What He Left Behind

When I wake the next morning, Charlie is still sound asleep next to me. His hair is messy and covering his face, so I gently push it out of the way, revealing his soft angelic features. It’s one extreme to the other with Charlie. Everything he does is at a hundred miles an hour. He’s like this whirlwind of trouble and madness that leaves a path of destruction everywhere he goes. And then all of a sudden he’s out like a light, fast asleep and at peace and it’s the only time anyone gets a break from the chaos.

I try to play back the previous night’s events one by one. Of course, my brain has other ideas and without warning I am inundated with not just recollections of last night’s sickeningly familiar events, but the memories of the one person I’m unable to forget. The grief washes over me like a wave and it’s powerful and relentless. It makes me want to go back to sleep but I know I mustn’t keep letting it consume me. I have to keep going.

I could blame Charlie for triggering it all, but there’s not much use in that. It’s not like I can get through the day without thinking about Austin anyway. Charlie’s only brought forward the inevitable. Besides, I can’t hold sober Charlie responsible for drunken Charlie’s actions, despite many people thinking on the contrary.

I don’t know everything Charlie’s been through. I don’t know his reasons for taking drugs so who am I to judge whether it’s understandable or not? Maybe he’s like Austin; maybe drugs are his last resort when he has no one to turn to. It’s all too easy for people with loving families and perfect upbringings and strong support systems to stereotype addicts as anti-social thugs, as if they know what it’s like to be so alone they feel they have no choice but to turn to drugs.

It was the same with Austin. Austin would go on a self-destructive bender and then rely on me to bail him out. He could be a dick when he was intoxicated, but I knew he couldn’t control it.
Austin was, and still is, the kindest person I’ve ever known. He’d do anything and everything to make other people happy. I guess you could say that was his hamartia. He spent so much time figuring out how to make everyone else happy that he never had time to do what made him happy.

Every day of Austin’s short life, all he ever did was strive to be what other people wanted him to be. He excelled academically because that’s what our parents wanted him to do. He behaved in class because that’s what his teachers wanted him to do. He spent all his free time going stupidly out of his way for other people because that’s what his ‘friends’ wanted him to do.

He’d stop at nothing to make other people happy, all without asking for anything in return. But then he got ill and all those people he’d tried so hard to make happy buried their heads in the sand and left him alone. The boy that was destined for Harvard became just another waste of talent.

I snap back to the present moment when I feel Charlie shift beside me. Normally I’d probably find him attractive when he’s all sleepy and dishevelled, but today I just feel empty. He looks like a stranger. He looks like someone I don’t know how to help.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him once I remember how to speak again.

“I’ve been worse,” he murmurs, hauling himself into a sitting position, “How the fuck did I get here?”

“You turned up on my doorstep off your face and shouting the odds, that’s how,” I say bitterly, slipping so easily back into my cold angry façade. “You also called me a bitch and said you’d hit me if I wasn’t a girl, then proceeded to ask if you could stay here.”

“Oh.” He presses his lips together and his shoulders fall and his eyes fill with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” he exhales, and I can see genuine shame in his eyes, just like I used to see in Austin’s. “I’m really sorry Noelle. I’m an ass when I’m like that.”

“Charlie it’s fine,” I tell him honestly. Like I said, I can’t hold sober Charlie accountable for drunken Charlie’s actions.

“It’s not sweetie, I fucked up.”

“You were drunk and high; I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I promise I didn’t mean any of that. I’m gonna make this up to you, I swear.”

“Sure. What are you doing today?” I ask, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Well first,” he says, regaining his usual confident demeanour, “I’m gonna head home and take a shower.”

“Good luck with that. Your dad’s pissed.”

“Why?”

“He kicked you out last night apparently.” Charlie sighs exasperatedly.

“I’ll go to Stan’s then. It’s too early for a fight with my dad.”

“Stan’s pissed too.”

“He’ll get over it.”

---

Charlie heads off pretty much right away to get to Stan’s. The guys are playing their fortnightly gig at the bar tonight so Charlie tells me I can bring my friends along if they’re still up for it, which Harlee most definitely is. Having spent the day studying and trying not to think about Austin, which proves to be challenging, I’m relieved when it’s finally time to get ready for the evening.

I put on my favourite black dress. It’s simple but smart, falling to just above my knee with spaghetti straps, a tight bodice and a flowing skirt. Heels would go perfectly with it, but in true Noelle fashion, I choose to wear my battered old Converse. They used to belong to my brother, and he lived in them. They’re close to falling apart now but I can’t bring myself to throw them out.

Once I’ve finished getting ready, I go downstairs to find my mother sitting tensely on the couch, staring more through the television than at it. She does that a lot – looks at things but doesn’t really see them. I smile at her but she doesn’t acknowledge me. At least she’s made it out of bed I suppose.

My phone buzzes and I read the text from Harlee, telling me that she and Amber are leaving now so will pick me up in ten minutes.

I jump when the front door opens, my father arriving home from wherever he’s just been earlier than I expected. He looks from me to my mother, offering us both a half-assed smile before sitting down on the armchair to take off his shoes. It’s rare that the three of us are actually in the same room together, so I take this opportunity to bring up what’s been concerning me for a while.

