His Deepest Secret

Charlotte and Anderson were now sitting on the carpet of Anderson's bedroom, talking and working on their project.

What happened earlier that day was not exactly clear in Charlotte's mind. What really did happen was Anderson took her to the nurse. She slept after the nurse talked to her parents, who picked her up thirty minutes later from school. She ate food and then slept in her bed, only to wake up at eight by a text from Anderson, asking her to tell her parents that they were going to work on their project and to come outside, where he was in his truck.

Charlotte's parents were extremely worried about her, but Charlotte explained to them that she had a lot of stress from school and badly needed sleep when she fainted. She also said if she ignored the project, it would cause more stress. That statement right there made them reluctantly agree, and outside to Anderson's truck she went. And now they sat on his bedroom floor.

Charlotte leaned against the side frame of Anderson's bed while he laid on his stomach and was writing down contemporary versions of the lines of their scene they were given as they talked.

"So, you're going to do half and I'm doing the other half? But we are working together when we write our halves?" Charlotte asked him. She was majorly upset with Anderson earlier in the day, but she did not have the energy to fight with him right now and the project needed to get done.

"Yep," Anderson said, his eyes concentrated on the paper he was skillfully writing. "Do you see my plan?"

Although he did not move his head up, Charlotte could see him faintly smile. But then his smile began to falter.

"Charlotte. . . You know we need to talk about today," Anderson added, talking in a soft voice as he looked up to meet her eyes.

"I don't want-"

Anderson cut her off. "Obviously it was my fault. And I just wanted to say that I am sorry for saying all of those things that must have hurt you. I said those things in anger, and yeah, I meant them. But I meant them in a lesser degree, is what I am trying to say. When I get mad, I tend to exaggerate things."

Charlotte looked down at her hands.

"I really didn't mean it when I called you a bitch. Or when I told you that you are the most judgemental person that I have ever met. But I'm not saying those were entirely true. You are quite a mean, fiesty girl who does judge me wrongly. But I never meant to make you think that you were a horrible person," Anderson said softly. He sat up and scooted close to her, lifting her chin to make her look up and meet his gaze. "I still do hate you. You still piss me off in every single way imaginable. You are the only person besides my family to know that I have cancer. But you are not a horrible bitch. I tend to bring the worst out in you, don't I?"

Charlotte laughed and nodded, the sadness in her aways beginning to fade away. "I still hate you and think you're a complete asshole."

"I'm not a complete asshole. I caught you before you hit the cement, carried you to the nurse's office, and stayed until she made me go back to class. And I wasn't exactly willing to go. But you weren't conscious for all of that or didn't remember. Complete assholes wouldn't do that, only half assholes," Anderson said, his face amused.

Charlotte wasn't aware that Anderson had done all those things. She thought it was Sullivan who took her to the nurse because that was who texted her after school to ask if she was okay.

"Oh. . ." Charlotte felt a little awkward and shy. She began to notice the proximity between her and Anderson, who was sitting with his legs crossed in front of her. His knees and her knees were almost touching.

Anderson looked at her weirdly and scooted back to his original spot. "Thank you Anderson," he said in his best girl voice he could muster up.

Charlotte laughed. "I don't say thank you to people I hate."

"I said thank you when you drove me home and took me upstairs to my bedroom when I was throwing up the night of the party," Anderson claimed.

"Then this means I hate you more than you hate me, cause I am still not going to say thank you," Charlotte said with amusement.

"Uhuh, whatever Charlotte. You're welcome," he muttered as he wrote elegantly on the piece of paper in front of him.

Charlotte reached her hand up to his bed, feeling around for a pillow. She felt one and pulled it down to her, setting it next to her so she could lay down on her side comfortably.

"Feeling tired?" he asked.

"Yeah. . ." Charlotte answered. Her eyes were trying to close, but she was insisting that they stay open.

"Get some sleep," he told her.

"No," she said defiantly.

"Dude, you fainted today because of a lack of sleep and food, which your body lives on. So get your ass in that bed on your side and sleep."

"Screw you. I do what I want."

Anderson laughed. "You're going to fall asleep anyways. I don't feel like picking your fat ass up off of the floor."

"That's so funny, I almost fell off my dinosaur," Charlotte said, scowling at him.

He smiled back at her. For some reason, this girl was getting to him. She pissed him off so much, irritated him, knew his secret, and was a judgemental bitch. Yet, she was getting to him.

"Charlotte, you're ridiculous."

