Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Sixteen

HUGHES:  Ellie?

WOODS:  She would tell me they were cool.  Back when we were younger, we used to come up with a new story for how I got them, every day.  Saving a family of four from an acid spill—giving the Hulk a thumbs-up while he was testing his gamma radiation.  God she would make up the stupidest things just to get me to laugh.  She used to study them to make her makeup better.

//:  The Operative can hear Woods smiling.  :\\

HUGHES:  So you hate your scars?

//:  And just like that, the smile is gone.  :\\

WOODS:  What?  I don’t know.  Sure, I guess.  They’re disgusting.

HUGHES:  Charlotte—

WOODS: They are, Blake.  I know that’s what you think, so just say it.  You think that they’re ugly.

//: A long, careful silence fills the room and the Operative can practically hear the inner debate of her trainer.  :\\

HUGHES:  Okay, okay.  So they’re not the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen—so what?  You want them to go away?  Well they aren’t going to.  Charlotte, I’d kiss them away if I could.  For you, I’d kiss away every bit of bad that this world has thrown your way.  I’d kiss every inch of you if I thought that would make things better—would it make things better?

WOODS: It certainly wouldn’t make things any worse.

//: Again, silence.  It feels empty without the music.  :\\

HUGHES: Do you need me, Charlotte?

WOODS: Of course I do.

HUGHES: Because I need you to need me.  It’s the only way I can help you.  I just want to help you.

WOODS: Blake, I—

HUGHES:  Because if you have people like Ellie and Zach and Joe in your life, you need someone like me to help you when they aren’t around, okay?

WOODS: Okay.

HUGHES:  I’m the only one who loves you like this, Charlotte.  I love you so much and I don’t want to see you go back to how you were when we first met—do you remember?

//:  The Operative can only assume the worst.  Judging by the sound of Hughes’ voice, she’s not that far off.  :\\

WOODS:  I only—

HUGHES: You were depressed and starved and you reeked of week-old Chinese food.

//:  The two of them laugh like it’s supposed to be a joke, but the Operative knows that it isn’t.  :\\

WOODS:  Sometimes—

HUGHES:  Sometimes I still think about you collapsing.  It scares me, Charlotte.  You have to let me help you.  Do you understand?

WOODS: Yes.  I do.  I do understand.

HUGHES: I just want to help you.

WOODS:  I know.

<t>End Transmission</t>

I started to walk away when I heard kissy noises.  Thats the hardest part about hearing everything—you hear everything.  Not just the sounds of your teachers totally making out, but the relationship that came with it.  The stories that you didn't want to hear and don't think you should know.  The heartbreak that falls over a person when they tell those stories.  You can hear it all.  I can hear it all.  Sometimes I wish I couldn't.

Some amount of time passed—I don't know how much.  The shadows stunt my ability to tell time.  Or my ability to care.  Either way, I can't keep the minutes straight.  Maybe it was an hour before I started to feel sluggish again. Maybe it was four.  

I shuffled towards a bed.  Not my bed, though.  My bed is hard and cold and makes me feel like needles are pricking at my spine.  Not to mention that my bed was across from Alice's and I knew I wouldn't be able to face that, even if she wasn't there to sleep in it.  Not after I heard the story of Ellie Sutton.

I wasn't really sure where I was going until I got there.  Not until I pushed on the door that sqeaked when it opened.  Not until I flicked off the light in that cluttered faculty room, letting myself fly by the glow of the desk lamp.  Blankets and clothes and textbooks filled every last inch of that small space and I knew that I wasn't the only one who was trying to fill an absence.  

Dad had fallen asleep at his desk, hunched over and drooling.  He snored over a stack of papers, each marked with various shades of reds and blues.  If I had been smarter in that moment, I might've checked to see what he was working on.  That was a missed opportunity.  I know that now.  But I was tired and, as far as I was concerened, I'd already learned enough new information for the night.

So instead, I took one of the blankets from his bed—the blue one, perfectly folded and sitting atop the grey—and unwrapped it until it fit over his shoulders.  It didn't look like the most comfortable sleeping position in the world, but he'd wake up soon and adjust.  Or not.  Honestly, Dad can sleep just about anywhere.  I envied him for that.

I crawled into his freshly made bed, screwing up his perfectly square military sheets as daughters were put on this earth to do.  I can only remember those first few seconds after my head hit the pillow.  The instant unwind of my shoulders.  The way his sheets smelled just like a hug—clean and strong.

It was like his bed at home.  Just like at the safe house.  Only difference was that this one was missing Mom.  Then again, I thought as I dozed off.  From this point on, they'll all end up missing Mom eventually.