“Austin’s birthday is coming up,” I say hopefully.

“Yes,” my father acknowledges. I stare expectantly at the two of them but my mother remains taciturn, continuing to stare vacantly at a single point on the wall.

“Mom, did you hear what I said?”

“What is your point?” my father asks quickly, evidently finding the idea of commemorating Austin around his birthday, or any time for that matter, utterly unfathomable.

“My point is that he was your step son: you watched him grow up,” I hiss, rapidly growing frustrated, “Is it too much to ask that we celebrate his birthday?”

“What’s there to celebrate? He’s dead,” my mother mumbles.

“So you keep telling me!” I yell, the past few days’ events culminating and making me lose it, “But he had a life aswell you know, is that not worth celebrating?!” Both of my parents remain silent, their expressions stony and dull.

“Here we go again,” I rant, unable to contain my anger, “Let’s pretend like Austin never existed instead of just accepting the fact we fucked up! Maybe if people actually made half the effort with him that he made with them, he would still be here right now!” My mother leaps up from her seat at the same time as my father. She runs upstairs, as usual, running away from the problem instead of facing it.

“That’s it! Go back to bed and stay there for another few weeks. That will make the problem go away!” I shout after her. My father storms over to where I am standing and grabs my arm roughly.

“That’s enough!” he yells, “You need to learn to have some consideration young lady!” I shove my father away from me, rage coursing through my veins.

“Austin was the most considerate person I have ever met and look where the fuck that got him!” I screech, blinking back the tears in my eyes. I refuse to cry in front of people.

Is it wrong that I wish that my father would argue back? I wish that he would at least say something about Austin, be it good or bad, just something to show he actually acknowledges that Austin existed.

“Watch your mouth,” my father warns before storming out of the front door. The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates around the house. It makes my chest hurt, though not half so much as the unrelenting silence that follows.

---

“I think I may have just fallen in love,” Harlee gushes later that night as Charlie’s band leaves the stage.

“Oh please, you’ve been in love with Charlie for longer than you’ve been in love with Keegan,” Amber teases.

“Well that’s true,” she smirks as I roll my eyes and get up from the table. We head towards the bar at the back of the room where I met the guys last time and we find seats. It is not long until Mason appears, his old ripped up shirt he was wearing a minute ago swapped for a white button up.

“Hey,” he greets, grinning at me and my friends as he slips behind the bar, “Can I get you guys a drink? Charlie will be here in a second.” Harlee’s face lights up at the mere mention of his name. I roll my eyes, praying Charlie doesn’t try his luck with her because I’m beginning to doubt she’d even attempt to resist.

By the time Mason has gotten us all drinks, Stan, Harvey and Adam appear, followed by a hyper and energetic Charlie.

“Are you okay doll?” he asks, standing behind me and resting his hands on my shoulders. I note how this isn’t one of his typical flirty gestures. It’s different somehow, more innocent, like I’m his friend and not a potential hook-up.

“Yeah I’m alright,” I say unconvincingly.

“You don’t seem it. You’re so tense,” he notices, rubbing my shoulders gently. With Austin’s birthday approaching and my parents still refusing to acknowledge it, how can I not be tense?

“I’m fine,” I assure, because that’s not completely a lie. I do feel better around Charlie. He has this calming effect on me. He’s like a breath of fresh air which sounds ridiculous because he’s also a disaster waiting to happen, but when he’s not in a state, he’s quite laid back and fun. That energy seems to rub off on me when I’m around him.

---

Harlee and Amber don’t stay for long as they both have an 11pm curfew. I go back to Harvey and Adam’s with the guys, knowing that there is one benefit to having parents like mine and that’s that I can do pretty much anything I want and they won’t even realise I’m gone.

By about midnight, I’m starting to feel tired so Charlie offers to walk me back. Much to my relief, he’s only drank a couple of ciders, perhaps because he still feels bad about last night.

“We’re gonna head off now,” Charlie announces, pausing the videogame they’re playing and tossing his controller to Adam before getting to his feet. The guys all mutter goodbyes to us both but Adam and Harvey are too focused on their game to pay much attention.

It’s chilly outside but since Charlie is seemingly immune to the cold, he lends me his jacket.

“Tonight was fun,” I tell him honestly. It did a good job of distracting me for a while. God knows where I would be without those distractions.

“It wasn’t bad. Harlee’s pretty hot, not gonna lie,” he smirks.

“Not a chance Charlie; she’s taken.”

“So?” he teases, knowing his arrogance winds me up.

“So you have to respect that and leave her alone.”

“That’s too bad. I’ll just have to settle for you then.”

“Yeah, you wish,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I shove him. He shoves me back so I punch him in the shoulder. He groans in pain before wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, picking me up off the ground.

“Get off of me,” I order, trying to stop a laugh from escaping my lips which fails miserably. I can’t focus on anything other than how my skin is tingling from Charlie’s touch, how my heart is racing and how my mind feels at ease around him. I’m a different me around him; I don’t have to hide things as much as I do with other people.

