What He Left Behind

Saturday arrives and I decide it’s time to pull myself out of my low mood. I get up barbarically early and go for a run and catch up on the schoolwork and housework I’ve been neglecting for the past couple of days. It makes me feel a lot better but I maintain it’s best to avoid Charlie and his friends for the weekend. Spending the day with them intoxicated will undoubtedly set me off again since I’m so goddamn fragile at the moment.

I text Charlie to apologise and then turn on my laptop so I can begin the English essay that’s due Monday. Unfortunately, it is not long until I am interrupted by a knock at the front door which it of course falls to me to answer as my dear mother has seemingly forgotten an outside world exists.

For a minute, I wait, hoping that the mailman or whoever it is gives up and leaves. They sure would if they knew what’s best for them – no one wants to see me looking like such a state.

Much to my dismay though, whoever’s at the door is persistent. They continue to knock until I grow frustrated, throwing back the comforter that’s over my lap and realising I have no option but to answer it. When I open the door, I’m greeted by the one person I really do not want to see. I should have known that only Charlie Hemmingway would be so relentless.

“What are you doing here?” I ask dryly, giving him an I’m-not-in-the-mood sort of look. Charlie reaches out his hand and puts it on my forehead. It takes me a few seconds to register what he’s doing but then I remember I told him I have a fever.

“I knew you were bullshitting!” he cries triumphantly. I let out a sigh, pulling the door open further to allow him into the house, painfully aware of how bad I am at saying no to him.

“Charlie, I can’t deal with you right now. It’s too early in the morning,” I warn, knowing that now is not a good time for him to get under my skin as he so frequently does.

“Fucking tell me about it; I haven’t gotten up this early on a Saturday in months. You should count yourself lucky,” he declares, “Now get yourself ready because we’re going out.”

“I’m not going out,” I tell him simply.

“Why not?”

“I’m ill.”

“You’re not ill.”

“Just because I don’t have a fever anymore, it doesn’t mean I don’t feel ill.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” he accuses.

“And you’re an asshole.”

“You call me an asshole a lot you know.”

“You completely disregard what I say a lot you know.”

He sighs, exasperated, and shoots me a look.

“Come on, I came all this way to spend the day with you,” he whines, flashing me his most innocent boyish smile.

“Oh god, that five minute drive must have been really taxing for you,” I retort and he smirks.

“Just go get ready.” I plaster a frown to my face and stare at him, hoping he’ll get the message that I’m really not in the mood. Instead, he stares right back at me for what feels like the longest time and we both wait, stubborn as ever, for the other to cave first.

After a while, he cracks a small smile, that annoyingly charming smile and I know instantly that he’s won.

“Where would we even be going?” I ask, frustrated, and his face suddenly lights up because the jerk knows he’s getting his way. “Just know you’re losing at least five brownie points for this. And you’re already on minus numbers for pissing me off so much this week.”

“Whatever you say,” he mutters, waving his arm dismissively. “Where do you want to go?”

I press my lips together, thinking hard. I haven’t explored much since I’ve been here so I don’t know what’s around. Shopping isn’t really my thing. I’ve heard there are some cool museums around but I can’t imagine Charlie would be up for that. Then I’m struck with an idea.

“I want to go to Los Angeles,” I decide.

“You wanna go to LA?” he clarifies, “Jesus Christ, I was thinking more along the lines of going for lunch.”

“I’ve never been to LA. We could stay in a cheap motel and come back tomorrow evening. It’ll be fun. Take it or leave it.”

“You know what? Fuck it. Why not? Go get dressed and I’ll drive us there,” he concedes, shaking his head. “Just remember you owe me big time.” I grin and hug him childishly before dashing upstairs to get ready. It would seem it’s not just Charlie that knows how to get his own way, after all.

I haven’t been on a holiday or trip since I was really young, so I don’t really know what to pack. After getting dressed into something more presentable than sweatpants, I throw a few essentials into a bag along with a change of clothes and my debit card, pausing for a brief second to wonder what Austin would think of this last minute trip. I’m not too sure whether he’d approve. He’d probably sigh and roll his eyes and remind me that if I don’t stop being so impulsive, I’ll get myself into trouble. Then I’d sigh and roll my eyes and remind him that he’s not one to talk since he’s the literal epitome of trouble.

