Finger on the Trigger to My Dear Juliet

I rolled around on the floor once again, coming face to shoe with Ronnie's ratty old converse underneath his bed. I shoved them away from my face, towards the top of the bed and rolled over once more, looking straight up at Ronnie's ceiling.

I could hear Tony and Ronnie's dad downstairs screaming and yelling at each other, and although Ronnie was sure I was passed out, and he thought I thought he was passed out, I knew he was awake and I knew that he was embarrassed.

Ronnie, in the last five or six years that I've known him, has always been one to turn his cheek and ignore whatever was going on right under his nose. He never openly asked about anything or openly addressed anything. He just pretended like it wasn't happening until it stopped. Which is exactly what he was doing right now.

I did my best not to roll over for the millionth time that night, or to open the door and tell Tony to shut the fuck up. I never understood why Ronnie's dad let Tony stay. It was obvious all he ever did was cause fights. He's a fucking loser, and he's doing his best to ruin Ronnie as well. He got Ronnie into smoking, and I don't think there's ever been a time he hasn't offered to take Ronnie 'drinking' but, like I said before, Ronnie just ignores it. According to him, 'he doesn't know what I'm talking about.'

I cringed slightly as a loud thump was heard and Tony's voice screamed obscenities before the front door was slammed shut. I heard nothing from Ronnie's dad as he came trudging up the stairs. His foot steps got closer and closer as he rapped on the door, pushing it open.

"Max, you still up?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about that. Don't tell your mom, okay?"

I nodded in the dark, "It's okay."

"Well, okay. G'night then. Night Ron."

"Night Dad." Ronnie said, his voice croaky from having his mouth shut for so long.

The door slowly creaked shut and I shifted on the floor again, realizing I wouldn't be able to get comfortable. I stood up and walked across Ronnie's floor, grabbing his bean bag and dragging it towards Ronnie's bed, falling onto it.

"Jesus Christ Max," Ronnie muttered, sitting up in his bed, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get comfortable. Your floor isn't the best sleeping spot, ya know."

He laughed, "Actually. I sleep in my bed, so I wouldn't know."

"Fuck you Radke." I chuckled, laying down on the bean bag and curling up in my blanket.

After a few minutes of quiet, I was pretty sure Ronnie had finally passed out. He scared me when he started talking.

"I can't believe your parents haven't called you yet."

"What are they supposed to say? I'm sorry we're too lazy to take care of you, wanna come back home?"

"Max, what the fuck where they supposed to do? You were getting in fights at school all the time and stealing shit."

"They were supposed to act like parents, discipline me, tell me no, ground me. Whatever!" I said rather loudly, "That's why I did all that shit. But they didn't do a thing about it. Wanna know why? 'Cause they don't fucking care Ronnie."

"Sorry Max."

"Whatever. It doesn't matter. I don't give a shit."

"Why not?"

"They don't." I said, rolling over in the bean bag and looking out Ronnie's snapped blinds at the street light, "So why the fuck should I?"

"I dunno," He said, shifting in his covers, "Sometimes people who don't give a shit need someone to give a shit about them."

"Is that why you're friends with Charlie?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because you need someone to give a shit about you?"

I heard him sit up in his bed and look over at me, seeing my back turned towards him, "No. That's not why. I'm friends with Charlie because I like being friends with her. She's cool to be around."

"She isn't going to stick around much longer if you don't start paying more attention to her."

"What the hell are you talking about Max?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, realizing that if I kept talking, I'd end up doing exactly what Charlie didn't want me to do, "Never mind."

"Stop saying never mind. What the fuck are you talking about? You think because you've known Charlie for three weeks and every time you see her you get a fucking hard on that you know everything about her?"

"That's totally it Ronnie." I retorted.

"Well fuck," He said, laying back down and adopting a more calm tone to his voice, "Has she said anything about it?"

"About what?"

"About me not paying any attention to her at all?"

"Not necessarily," I said quietly, "I mean, she's mentioned it. But she doesn't talk about it all the time or anything."

"Charlie doesn't like to be cared about Max."

"I'm sure she does." I said.

"Trust me Max. I know. Charlie doesn't like to be cared about, or loved, or treated nicely. She just doesn't like it."

"How do you know?" I asked earnestly, doing my best not to sound accusatory, "I mean, has she told you that she doesn't like it?"

"No, she hasn't told me directly. But, just being around her, you can tell."

"I guess so." I replied, therefore ending our conversation.

I could tell Ronnie was getting uncomfortable talking about it, so I just let it go. I didn't understand much of what he was talking about anyways, because being around Charlie, I got a completely different vibe.

It was like she wanted someone to really care about her, but she was too afraid to say anything.

I situated myself so that I was laying with my face towards the window and as I closed my eyes against the street light, I was hoping that Charlie would be able to open up to me at least a little bit.