It’s dark in this part of the neighbourhood but the few streetlights lining the road provide enough light for me to see a rowdy looking group of guys stumbling around just ahead of us. I feel Charlie tense up, which I’m certain, is out of natural instinct rather than fear. He reaches for my hand, pulling me close to him.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“Assholes. Just keep quiet and let me handle this okay,” he demands. I nod, glancing ahead at the group of guys who are now just mere feet away from us. There are six of them altogether and they all look a couple of years older than Charlie. I can tell from their demeanour that some of them are drunk, and their posture tells me they’re not looking to make friends.

“Oi Charlie!” one of them shouts, “What’s up man?” I look the guy up and down, noting how he is only an inch taller than Charlie, but he’s incredibly muscular, and how his facial features are twisted into a kind of scowl, although it doesn’t seem intentional. It’s as though a frown is permanently plastered to his face. He also has a scar running through his eyebrow, which looks to be only a couple of days old.

“I’m alright man, it’s been a while,” Charlie replies. The guys come to a stop just about a metre in front of us and a tense atmosphere forms.

“What’s up with you? You’re being awful quiet,” the guy with the scar smirks with unmistakable venom in his voice.

“You’re not so confident now, huh?” another guy snarls.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Charlie says simply.

“Bit late for that, aye? Who’s this?” the guy with the scar asks, gesturing to me. Charlie pushes me behind him slightly, squaring up to the guy.

“None of your business. Leave her out of this,” Charlie orders.

“Or what? You gonna-”

The guy with the scar is cut off by a guy in faded blue jeans and a thick padded coat who’s been quiet up until now. He looks to be the eldest of the group; I’d put him in his mid to late 20s.

“Come on Rex, let’s go,” he commands, pulling his friend, who doesn’t put up much of a fight, away from Charlie. The group begin to pass us but the guy in the coat lingers. He stares at Charlie with a look that speaks a thousand words, none of which I can quite decipher, and Charlie holds his stare.
The pair’s eyes are so accusing and cold that I’m certain there’s something more than a bit of rivalry between them. It causes my stomach to somersault uncomfortably, and believe me, I’m not easily repulsed.

I’m still holding Charlie’s hand, so I tug on it, and thankfully it snaps him out of it. He shakes his head, as though having an internal conflict, and then carries on in the direction of my house.

“You better watch yourself Charlie!” the guy who’s called Rex threatens, “We can still go to the cops at any fucking moment. I know plenty of witnesses that would like to see your ass in a fucking prison cell. Wouldn’t want that now, huh?”

The comment catches me off guard. I know that Charlie’s no angel by any stretch of imagination, but suddenly it dawns on me the scale of all of this. This is more than a drug habit and a few fist fights; Charlie’s done things worthy of prison time, and I’m not so infatuated with him that I don’t realise what a big deal that is.

Charlie spins round to face the group again.

“Go ahead, go and snitch on me like the fucking pussy you are,” he yells, letting go of my hand and raising his middle finger in the air. “Best believe I’ll be taking you all down with me.”

Some of the guys laugh and mutter responses but they’re far enough away now that I can’t understand what they’re saying. Charlie and I continue to walk in a pensive silence, both of us caught up in our own heads, until my curiosity gets the better of me and I have to ask what’s playing on my mind.

“What were they talking about Charlie?” I ask quietly.

“Nothing, it doesn’t even matter,” he assures, gradually getting worked up again. “They’re fucking assholes. They’re all talk but they don’t do shit. Fucking assholes!” His temper suddenly explodes and he angrily kicks a trashcan out in the street, shouting expletives.

“Charlie!” I cry, grabbing his arm roughly. He tries to pull free from my grasp but I hold him tighter. I know he’d easily be able to fight me off if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t.

I turn to face him and my eyes meet his, noting how they’re frantic and distressed and full of anger and hatred. He’s breathing heavily.

“It’s okay,” I soothe.

“Noelle, they’re fucking assholes. If you even knew what they’ve done-“

“Charlie!” I demand, grabbing the sides of his face and forcing him to look at me. “Don’t let them wind you up. It’s not worth it.”

He stares at me with a look that’s impossible to comprehend, running his hand through his unruly hair and gritting his teeth.

“Breathe,” I remind him, sliding one hand around the side of his tense neck and dropping the other to his shoulder.

For a moment or two we stay like that, not breaking eye contact once. He eventually relaxes a little and I wonder if maybe I have the same calming effect on him as he does on me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods quickly, cracking a smile as we begin walking again.

“Are you okay?” he questions, switching so easily back into his confident collected demeanour.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seemed stressed earlier.”

“Oh, right,” I mutter awkwardly, remembering how wound up I was at the start of the evening. “I had an argument with my parents. That’s all.”

“What about?”

“It was about my brother.” My heart skips a beat when I realise what I’ve said, but I don’t regret it one bit. Aside from earlier on, I’ve never once spoken of Austin since I moved here, but I’ve grown sick of it. I’m tired of pretending as though he never existed. I’m tired of doing what my parents want. Austin did what our parents wanted and look where it got him.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Charlie frowns, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t,” I confess, “Not anymore.”