I know that going on a trip to LA with a boy I barely know is probably a bad idea, but there’s something about Charlie that demands I trust him. He may have a reputation of being a womanising drug-addled, argumentative troublemaker, but I know from experience that people like Charlie are so much more than their reputation.

“Ready,” I tell Charlie as I return downstairs and throw on my battered old pair of Converse.

“About fucking time,” he smirks as we go outside to his van. I throw my bag into the back as he starts the engine. “I’ve just gotta stop at my house real quick to grab some stuff.”

“Okay,” I agree, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course.” He looks at me sceptically and I flash an innocent smile. “Seriously though,” I say, “We can fly there if it’s easier.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, “I like driving.”

“It will be a miracle if your van actually makes it out of Sac.”

“Hey, don’t insult the van. Have you got your license yet?”

“I have my learner’s permit, but I haven’t started driver’s ed. yet. With moving here and stuff, it was all a bit hectic and I’ve not gotten round to it.”

“I’ll teach you,” he decides.

“Is that allowed?” I ask doubtfully.

“Not technically,” he admits, “But if they don’t catch us then they can’t do shit. I’ll tell you what; I’ll take you to this place I know some time, and you can drive the van.”

“You’d let me drive your van?”

For a second, he hesitates, thinking it over, before saying, “Yeah, why not?”

“I guess. It’s not like I can ruin it any more than it is already.”

“Stop it,” he orders, “I can still change my mind.”

“Who says I even want you to teach me anyway? How do I know you’re a good teacher?”

“Trust me, I’m a good teacher. You know Tay?”

I nod.

“I taught her to drive, and she passed a couple of months back. She literally only took the bare minimum of proper lessons.”

“So you and Tay are pretty close?”

“Yeah, I like her.”

“Like like her?”

“Oh no,” he says quickly, “We’re just friends.”

“That sleep together?”

“From time to time,” he smirks, “She’s nice though. You’ll like her.” I nod, not entirely convinced. If she’s anything like Coral, I can’t see myself liking her very much at all. Charlie parks up outside his house and runs inside quickly to get some stuff.

“What are we listening to?” he asks when he returns, grabbing a handful of CDs from the back seat. I browse through them, glad to see he has a similar music taste to me. I take Good Charlotte’s ‘The Young and The Hopeless’ out of its case and put it in the CD player.

“This is a damn good record,” he grins, although after five hours of driving with me singing every lyric at the top of my lungs, I think he may be sick to death of hearing it.

“Where do you wanna go?” he asks.

“To the beach,” I decide and he rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. It’s not long before we park along the seafront of Santa Monica. I jump out of the van and my eyes light up when I see the very same pier I’ve spent years looking at photos of. It’s strange seeing it in real life.

We play in the arcades for an hour or so, where I discover Charlie is even more competitive than I am. Then we go on all the rides and for a walk on the beach. According to him, there isn’t anything worse. After that, we grab a bite to eat and then I beg him to watch the sunset from the pier. He rolls his eyes and says that he takes back what he said earlier, deciding that watching the sunset is officially worse than going for walks along the beach.

“Have you been here a lot then?” I ask as we sit on the edge of the pier, our feet dangling over the water.

“I used to come here a lot when I was a little kid,” Charlie explains, “My parents used to take me and my brother. This was my mom’s favourite place.”

“It’s not anymore?” I question, noticing how he speaks about it in past tense.

He scrunches his face up, “It might be. I don’t know.”

I shoot him a quizzical look.

“I don’t see her anymore. She left a while back. We don’t know where she went.” I’m quiet for a second, caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting that. As horrendously common as it is for dads to be deadbeat and absent, it’s rarer for a mom to leave. Regardless, it’s always baffled me how a parent can simply leave their child. I guess I don’t know the ins and outs, but I can’t understand how someone, no matter what they’re going through, could come to the conclusion that life would be better if they just abandoned their family.

“When did she leave?” I ask, reaching for his hand. I don’t want to upset him, but I don’t want to say ‘I’m sorry’ either. I know all too well that a shitty response like that doesn’t change anything.

“When I was 6,” he says with a smile I would have bought if I didn’t know any better. I find it hard enough having parents who are barely there, let alone a parent who’s not there at all. Like Austin did, Charlie takes drugs to fill the gap.

