Ever Since New York (Sharlie MPREG)

17

I should tell her to go away.

I am in no mental condition or see her.

But, I am not that much of a jerk and she is visibility upset about something. Her blond hair is frazzled, make-up is a messy her blue eyes are surrounded by smeared black eyeliner, and her dress is intact but, something happened. It looks like we might be in the same boat. 

"Charlie, I am sorry I did not know where else to go," She sniffles, and she holds on to me.

"I am really in no condition to help you," My speech slurs and she takes one of my arms underneath her. Amazingly she closes the door behind us, through my drunken instructions leads us over to the couch. Damn, my stomach is hurting, and I feel like I might possibly throw up. 

"Are you drunk?" She whispers in a soft tone. Her hands wipe away my hair from my face. God, I have not looked in a mirror. Nor do I think I want to right now. And she should not see me like this. I am her producer I should be presentable at all times. Not getting drunk over a recent heartbreak.

"Yeah, sorry," I apologize as I groan laying back on the couch. I kick off my boots, and they hit a wall. There is a loud thud then a shatter of something. I hope it was not something of importance. 

"Is it over that Shawn guy? I read about it on Twitter," She replies gently. Trying to tread lightly on the fragile ground between us. Although it feels like quicksand is going to overtake me. 

"Yeah, I rather not talk about it," I state seriously. End of discussion. She glances over at me with such sympathy. Jesus, this is one thing I do not need right now. Someone feeling sorry for me. So I change the subject.

"What happened to you?" I question. 

"I went on a date with this dude that my manager said I should and well, long story short. He thought I was easy and would give it up to him. Whenever I did not I kneeled him as hard as I could and caught a taxi. I did not want to go back to my apartment, I just wanted to go somewhere I could feel safe. So I googled your address and took a lyft here."

"Why would you feel safe with me? When basically you got pissed at me in the studio? Over not talking to you after the handjob?"

"I just felt like if I gave you a handjob you would like me, Charlie," She replies honestly. "You are this big shot producer, one of the best in the business. I am just some tramp that got lucky with a few cover videos on Youtube." 

"First off, you should not call yourself a tramp. Secondly, while the handjob was nice. It really was not necessary to get me to like you. I either like you or I do not. It is as simple as that," I remark firmly. 

My head is killing me right now, and all I want to do is lay down. But Alison completely needs me right now. This whole thing is completely backward. Alison gets off the couch and then pulls me off of it. 

"Where is the nearest bedroom, Charlie?"

"Um, a couple of doors to the right," I respond. My eyes start to fully close. "Where are you taking me?" 

"I just told you, Charlie, you are drunk. You need someone to take care of you. And I won't take advantage. You had a rough day," She remarks gently. 

"You could have just left me on the couch," I point out. 

"And have you slide off and have some bruises on your face? Charlie come one!" She exclaims as she is trying to help me walk to the nearest bedroom. Which is a guestroom downstairs, near a bathroom. 

"Well it would just make the bruises on my soul," I state and then I start to break down and cry.