What He Left Behind

That Friday, I go to the mall with Amber so she can take me to what is, according to her, Sacramento’s best ice cream parlour. I’m excited but I still haven’t gotten used to socialising again. I’m not nervous as such; I’m not exactly shy after all. I think it’s just because I’ve secluded myself for so long, the concept of going out with people all the time feels foreign. As we walk into the crowded restaurant and take a seat in a booth towards the back, I browse through the menu. We chat about school and other things and Amber persuades me to try the cookie dough ice cream as it’s apparently the best in all of California.

“So do you like it here?” Amber asks me, once we’ve had our orders taken, “In Sacramento I mean?”

“Yeah,” I say honestly, “I wasn’t sure at first but I’m happier here than in Marietta. The people here are really nice.” That’s not a lie. Sure, life is far from perfect but at least I don’t have half the state looking at me like I’m wounded or friends that only talk to me because they feel bad for me. I don’t hide away in my room all day like I did back home. I definitely go to school a lot more than I used to, and I don’t getting into fights anymore, although Coral’s testing me.

The best part is that I don’t have to deal with people feeling sorry for me all the time. I know people were only being nice, but it drove me insane when everyone kept saying ‘Sorry for your loss,’ as though sorry would bring my brother back. Sorry isn’t going to change the fact I lost the one person that meant something to me.

“That’s good. Do you keep in touch with your friends from back at home?”

“No,” I admit, “I don’t keep in touch with anyone from back home.”

“Why?” she asks, surprised.

“There’s not really anyone there worth keeping in touch with,” I explain, “I wasn’t the most popular person anyway.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“You’re so confident and chatty and you’re good with everybody. Most people at school fall into the clique that’s most suited to them and then they avoid everyone who isn’t part of their clique. I rarely speak to people outside of our friendship group. You get on with everyone though. You chat to basically everyone you come into contact with. Even Charlie Hemmingway can’t keep away from you.”

I laugh a little. “I guess I’m a lot different here to how I was back home.”

“What changed?”

“I wanted to start fresh here. I’m naturally a chatty person so it’s kinda relieving to be able to talk to everyone and hang out with whoever I want. Charlie didn’t really give me much choice but to hang out with him. You guys are funny and easy to talk to. I think I just got stuck in a rut in Marietta.”

“I think it’s cool that you never change who you are depending on who you’re around.”

“I don’t get intimidated easily and I don’t like treating someone differently based on their social status. It gets exhausting trying to fit in all the time,” I say, thinking back to Austin and how he eventually got tired of trying to fit in.

“True, but I’ll admit I judge people based on their reputation. I know I shouldn’t but take Charlie for example, I heard he’s bad news so I stayed away. You’re possibly the first girl that’s gotten close to him in a non-sexual way, and suddenly there’s this whole new side of him. I’m kind of excited to see them play tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

I’m flattered that Amber seems to think so highly of me, but I’m ninety nine per cent sure I wouldn’t be as accepting of Charlie if it wasn’t for Austin. If it wasn’t for Austin, I would probably stereotype Charlie as a womanising waste-of-space troublemaker and avoid him just the same as any sane person would.

Because of Austin, I see things a little differently. Because of Austin, I see past Charlie’s womanising ways and reckless habits to a lonely and hurting boy simply wanting to be understood. Society hears the word ‘addict’ and run a mile, avoiding them like the plague. What they fail to see is that people aren’t born addicts. Something obviously happened to make them that way. In my experience, people turn to drugs when they’re out of other options. Instead of judging them, maybe people should fucking help them. Then maybe they wouldn’t get into such a mess in the first place.

-

Later that evening, Amber and I are back at my house watching movies. My father is still at work and my mother is asleep upstairs, but that goes without saying. For once though, I’m glad they’re not around, because I don’t want Amber, or any of my friends for that matter, seeing how dysfunctional my family is.

About an hour after the sun has set, there is a knock at the door. I rack my brains for who it could possibly be turning up at this time; it’s too early for my father to be home yet. Curiously, I unbolt the door and open it to reveal an intoxicated Charlie, his eyes bloodshot and a half empty liquor bottle in his hand.

“Hey doll,” he chuckles to himself, looking me up and down.

“What do you want?” I ask quietly, tensing up involuntarily. Trust Charlie to pick an awesome time as usual.

“I wanted to see you,” he declares, cupping my face with his hand. His touch sets my skin on fire but the smell of alcohol reminds me now is not the time to let my feelings for him get the better of me.

“You need to leave,” I tell Charlie, trying to keep my voice steady as I pull away from his touch.

“Why?” he asks, looking suddenly sad, “Are you busy?” He peers over my shoulder into the house and his eyes fall on Amber. He grins widely when he sees her and she smiles nervously in return.