When it comes to drug addiction, there’s a lot of focus on how it’s an illness in the brain, something with a biological root. I see it differently. I’ve noticed people turn to drugs to fill a void, a void created by the absence of close bonds with others. Attachment is a part of human nature. Ask any psychologist and they’ll tell you that without attachments we wouldn’t survive. Everyone I know of that takes drugs lacks a close bond with someone, so it’s as though they give up trying to bond with people and instead bond with a substance of some kind. It certainly would seem like the easier option to someone that’s had a childhood full of turbulent relationships and broken attachment bonds.

“That must be tough.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s old news, I barely even remember her now so it’s all good”

“And you call me a liar,” I scoff. He smirks and then shrugs, but he doesn’t say anything else. I don’t press him on the matter because I don’t want him to clam up any more than he already has. There are a lot of things I don’t like to talk about so I don’t blame him for not wanting to talk about this.

“Look how pretty the sunset is,” I demand, pointing across the water. Charlie scrunches up his face and shakes his head.

“I swear you’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met. How can you possibly enjoy this?”

“Charlie, if you actually got to know girls instead of just sleeping with them, I think you’d find most girls enjoy this.”

“Not as much as they enjoy sleeping with me,” he teases, winking.

“You’re so full of it,” I complain, “Weren’t we gonna hang out with the guys this weekend?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, “But you wanted to come here.”

“You know we didn’t have to?”

“I know.”

“Thank you Charlie.”

“You’re welcome sweetie,” he smiles, completely oblivious to just how much this means to me. I look down to see our hands are still intertwined and I realise how I feel content and at ease for the first time in months. The fingers of my free hand close around my phone and I take a picture of us, the first picture I’ve taken since a few months before Austin died. It sounds silly, but it makes me feel like the old me is still there somewhere. Well perhaps not the old me; I’m not sure anyone can be the same after something like this. But something like the old me, perhaps something better.

---

Soon after it gets dark, we head back to the van and drive around until we find the cheapest motel in the area. I’ve spent too much money already this weekend bearing in mind I have college tuition to save for, and Charlie’s not exactly affluent either, so we’re not bothered about staying anywhere luxurious.

It’s gone eleven o clock when we finally find somewhere and I’m exhausted.

“Are we sharing a room or what?” I ask Charlie as we walk up to the counter. Charlie looks at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Noelle, I’m not gonna lie, I thought that was off the cards with you but sure, I’m not gonna say no.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I hiss, frowning. “I’m saving us money, not trying to sleep with you.”

“That may be so,” he acknowledges, “But are you not at all tempted by the idea?”

“No Charlie, believe it or not, I am not swooning at the sight of you,” I mutter, shoving him roughly in the shoulder. And yes, I am telling the truth. Charlie may be a good looking guy who I’m starting to see a nice side of, but I have more self-respect than to volunteer as his next hook-up ready to be kicked to the curb when we get back to school.

“That’s what they all say,” he jokes cockily, “One day I’ll have my way with you sweetie, just you wait.”

Once we’ve checked into our room, I go into the bathroom to change into some pyjama shorts and a t-shirt, take off my make-up and brush my teeth. Then I tie my windswept hair up into a scruffy bun. When I come out of the bathroom, Charlie’s facing the window, his back turned as he stares out at the street below. He’s swapped his jeans for black joggers and is shirtless, revealing his heavily tattooed arms and torso. I breathe in sharply when he turns around, taking in his toned abdominal muscles which are far more defined than I’d have expected. I stare at him for probably a while longer than I should, but I can’t help it; everything about him is mesmerizing.

“Not swooning at the sight of me, aye?” he teases and I quickly look away. I absolutely refuse to let him know I find him attractive. God forbid his ego gets any bigger.

“You’re not really my type I’m afraid,” I say, despite not being sure I even have a type.

“Oh really?” he laughs, raising an eyebrow, “What is your type then?”

“Intelligent, funny, good-looking.”

“Check, check, check.”

“Modest.” The smug smile on his face disappears and he laughs a little. I roll my eyes and get into bed, pulling the comforter tightly around my shoulders. It’s so cold in the room that I’m shivering.

“Are you cold?” Charlie asks.

“A little bit,” I admit, awaiting one of his perverted comments about how he can warm me up. Instead, he gets up off of the bed and rummages through his bag, tossing me a black hoodie of his.

“Thanks,” I smile, sitting up and pulling it on. Perhaps he’s not a complete asshole.