Finger on the Trigger to My Dear Juliet

"So, um...Ronnie sort of knows."

I immediately spun around at Max, my eyes wide.

"What in the fuck did you do?!"

He held up his arms in a gesture of innocence.

"Nothing, alright?! He was just being a little sneak and went through my pockets and found the page of your diary."

I closed my eyes, trying to take deep calming breaths.

"What did he say to you?"

When Max didn't reply I opened my eyes, and he was standing there, shuffling his feet.

"He, um. Kind of freaked out."

"Define 'kind of.'"

"Well..." He began, as if he was chewing his words before saying them to me. "Me and him kind of aren't talking now."

"What because I...um...like you?"

I could feel my cheeks burning as I said the words, and I saw Max give me a small smile.

"Yeah, something like that."

I didn't say anything, mulling over the thoughts in my head. As we walked out the doors I heard Ronnie coming up behind us, and I immediately stayed where I was in between the two of them, so no shenanigans could ensue.

The tension was so thick in the air that it was palpable, and as we walked I could feel it getting heavier with each step.

Eventually as we all came to the street where our houses were sitting, and the spot where we usually parted, I grabbed Ronnie's sleeve and he looked back at me in surprise.

"Huh?"

"Hey, let's go for a walk." I shot Max a look, and he immediately understood.

As Max disappeared into Ronnie's house, I began walking. To where, I didn't know, but I just wanted to go somewhere that didn't have people.

"So, where are we going?"

I quickly summarized Ronnie's attitude. He seemed a bit happier since we left Max, and I knew that he didn't want him around at the moment.

"I don't know," I told him. "Why don't we go to the park?"

"Alright."

The great thing about the park was that it was only a block away, although that also meant hordes of screaming toddlers were there with their parents, making the neighborhood super noisy. Every piece of equipment the park owned had been graffitied on, a majority of it swear words and the usual inappropriate pictures.

I sat down on the painted metal park bench, and Ronnie sat next to me.

"So," I began.

"So," He agreed.

"What's this about you and Max not talking?"

I saw him clench his teeth and roll his eyes, and I knew that he was still extremely angry.

"Nothing, it's just he's being a prick."

"Ronnie, I know you," I said. "This isn't nothing. From what I can tell, you and Max have been really good friends for a long time, so..."

It took Ronnie a minute or two to reply. I saw his eyes watching a girl and a boy on the monkey bars. The boy was lifting the girl up so she could reach the bars, which her small stature prevented her from grabbing.

"I just don't get how..." He began softly. "You can tell him some things when you've barely known him, and I don't get included when I feel like we've been closer for longer."

I had to admit that I was stunned.

Never had I heard Ronnie say anything to me about this kind of thing.

"Ronnie..." I began, but he cut me off.

"No, Charlie! I'm serious, here. What's so terrible that you wouldn't even tell me? What's such a terrible thing that you can't even tell your best friend? And if you can't tell me why does Max know?!"

I averted my eyes from his intense gaze, and I knew that I had finally broken the barrier between Ronnie's ignore-it attitude and Ronnie's real feelings.

"I-I...I can't-"

"Don't give me that!" He nearly shouted, standing up. "What is so terrible that you think I'd...I don't know, hate you?"

The tables had been turned, and rather abruptly.

"Jesus, Charlie," He said in a softer tone. "You push everyone away and then you expect us to ignore when you have a problem. Even when we want to help..."

I didn't even realize I was crying until Ronnie sat back down on the bench and pulled a drop from my cheek. I attempted to shield my face with my hair, to which Ronnie just stared. Eventually I was pulled into his arms, which is not an unduly terrible place to be, and we stayed there for a long amount of time, until I finally recovered.

There had only been one instance before where Ronnie had seen my tears, and that was when I had to reject him.

At that time I was crying for him. I was also crying for me. For everything. For my messed up, shitty life. For the fact that although I wanted to stay with him so badly, I knew it couldn't happen.

And that was a terrible thing, for Ronnie didn't understand anything.

[>>>]

"Charlie! Get your ass down here!"

I was immediately worried, for the phone never rang for me. As I came downstairs, my father had that same, half worried half confident look on his face, and I realized immediately who was calling.

"Now remember, Charlie, we're one big happy family, right?"

He was right behind me, the liquor on his breath such a strong odor that I nearly gagged, his hand on my shoulder, most definitely causing another bruise. I nodded slowly, picking up the phone from where it sat on the kitchen table.

"Hello?"

"Charlotte? This is Arthur Worthsdale from Child Services. We've received some reports that your father has had an outbreak of violence at work, and so we need to make sure you're not in danger. Are you alright?"

These questions have been repeated so many times that my lie now sounded believable. My father's hand dug into my shoulder, and I felt his nails break skin. I winced.

"Yes, Mr. Worthsdale, everything's perfectly fine."

"One big happy family," My father murmured in my ear.

"Oh, well I'm glad to hear that, Charlotte," Arthur of Child Services said, although it sounded like his happy attitude was forced. "But are you sure there isn't something you'd like to tell me?"

I gritted my teeth.

Don't call me Charlotte, I thought. My mother called me Charlotte.

"Everything's fine, Arthur," I said, putting an emphasis on his first name. It was a sign of disrespect. "We're just one nice, big, happy family here."

I heard him sigh. "Alright, Charlotte, I'll take your word for it. But remember, I'm always here."

And then the phone clicked, and I heard my father let out a sigh of relief.

"Nice one, Charlie. Alright, your reward is some food."

I watched him move to the fridge, grabbing a loaf of bread and some sandwich meat, along with some lettuce and mayonnaise, and I vaguely wondered what he was doing.

"Here," He said, putting the newly-made sandwich on a plate and setting it down in front of a chair. I immediately sat and began eating the sandwich, watching my parental figure out of the corner of my eyes to make sure he hadn't poisoned it.

I heard my father sigh and rub at the stubble growing on his cheek, and I thought I saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, and regret as well.

But that soon quickly passed as I recalled my past, and all the horrific things with it.