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 still haven’t gotten used to socialising again. I’m not nervous as such; I’m not exactly shy after all. The concept just feels a bit foreign still. 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 work 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 it suits me a lot better than Detroit. The people here are nicer than back home.” 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 want to know my business. 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 get 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 they were only trying to be 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 that they did nothing when I needed help most, or that I lost the one person that meant something to me.

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

“No,” I rebuke, “I didn’t have any friends back home.”

“Really?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah, I wasn’t the most popular person back then,” I explain, “And I didn’t much care for any of the idiots I went to school with.”

“That’s crazy,” she exclaims, “You seem so good with everybody here. I can’t see how anyone wouldn’t like you.”

“Amber.”

“Come on, it’s true. School is so clique orientated and everyone falls into the clique that’s most suited to them and then doesn’t socialise with anyone else. Even I’m guilty of doing that. But you’re different. You’re so confident. You talk to whoever you want and people love you for it. 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. My teachers were always complaining that I needed to get my temper in check and get my attendance up or whatever. So I just thought I’d try and start myself on the right path here. I do like chatting with people, as long as they have at least a few functioning brain cells, which most people in Detroit didn’t. Then, I mean, Charlie didn’t give me any choice but to hang out with him. And you guys are pretty awesome; I like hanging out with y’all.”

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

“Yeah well, it takes a lot to intimidate me. And I don’t believe in treating people differently because of their social status or whatever. I’ve never been one for trying to fit in if I’m not feeling it,” 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 to know 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. 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. They seem to turn to drugs when they feel they have no 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, when I know my mother will definitely be asleep and my dad will still be at work, Amber and I go back to mine to watch movies. I don’t want anyone finding out quite how dysfunctional my family is so I’m cautious about letting people come round, but this seems a fairly safe.

Halfway through our second movie, there’s a knock at the door. It takes me by surprise; it’s too early for my father to be home and he has a key anyway. It’s too late for anyone else to be coming round surely. Confused, I go to answer it and open the door to reveal a rough-looking Charlie. It takes me all of three seconds to realise he’s intoxicated; his blood shot eyes and the half empty liquor bottle in his hand is evidence enough of that.

“Hey doll,” he slurs, looking me up and down. I tense up, instinctively on guard.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he says, stepping forward and cupping my face with his hand. I instantly push him away. There is nothing remotely attractive about him when he’s like this.

“You need to leave.”

“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 awkwardly 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 mom.

God knows where his mom 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 some people may think it, I’m not as cruel and indifferent as I seem. People get my inability to tolerate being treated like shit confused with being a bitch. Believe it or not, I am a nice person. In fact, I’m a total 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 are you doing?” Charlie shouts, stumbling after me into the house. I open the bathroom door and drop the bag into the toilet, flushing it without a second thought. Charlie grabs me by the shoulder, spinning me round to face him.

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

“Charlie, shut the fuck up or you’ll wake up my mom.”

“You’re lucky you’re a chick; otherwise I swear to god I’d hit you right now.” I swallow hard, searching my soul for just an ounce of equanimity. He deserves a fucking punch in the head for threatening me when I’m the only one willing to help him. I’m most definitely not one to be taken advantage of. He may 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. There are boundaries and those include not bringing cocaine into my goddamn house.

“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 fight 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 pour him a glass of water before placing the glass into his shaking hands and telling him to drink it. He hesitates but doesn’t argue. The room falls into a tense silence 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?”

“Nah, he’s all talk.”

“Be careful anyway.”

“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 the other side of the bed, but 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. Like I said, he doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest when he’s in this state. All that tonight has done is confirm what I already knew: that Charlie and I never could and never will be a thing. It would be a disaster and there is no way I’m putting myself through this again. Forcefully, I push his hands off me and get into bed.

Charlie passes out within seconds and I lay awake, feeling sick with that ever so familiar sense of dread. 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. I know I’m acting crazy but I can’t let something happen again, I really can’t.

There I was thinking my days of supervising drunks were over.