What He Left Behind

I haven’t been to the bar to watch the guys play on my own since the very first time I saw them, but in a way, it’s nice. I like doing things on my own sometimes. Bearing in mind how tired I am, and how I’m still in a pretty bad mood, I doubt I’d be good company anyway.

The area in front of the stage is crowded so instead I find a seat at the back of the bar and make conversation with the bartender who I know quite well now from having seen him in here so many times and at parties the guys throw.

The band comes onto the stage later than usual, and instantly, I know something is wrong. Harvey, Adam and Mason are first onstage. They look flustered and stressed, which is weird, because all five of them usually look so comfortable and excited when they perform. Stan appears a few seconds later. He forces a small smile at the audience and at his band members, but I notice that his jaw is clenched, as though he’s angry. He chews nervously on his lip, glancing to where I assume Charlie is waiting, and then nods at his band members. They begin to play their first song just as Charlie stumbles onto the stage. Charlie’s hands are shaking and he’s not walking in a straight line. He looks up at the audience and I see his bloodshot eyes, and suddenly it all makes sense.

-

It’s actually a relief when the band finally finish. For the past half an hour, Charlie has done nothing but mess up: tripping over, forgetting his lyrics, missing his cues, and bursting into occasional fits of laughter. I get to my feet and find my way to the side stage area, just as the guys finish their set. Charlie is the first to come off stage. His facial features are twisted into a frown and he’s covered in sweat, although I think it’s as much thanks to the drugs as because he’s just been on stage.

“Charlie, what the hell was that?!” Stan yells, before I get the chance to say anything.

“Fuck off,” Charlie spits, waving his arm in a dismissive manner as he continues to walk down the hallway towards the room they use as a dressing room, not even bothering to look at his band mates or acknowledge my presence.

“That was our last fucking gig here and it was a complete disaster.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Charlie snaps, as he walks into the dressing room, “We’re onto bigger gigs now. This place doesn’t even matter.” The door slams shut before anyone is able to respond.

“Fuck!” Adam yells, punching the wall.

“Dude, calm down,” Stan orders, “The last thing we need is you losing it as well.”

“I’m gonna go and talk to him,” I decide.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What other option is there?”

“Noelle, you know what he gets like. He’s unpredictable at the best of times.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, walking towards the dressing room door. The fact is that yes, I do know what he gets like but I trust him not to hurt me, even when he is in this state. Besides, I can’t leave him. I wish I could just walk away but I care too much to leave him to make a mess of everything.

“Charlie, it’s me. Open the door,” I call upon realising the door is locked. There is silence for a second, before Charlie opens the door slightly, allowing me to force my way in. He sits down on the couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“If you’re here to give me a lecture then go the fuck home.”

“Charlie, don’t talk to me like that,” I snap, “You fucked up. Not me. Not your band. You! Don’t take it out on everyone else.”

“Just be quiet, you’re being too loud,” he grumbles, covering his ears with his hands. I roll my eyes, sick to death of dealing with the ridiculous behaviour of addicts.

“Can you pass me a beer?” he asks.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I’ll get one myself then,” he hisses rudely, getting up and stumbling towards the mini fridge. He almost falls several times, so off his face that he can’t even stand up properly. There is a knock at the door and Stan, Adam, Harvey and Mason enter the room, picking up their belongings that are littered around the room.

“Are you alright?” Stan asks me, completely ignoring Charlie, not that I blame him.

“Yeah,” I reply, forcing a smile.

“We’re gonna head off. Do you want a ride home?”

“It’s okay. I had better make sure Charlie gets home in one piece.”

“Leave him to it Noelle; you’re better off without him when he’s like this.” I look to where Charlie is sitting. He is lying down now, his eyes hazy, and he looks as though he’s struggling to stay awake. It breaks my heart to see him like this.

“I know, but I can’t leave him in this state.” Stan scrunches his face up in a look that tells me he thinks I’m stupid, but I don’t give in. Nothing will convince me to leave Charlie without making sure he’s safe.

“Alright fine, I’ll take his stuff for now so you don’t have to worry about that, but text me when you get home safe, okay?”

“You sound like Charlie now,” I tease. Stan laughs as he picks up his guitar.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya.” The guys take their things and leave, shutting the door behind them. I stare silently at Charlie for a second, watching him shift uncomfortably and jitter occasionally as he downs another beer. He’s destroying himself with every sip and I have to stand here watching, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help him until he decides to help himself.

“Alright, let’s get you home,” I decide, taking his arms and pulling him to his feet. He’s unsteady and dizzy, and I don’t think he really knows what’s going on.

“Come on Charlie,” I persist, trying my best to hold him up, but his balance is atrocious and I’m not strong enough to support his weight. Somehow, I manage to get him out of the room and out the back door of the bar. I hail a cab and after a lot of struggling, I manage to get him inside and tell the cab driver Charlie’s address.

