“No, Charlie, that’s not true.” I take a step towards him but he backs away, holding a hand up, and god, it stings like nothing ever has before.
He shakes his head and turns away before facing me once more. “Just tell me something,” he says, as tears slide down his cheeks. “Is that why you took me in? Because you were trying to make up for what happened to your son? Is that what I was to you? Some sort of project? A way for you to redeem yourself? Is that what all of this has been?”
I shake my head as my chest heaves. It’s taking everything in me not to move closer to him again. I swallow. “No.” It comes out as barely a whisper. “No, Charlie. It might have started out as me wanting to help you because of what happened to Trey and maybe I felt obligated, but I genuinely cared about you, and it became so much more than that so quickly. You are so much more to me than that. You have to know that.” I’m sobbing now. “And nothing can or ever will make up for what I did to my son. There is no redemption for me.”
Diego’s car pulls up to the curb then, and Charlie moves to get inside. My breath catches. NO. No, no, no. My feet stay planted on the sidewalk even though everything in me is screaming to reach out and pull him back, beg him not to leave.Please. I gasp when I feel the familiar ache of grief radiating through me, filling me, becoming overwhelming, the physical sensation of my heart feeling like a knife is sinking into it. “Where are you going?” I ask as he opens the door.
“Home to get some of my things, and then I’m going to stay at Diego’s for a while. I need some time. I can’t be with you right now. I’m sorry.” He climbs in the passenger side door and the car speeds away.
My chest heaves. I can’t imagine walking through my front door knowing he won’t be there when I get home. I feel an emptiness settling in my chest already that’s so painful I can barely breathe.
* * *
I barely function over the next several days. I find it difficult to concentrate at work. I woke up the day after Charlie left with the mother of all hangovers. The spot next to me on the bed was empty and cold and I’m reminded everywhere I go in the house now, of Charlie’s absence. There’s no shoes by the door, no wrappers left out on the coffee table, no music playing. His car is gone. All of his things are missing from the bathroom. My chest constricts, and as much as I try to tell myself it’s better this way, I know I’m lying. My arms ache to hold him. I miss his smell, his soft curls against my nose and cheeks, his kisses, his laughter. I miss his snarky comments. I miss the sound of his footsteps in my home. I miss him. And every time I think of what happened in that club and the words that came out of Dylan's mouth, the things Charlie heard, I can’t blame him one bit for leaving, for wanting nothing to do with me. I’m so ashamed.
I never intended for any of this to happen. I never intended to run into Charlie that night at the bar almost three months ago. I never intended for him to show up on my doorstep a week later, or to find myself instantly attracted to him. I never thought I’d have to risk telling him about Trey or lose him, because I never expected it to matter that much in the grand scheme of things. I never thought anyone would grab hold of my heart the way he has. I never wanted to give my heart to someone else again, but he never gave me a choice. From the moment I met him, he captivated me, inspired me, enthralled me. He made me want things I’ve never wanted before, made me laugh and smile again, made me see the world in ways I’d never seen it before. He brought color back into my life. My soul is alive again because of him and I don’t want to know what it would be like to live without him.
I’m in love with him. I know that now. I’ve known it for a while, I think. I just didn’t want to admit it, because that meant I had to come clean. I had to be brave enough to give him everything, even the darkest parts of me, and hope he loved me too, enough to not walk away in the end. But I don’t have anything left to lose now. I just have to hope that at some point he’s willing to listen to what I have to say, and hope that it’s enough for him, that he’ll find it in himself to forgive me. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t heard from him, and I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if he’ll ever come back, or if I’ve hurt him so much he’s going to stay gone for good.
“Hey, you okay?” Carlos asks, and I come out of the daze I’ve been in.
“Yeah,” I say as we finish up with our lunches.
“Worried about Charlie?”
I nod slightly. “You sure he’s okay?” Carlos and Aaron were far enough away from the incident the other night that they didn’t see what happened, but they knew Charlie and I had a falling out. And after I ended up getting wasted, they had to get me home. I told them I could get an Uber, but they insisted on taking me, because they wanted to make sure I was safe inside my home before they left. That was not my finest moment at all, but they didn’t judge me for it. In fact they’ve been nothing but kind and empathetic, which is another thing I feel that I don’t deserve, and I’m quickly coming to realize how much I truly need their friendship. But how would they feel if they knew what Dylan had said the other night? Would they look at me the same way Charlie did? I’ve avoided relationships and friendships for so long for this reason. I honestly thought Diego would have told Carlos what happened, but it doesn’t sound like he has, which I am tremendously grateful for. I just hope he doesn’t hate me, too.
“He could be better, amigo. He’s quiet. Doesn’t say much, but he’s working on his GED still, making it to the restaurant. He hangs out with Diego mostly, in his room. I didn’t ask for details, you know. It’s not my business, but I hope you guys can work out whatever went wrong. It’s clear he misses you. We told him he could stay as long as he needs to, but it’s not home. You are.”
I nod again, my chest tightening. “I know. I miss him, too. I messed up, Carlos. Not just now, but a long time ago, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to see past that.”
“We all mess up, man. Sometimes big. But Charlie doesn’t seem like the kind of person to judge someone by their worst mistakes.”
I bite my lip. “I want to tell him my version, but I don’t think he wants to hear it. He left. He was so hurt. And he had every right to be. What I did, it’s…” I shake my head and have to keep myself from crying.
Carlos rests his hand on my shoulder. “Look, I don't know your past, and I don’t need to, to know that you’re a good guy. He wanted space, and time. That doesn't mean he doesn’t want to listen, or that he doesn’t want you, just that he wasn’t ready at that moment. It’s been two weeks. Maybe it’s time to try again.”
CHARLIE
Diego and I are sitting on his bed playingSuper Smash Bros. when my phone buzzes. I suck at this game but he’s trying to distract me, and if I study for my GED any more today I will go crazy, and thinking about Paul is just making me miserable.
I reach for my phone when he pauses the game, assuming it’s work, and am surprised to see that it’s Rachel.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Charlie,” she says. “How are you?”
I sigh. “I’ve been better.” I try to keep the tears from falling because I’ve done enough crying over the past two weeks, but nevertheless they come. I feel like such a lousy guest because I’m sure Diego is sick of listening to my sniffles and sobs. But he just stands and squeezes my shoulder before leaving the room and closing the door behind him, to give me privacy.
“Paul told me what happened, sweetie. I’m so sorry you had to find out that way.”
“I know I should listen to his side of the story,” I say. “I want to. That guy at the club was super pissed and clearly bitter, and I know there has to be more to it then what he said. I know Paul isn’t a murderer. I’ll never believe that. I just, I feel so hurt, and like I’ve been lied to and manipulated for months by the one person I thought I could finally trust, you know? And I don’t understand why he wouldn't tell me. He told me he would never hurt me.” I sniffle and wipe my eyes.
“I know. He never meant to, Charlie. He’s not perfect, sweetheart, but he is good, I promise you that.”
“I know.” No matter what I’ve heard from some random stranger at a bar and no matter how bad it sounds, I know the kind of man he is, and he is good. He’s better than good. He’s wonderful. And I miss him so much. I miss his arms around me at night. I miss his laughter and his sparkling blue eyes. I miss the bashful look on his face when I catch him cleaning “for fun.” I miss the feel of his stubble against my cheek. I miss his foot massages and his toe kisses. I miss our reading sessions. I miss everything about him. Fuck, I even miss his snoring.
“I don’t know if he wants me to come home anymore, after I’ve ignored him for so long,” I say, my chest heaving. “What if he doesn’t want me?”
