand. I roll down Colson’s window so Rook can pass the bag through. “Thank you,” I tell him.

“No worries,” he says, looking at Colson. “You alright, dude?”

“What’s this?” Colson asks, confused.

“Clothes. Shower stuff,” Rook says.

Colson looks at me, surprised. “You texted him for that?”

“Yeah. You can stay at my place,” I say.

“Oh,” Colson says, looking between me and Rook. “Okay. Thank you.”

Rook salutes us and jogs back to the house. I put the car in drive again and take us to my apartment. We go inside and eat our Taco Bell in my kitchen over the sink so as not to make a mess. When we’re finished, I lead him to the bathroom, pulling a clean towel from the cabinet.

“Take your time,” I tell him. “Feel free to use anything you want, okay?”

Colson’s hands twitch at his sides as he turns to face me. “Thank you, Alex,” he says quietly. 

“It’s no problem,” I insist. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.” I close the door behind me and go to the living room, sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh. So much for avoiding Colson. Here he is, about to sleep at my apartment. I go into my room and gather up some blankets and my pillow, making a little bed for myself on my couch. 

I’ve changed into my pajamas and washed my face in the kitchen sink by the time he exits the bathroom, smelling and looking amazing. Rook was not helpful in packing him a pair of gray sweatpants and a tank top to sleep in. Colson himself isn’t helpful in having the tank top slung over his shoulder instead of on, and I’m all too aware of the band of his Ethika boxers sticking out of his sweats. His hair is wet and drips onto his shoulders and he smells minty from brushing his teeth. 

He eyes the couch. “Thanks for setting that up,” he says.

I shake my head, getting to my feet. “Oh, that’s not for you,” I say. “You can sleep in my room.”

Colson immediately protests. “Oh hell no, I’m not putting you out of your own bed,” he says, shaking his head.

“Please don’t argue,” I insist tiredly, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the hall to my room. “There’s a glass of water and some ibuprofen next to the bed. Fan on or off?”

Colson looks at me, his expression pained. “I will never be able to fall asleep knowing you’re on the couch.”

“And I’ll never be able to fall asleep knowing you’re on the couch,” I insist.

We stare at each other for a few moments.

“Then sleep here,” Colson says. “With me.”

I stare at him. The pull is so strong, the desire to do just that. To snuggle up to his warm body again, to wake up next to him looking all soft and sleepy and vulnerable. I remember that from the hotel. But I shouldn’t. “You’ll fall asleep,” I insist, and before he can stop me, I walk back to the living room. 

“Alex,” Colson calls in protest, but I ignore him, opting to curl up under my blanket on the couch. My eyes burn, and I know I’ll fall asleep just fine out here. Before I know it, I’ve done just that, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up, blinking against the sunlight streaming through my window. I groan at the headache thumping against my temples and trudge over to close the curtains. A glance at the clock on the wall tells me it’s just past seven thirty, way too early to be up on a Saturday. Then I remember that Colson is asleep in my bed. I tiptoe down the hall and push open my door, freezing. 

The idiot is asleep on my fucking floor. 

Huffing in irritation, I shake my head and go into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth, I come back into my room and bend down to shake him. He sucks in a breath and opens his eyes, looking confused. Then, he groans, hand coming up to touch his nose gently. “Ow,” he croaks, and god, I did not need to know what his sleepy voice sounded like. 

“You’re so annoying,” I say. “Get up. We’re going back to bed. In an actual bed this time.”

Colson blinks, then slowly gets to his feet and stumbles to my bed. I pull back the covers and climb in, and he follows. “This is so much better,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Thus the reason I wanted you to sleep in it from the start,” I mumble, irritated, but it’s hard to be irritated when he looks so cute, hair messed up, lines and creases on his face from sleeping on the floor. 

“It wasn’t right to sleep in your bed while you were on the couch,” he says firmly, clearly trying not to leave room for an argument. I’m too tired to argue anyway, so I shake my head and close my eyes. I’m almost back asleep when I hear his voice saying my name. I pop my eyes open to see him looking at me.

“Hm?” I ask sleepily.

“I’m cold,” he says. 

“I’ll get an extra blanket-”

“No,” Colson interrupts.

I lift a brow. “No?”

“No,” he says, teeth worrying his lip. “Just…come here?”

I hesitate, but he looks so damn sincere that I give in, scooting closer. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, and god dammit, it feels good. He’s so warm, and the steady thump of his heart could easily lull me back to sleep. I stifle a yawn as my arm drapes over his waist, feeling his soft, warm skin. Only then do I fall back into a deep sleep.