"Yeah? You're retarded and a jerk off."

That made Anderson laugh. "You're too much, kid."

"Why do you insist on calling me kid?" Charlotte asked.

"Shut up and go to bed," Anderson told her.

Charlotte scowled at him and closed her eyes.

Anderson looked up every so often, and noticed that she fell asleep after a little while.

Thoughts were running through his mind. Memories were appearing. Feelings were coming through. Everything Charlotte has ever said about him, he heard through others. "He's a stupid, selfish jock." "Why the hell would any girl want him?" "Fucking idiot." "He's a whiny little rich boy." And far worse. It would seem that those words could not affect someone so badly, but it did affect Anderson, more than he liked to admit it. It wasn't something that attracted him in most movies where guys who are loved by every girl falls for the one who hates him. He hated her, but he wasn't an asshole. He put up a facade when he moved to that city, to that school. He acted like everyone else, like an asshole, like a jerk. But it was all a front. Anderson never wanted to be the weak, sensitive kind of guy. But truthfully, Anderson was a nice, caring boy who was extremely fun and wanted to experience love. Yet, he hid that deep inside of his heart and pushed it all down until he could not hear his true feelings anymore. He could not afford to love; he was basically dying. He did not want to get hurt. He did not want to hurt a girl. And falling in love with one would mean exactly that and more. It would be devastating.

Although Charlotte judges him very wrongly, she has moments where she sees right through him. Whenever they are being nice to each other, whenever Charlotte sees the real him, Anderson turns back to his cold, mean self. It's his defense. What else is he supposed to do?

While thinking these thoughts, Anderson looked up at Charlotte, who was sleeping with her back against the side of the bed. Her legs were bent up to her tummy and her arms rested on and underneath her pillow. Her face looked flawless and peaceful.

Why couldn't she leave him alone? It was all because of this project that Charlotte found out about his cancer.

Charlotte stirred in her sleep. Anderson felt tired after writing the explanations and thinking about these deep things. Quietly, he stood up and fixes the blankets on the bed. He placed two pillows in the middle to separate the two from touching and moved back the blankets on Charlotte's side. Gently, he picked her up, laid her down on the bed, and pulled the covers over her and up to her shoulders. She stirred and groaned in her sleep, but did not wake up. Anderson turned off the light and crawled onto his side of the bed. After getting underneath the covers, depression had hit him, and he could not stop it. For about an hour, he let thoughts of what would happen to his family if he did not beat the cancer and died. It devastated his heart.

Eventually, he fell asleep and into a deep dream.

---

Anderson opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to open them, but sensing that it was time to wake up. Slowly, his senses began to wake up, and when his eyes were fully open, he freaked out.

"What the fuck?!" Anderson shoved himself off his bed onto the floor.

"Huh?" Charlotte grumbled, stirring awake.

"What. The. Fuck. Charlotte?!" Anderson asked, his voice extremely serious and full of anger.

She sat up, not sure what was going on. "What?" she asked, getting irritated.

"You were cuddling up close to me, laying your head on my chest. You were so fucking close to me," Anderson said accusingly.

"I was?" Charlotte looked sleepily down around her and noticed something. "I'm still on my fucking side you dick! The pillows are on your side of the floor. So what the hell were you trying to do? Cuddle with me and blame it on me?!" Charlotte was awake now, and she was livid.

Anderson stood up and looked to see that she was right. "Get out of my fucking bed. Let's go."

"What the hell Anderson? Take me home," Charlotte said angrily. She crawled off the bed and stormed outside to his truck, being careful not to wake anyone.

Anderson grabbed his keys and went outside to his truck.

The drive was quiet, like it usually was, until Charlotte spoke up.

"You know, it was not my fault, so be mad at yourself. It's always the same thing: you treat me horribly, then treat me nicely, and then soon again, you treat me worse. Can't you just decide whether or not you're going to e a dick or be nice? It's like hanging out with a fucking girl who is PMSing all the time," Charlotte said, staring Anderson down as he drove towards her house.

"You want me to choose what I'm going to be like around you?"

"YES! Be a fucking dick or be nice. I'm sick of it and of this project. I cannot wait for this project to be over," Charlotte answered.

"I'll be a dick then, Charlotte. I hate you. Get out of my truck," he told her.

Charlotte looked at him as he stared straight at the road in front of him. "Yeah? I hate you, too. Tell me something I don't know." Charlotte got out of his truck and walked up her driveway to her house.

It was the same shit. Everyday.
It was beginning to get old.