“Yes Charlie, I’m busy,” I affirm, “You can’t turn up here off your face and uninvited. Just go home.” It was one thing looking after my brother when he got like this, but I barely even know Charlie. Why should I have to clear up his mess? I’m not his mum.
God knows where his mum is.

“I have nowhere to go,” he says quietly, “My dad won’t let me in the house.” I’m silent for a moment, my heart almost aching for him. As much as I may come across as cold and indifferent, I’m not completely heartless. In fact I’m actually a pushover when it comes to things like this. How can I turn away someone who has no one?

“Why don’t you stay at Stan’s?”

“I’ve just been there but he’s being a dick.”

“Why’s that?”

“We were having some beer right,” he slurs, “And some liquor. And then we had…w-we had a line each…j-j-just one. And he wouldn’t let me have anymore, just cos he doesn’t know how to have fun. Well fuck him cos look what I’ve got here.” He pulls a small bag of white powder out of his pocket and waves it in front of my face.

I stare at the packet of cocaine for a second, thinking about how it made my brother act like someone he wasn’t, how it made him get so sick I could hardly recognise him, how it ultimately killed him in the worst way.

The anger starts to become blinding and I force myself to think rationally. I can’t lose it right now; not when Charlie’s completely intoxicated and Amber’s inside wondering what the hell is going on. I need to have my head together.

I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair.

“Do you honestly have nowhere to go?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I sigh, reaching out and plucking the bag of cocaine from Charlie’s hand.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Charlie shouts, stumbling after me into the house. I open the bathroom door and tear open the packet, emptying the contents into the toilet. Charlie grabs me by the shoulder, spinning me round to face him.

“Fuck you! You owe me, fuck you!” he yells.

“Charlie, shut the hell up or you’ll wake up my mum.”

“You’re lucky you’re a chick; otherwise I swear to god I’d hit you right now.” I swallow hard, doing my best not to lose my temper. He deserves a fucking punch in the face for speaking to me like that. I’m most definitely not one to be taken advantage of. He may be good-looking and know how to talk the talk and have girls falling at his feet, and he may be sad and alone and in a really bad place, but I’m no fool. I will not let anyone speak to me like that.

This is different though. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Like Austin used to, Charlie gets fucked up and loses all control over his actions. Sober Charlie isn’t the same person as intoxicated Charlie.

That being said, I still will not let him muck me around. I’m not letting him think for one second that he can intimidate me.

“Charlie, shut up,” I demand, my hand flying to his neck. I know for a fact that Charlie is stronger than me ordinarily, but given how he can barely stand up straight, I have the upper hand for a change.

“Why are you being a bitch?” he asks.

“I’m not going to argue with you when you’re like this. If you want someone who’s going to listen to your bullshit, go to Coral’s.” Charlie tries to prise my hands away from his neck, but he’s so uncoordinated it’s almost laughable.

“If you want me to let you stay here you better shut up and sit down.” I release my grip on his neck and he does as he’s told, murmuring profanities under his breath.

I go into the kitchen and quickly pour him a glass of water before placing the glass into his shaking hands and telling him to drink it. He hesitates but does as he’s told. The room is silent until Amber picks up her things and gets to her feet.

“I best be getting home,” she tells me, grabbing her car keys off of the counter.

“Don’t move,” I say firmly to Charlie before following Amber to the door. I step outside of the house with her for a second, pulling the door to so Charlie can’t hear.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I say, “He’s out of order.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault,” she assures, “Are you gonna let him stay?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s official,” she declares, “You’re a saint. Does he not scare you when he’s like that?”

“Not really. I can’t leave him anyway; he’s got nowhere else to go.”

“I guess, but be careful though.”

“Always am.”

We say our goodbyes and then I lock the front door before returning to the living room. Miraculously, Charlie actually drank the glass of water so I take it from his hands and refill it before going upstairs, making sure he follows.

“Make a noise and you’re out,” I warn. I open the door to my bedroom and he kicks off his shoes and collapses on the bed. I go across the hall to the bathroom to change and when I come back, Charlie’s lying motionless on his back, his breathing uneven and his eyes shut.

I try to climb over him so that I can get into bed, but then his hands curl around my ankles. Caught off guard, I lose my balance and somehow end up on top of him, straddling his waist.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to stand up. He pulls me back down, resting his hands on my thighs.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he almost whispers, his voice so low and sensual it sends a shiver down my spine.

“You’re drunk,” I say dryly, catching a glimpse of his incredibly attractive smirk. Even in this state he still gives me butterflies.

I silently scold myself for being such a fool, forcefully pushing his hands off of me and getting into bed.

Charlie passes out within seconds. My heart rate speeds up. I’ve been in situations like this more times than I can count, but it still unnerves me to the point I get paranoid. I stare at Charlie for a while, checking to see if he’s still breathing and checking for signs of alcohol poisoning. He appears to be okay, but that doesn’t stop me from staying up half the night worrying and checking.
There I was thinking my days of supervising drunks were over.