“Where’s Stan?” Charlie asks, sitting up abruptly, his eyes suddenly wide and alert.

“He left with the others,” I tell him and he stares at me blankly, taking a few seconds to make sense of my words, before laughing slightly.

“That’s funny, is it?” I snap, still irritated with him for how ridiculously intoxicated he has got himself.

“You need to relax,” he chuckles.

“You need to sort yourself out. You’re a fucking mess. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

It is not long until the cab pulls up outside Charlie’s house. I pay the driver and then drag Charlie up the path to the front door.

“Where’s your key?” I ask him. He shrugs and laughs a bit more. Rolling my eyes, I check each of his jacket pockets until I find his house key and unlock the door. Charlie pretty much crawls up the stairs and then flops down onto his bed, instantly passing out. I chew on my lip, staring helplessly at the boy who has quickly become my best friend as he messes up his life, the same way my wonderful brother did.

Pulling myself together, I take off his shoes carefully so as not to wake him, and then grab one of his t-shirts from the drawer and change into it. I didn’t bother bringing an overnight bag since I was planning on going home after the show, but I can’t leave Charlie now. Even when he’s drugged up and pissed out of his mind and acting like a complete ass, I can’t leave him. I pull the blanket over him and brush his hair out of his face and then turn off the light and eventually fall into a troubled sleep.

-

By about 7:00am, I am sick to death of tossing and turning, so I give up on sleep and get myself ready. Charlie is still fast asleep, and judging by the state he was in last night, he won’t be waking up any time soon. Before I leave, I put a glass of water and some headache tablets beside the bed, because I can’t imagine Charlie will be feeling too great when he wakes up. I feel so angry with everything and I so badly want to hate Charlie enough that I can just leave him to fuck his life up, but I can’t because I care about him so unbelievably much and I couldn’t hate him ever.

The whole situation is made worse by the fact it’s history repeating itself. The whole point of moving here was that it would be a fresh start and I could finally live some sort a stable life, but Charlie’s just like Austin. Once again, I am watching someone I love dig themselves deeper and deeper into a hole despite doing everything I can to help them. Once again, I wake up sick with fear because every day that drugs are involved in is a nightmare. Once again, I feel hopelessly trapped in the vicious cycle that I know from experience won’t end until their addiction kills them. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to do this all over again.

-

I thought that the walk home would clear my head a bit but in fact, all it did was give me time to overthink everything until I wind myself up to the point I feel angry and emotional. When I get home, I am surprised to see both of my parents in the same room. My mother is sat forward on the couch, her hands on her knees and her eyes vacant as always, and my father is sat at the kitchen table on his computer. It’s strange to see my father at home for once, and it’s even stranger to see my mother out of her room, but I don’t have the energy to ask questions.

“Noelle, where have you been?” my father asks, getting to his feet. His voice is loud and intrusive and it makes my head hurt and I am simply not in the mood.

“Out,” I say bluntly, praying he doesn’t ask any more questions because the anger I feel towards everyone and everything right now is blinding. I know if he pushes me it’ll get into an argument and I’ll say something I shouldn’t.

This is all because of them. I wouldn’t be in this situation right now if we hadn’t have moved here, and we wouldn’t have had to move here if they had have just been proper parents to Austin. This is their fault.

“Out where?” my dad asks stupidly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re sixteen years old. As your parent, I have a right to know where you’ve been all night,” he decides, starting to raise his voice, which only makes me angrier.

“No you don’t!” I yell, suddenly snapping and making my mother tense up, “You’re only a parent when it suits you. Don’t act like you care. You probably didn’t even notice I was gone until I got back.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“Just shut the fuck up,” I cry, emphasising every other word, “You’re never here dad. You can’t come home for one day and suddenly think you’re in charge of everything that goes on in the house.”

“I work long hours to earn money to put a roof over your head young lady! Your mum’s here, it’s not like I leave you on your own.”

“You might aswell,” I spit, pointing to my mother who is sitting motionless on the couch, staring into space as always, completely tuning out from everything going on around her, “All she fucking does is sit in bed. I look after her, not the other way round.”

“Your mother is struggling at the moment. You need to support her.”

“And who supports me, dad? You may be content with pretending like Austin never existed, but I’m not!” My mother jumps at the mention of Austin’s name and I should feel bad because I’ve clearly triggered something for her, but I don’t feel bad at all, the same way they don’t feel bad when they leave their kids to look after themselves.

“Stop it right now,” my dad orders.

“No. I’m not going to pretend like he never existed just so that you can keep on playing happy families.”

“This isn’t about me Noelle!” he yells, subtly motioning towards my mother who is now quietly crying.

“I don’t care! I’m sick of pretending my brother didn’t exist. If you guys had have stepped up and helped him then maybe he’d still be alive. Why should I pay the price because you two messed up?!”

My mother moves suddenly and then all I can feel is pain and shock as her hand collides with my skin, slapping me hard across the face.