Invisible String

Thin Walls

To say that Charlie was exhausted would be a vast understatement. He was physically wiped and emotionally battered. If he really stopped to think about it, which he often tried to avoid doing, he didn't think he ever felt safe and secure with Ben. Even before they knew each other, Ben seemed to look at him with intense disgust and desire. It made Charlie feel on edge.

He felt bad for upsetting Ben with his early resignation to their new bedroom, but simultaneously, was nervous about if he'd hear about it later. Charlie was beginning to notice that no matter what he did, it seemed, his boyfriend of four years was always upset with him. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to his family, let alone had a friend. Charlie was getting lonely. This, of course, made him feel worse.

He loved Ben, didn't he? He was supposed to, he should. Ben gives him a house to sleep in and food to eat, which the latter he was very ungrateful for, as Ben had pointed out. He was the world's worst boyfriend, and he was lucky Ben tolerated him.

These were all thoughts that Charlie had on the 15 second walk to his bedroom.

Turn the knob.

Open the door.

Then, silence.

He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding and sat down on his mattress. He hoped that Ben wouldn't want to build the bed frame tonight, but he doubted it. Ben didn't do "poor" things. Charlie would guess that he grew up with money, but he wouldn't know, Ben never talked about his family.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

1, 2, 3, 4.

In and out, he could do this, he could breathe, he's done it every single day of his life.

There was no calming down, there was only suppressing the inevitable. Charlie could hear Nick and Ben speaking in the other room, laughing occasionally. He wondered what they were laughing about, and he silently feared that he was the butt of the joke.

It was beginning to last longer than it ever has, the panic attack, and Charlie isn't sure how long it's been when he begins to hear steps coming towards the room. There is no conscious decision to shut down and act normal, to not have a panic attack, but his body knows not to be this vulnerable, this ill in front of Ben.

He stands and begins busying himself unpacking a box, pretending to be engrossed in the activity. When Ben walks in neither of them says anything. Charlie knows better (most of the time) than to speak first, especially around Ben.

"Fuck, Charlie," Ben said as he surveyed the room, slamming the door behind him, "You've not unpacked any boxes? It's been hours. What the fuck have you been doing?"

Hours?

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

"U-Um... well... I wasn't feeling well, so I layed down for a while. I woke up a few minutes ago," Charlie said with his back still turned to his boyfriend.

"Fucking useless," Ben muttered as he began walking towards Charlie. "Look at me when you're speaking to me."

Charlie didn't have time to battle himself, wonder if he would turn around to face Ben or stand up to him. It would be so much worse if he fought back, he knew that now. So, he turned around and studied Ben's eyes. The lack of love, the ever-present steel glaze. It was the same way he always looked at him.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, biting his lip. He looked up at the taller man and had the sudden urge to be scooped up into his arms, to be covered in kisses and tickled and told that he was beautiful. Things he knew Ben would never do, and things that certainly weren't happening tonight.

"You're fucking sorry?" Ben asked, his voice raising, "You're always fucking sorry." Ben leaned down to hiss this in Charlie's face, his breath smelled of beer. Oh.

It was fast, the first one always is. It's somehow expected and unexpected at the same time. He registers the shift in his eyesight before anything, then the sting on his cheek, and lastly the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Fucking sorries," Ben is yelling now, "are meaningless with you!" Another slap, he's more prepared this time but his cheek hurts more now. Another spill of tears.

Charlie isn't sure how long this goes on for, either. It feels different from his panic attack though, he couldn't remember any of it except struggling to breathe. It's like he blacked out. Charlie was certain that he would remember every moment of this, he always did.

As much as Charlie is unaware of the amount of time Ben is hurting him, Nick is excruciatingly privy to it. Nick figures that Ben went to his room at 10:30, and he didn't hear the yelling stop until midnight. He didn't hear the crying stop until 2 a.m. He couldn't bring himself to sleep until 3.

What was he supposed to do in this situation? Two strangers just moved in with him, and it seemed awfully like one of them abused the other. Did he call the police? Confront them himself? Kick them out? God, he didn't know.

He needed to decide before he saw either of them tomorrow, which is part of what kept him up so late. Ultimately, he decided to try and talk to Charlie in the morning. Nick had known Ben for 12 hours and he knew that talking to him would go nowhere and could endanger Charlie further. But he would need to get a good night's sleep in order to have this conversation, so he put on his favorite sound to sleep to, rain falling on a rooftop. He was asleep within minutes, more exhausted than he'd thought he was.

Nick dreamed of seeing his friends, in every scene Charlie was standing in the background, staring sadly. Ben stood just behind him, hand on his shoulder.

Charlie dreamed of a blank dream canvas of a man who was doing all the things he wished for. The man was kissing him, holding him, rubbing his back and massaging shampoo into his hair. He fell asleep holding his own hand.