When I wake up hours later, Colson is gone. I let out a soft sigh, settling my palm onto the mattress where he lay earlier. But then, I hear something in the kitchen and I tense up. Someone is in my apartment. 

I quietly get out of bed and tiptoe down the hall, only relaxing when I see Colson’s bare back to me as he cooks something on the stove. “Colson?” I ask.

He glances over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “I’m making breakfast. Well, brunch,” he corrects, and a glance at the clock tells me it’s past noon. 

“Jesus, I slept late,” I remark as I sit at my island. “Did you fall back asleep?”

“Yeah,” Colson says as he pours some cheesy scrambled eggs onto a plate beside sausage and buttered toast. “You were right. I slept so much better in your bed.”

I shake my head. “You’re an idiot. You should’ve just-”

“Stop,” Colson says, setting the plate before me. “We’ve established this. So shut up and eat your food.” His voice holds a teasing tone, and he smirks at me a little as I shake my head, digging into my breakfast. 

“Thanks for this,” I say between bites. “It’s good.”

“Least I could do,” Colson says as he wolfs down his food. 

“How are you so skinny but can put so much damn food away?” I marvel, and Colson laughs.

“It’s a gift,” he says. 

We both laugh some more and then sit in a slightly awkward silence as we eat. My relationship with Colson couldn’t possibly be more confusing. Sometimes, he acts like he can’t stand to be around me and avoids me. Other times, he’s all over me or complimenting me or acting like I’m his best friend. Sometimes, we argue and sometimes we cuddle. 

The common denominator is that, when no one else is around, Colson and I are great. 

And that bothers the shit out of me. 

Annoyance flares within me and I look over at Colson sharply. He blinks, surprised, and chews slower. “What?” he asks around his mouthful of food.

“Why do you only treat me well when it’s just the two of us?” I ask. My heart is racing, but he deserves to be called out for it. 

Colson blinks and swallows his food. He scrubs his hand over his jaw, eyes glazing over in thought. Finally, he looks at me. “You…you really think that?” 

I let out a little frustrated huff. How can he not know that? “Well,” I say, setting my fork down, “we just cuddled and slept in my bed together. You were cuddling me before the guys came into the hotel room. You were all over me in the water where no one else could see.” Colson’s mouth opens but I just keep going. “But when we’re around others, you straight up ignore me. You don’t even look at me, Colson.”

He watches me intently, a fierce look in his eyes, but I continue, determined. “I’ve spent so much of my life feeling unwanted and disliked. So many times I’ve had friends who were one way with me and another way when others were around. I’m too old for that shit now. So you need to decide if you want to be my friend unconditionally. I’m no longer having friendships that are conditional.”

My hands are shaking when I finish my monologue and I press them between my knees so he won’t see. My mouth is dry and my heart is racing. It’s not often I stand up for myself, and it makes me incredibly anxious to do so. But I can’t keep doing this with Colson. I’ve started to develop feelings for him and I refuse to let him hurt me. 

Colson is quiet. Maybe the silence should feel uncomfortable but it doesn’t. I refuse to let him make me feel uncomfortable, especially in my own goddamn home. If he feels awkward, he can leave. I prepare to tell him as much, but then he speaks.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “You’re right. I have been doing that.” I stare at him expectantly. Colson’s throat bobs and he doesn’t meet my eyes. I can tell he’s considering his words carefully. “I don’t know why I do that. I guess you…you intimidate me.” 

My response is a snort and an eyeroll. “No, seriously,” Colson says, finally meeting my eyes. “You seem so confident and our group loves you. I’ve never seen them take so fast to someone before. I don’t know if it made me feel threatened or what.” He shakes his head, rumpling his hair. “I just…” He pauses, running both hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I’m more confused than I was before, but I believe his apology. “I forgive you,” I say. “But maybe you should go.”

Colson nods. “I’ll call Rook.”

“I can take you home,” I say, getting to my feet. “Grab your stuff.” Once he has everything, I take him home. We don’t talk the entire drive. I park in his driveway and fiddle with my fingers. 

“Thanks for everything,” Colson says. 

I nod. “It’s no problem,” I say softly. “Talk to you soon, okay?” Colson nods, watching me for a second, and then he gets out of the car and lopes inside without looking back.

Jesus. I’ve never met a more confusing person than Colson Baker.