Slate | ✓

TWENTY-SIX | ATHENA

"I'm sorry that I kind of lost it the other night. I'm not like that usually." I was surprised to hear something like humility and concern in his voice. "I don't know what I was expecting from this, but it was never forgiveness. I can't forgive myself for what I did, so I can't exactly expect any of you to."

"Why didn't you tell Lizzie?" I asked him.

Charlie gave me a pained look. "I can call myself an addict, an asshole, a user, whatever, but abuser didn't really sit so well." He looked down at his hands. "I didn't want Lizzie, or anyone, to think of me like that."

"But it's true," I answered. "That's what you are, and you know it."

"I know." He paused. "I just want to believe that I'm more than my mistakes— that I can do something positive for once."

"So, what do you want from us?" 

"Home, I think," Charlie responded. "I've always wanted to come home. I've been gone so long."

There wasn't a whole lot I could say to that. On some level, in truth, we'd always been waiting for him to come back. "I think you're kind of terrible," I said. "But I might not be opposed to sending you the occasional Facebook message, or maybe a cat video here or there."

Charlie offered me a half smile. "I'll take what I can get."

"I can see myself in you, and I fucking hate that," I said. "But if no one gives you a chance, why should anyone do the same for me?"

Charlie's forehead furrowed. "Why do you think that?"

"I don't know... It's like, I do dumb shit all the time. Like, genuinely mean things to people just because I get angry." I explained. "The difference between us is that I hurt people on purpose."

"Do you think you might have anger problems?" He asked. If it were anyone else, I would have scoffed, but somehow, because it was Charlie, who would be gone tomorrow, who'd already claimed the fuck-up title in the family, I felt disarmed.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's not impossible. Sometimes it feels like Will has a better handle on things than I do. It's like, I thought if I ignored it, if I was distant to him, then he would get better, because for me, at least, looking vulnerable is worse than actually not being okay. As if it was better if none of us were looking or something." I was making zero sense and knew it.

"You resent him," Charlie concluded.

"I don't!" I protested. "He's just— just—"

"He's just Will," Charlie cut me off. The simplicity of the statement left me attempting to argue with truth, which, of course, I couldn't. He continued, "I know how it feels to want to just be able to take the pain away for someone, but you just have to—"

"Be there for them," I finished. "You sound like John." My observation made him fall silent. 

"Alright." I stood up from the couch and uncurled my legs out from under me. "I'll make it so he can't get rid of me." I looked down at my oldest brother. "What are you, Freud?"

Charlie laughed. "No, but I've spent so much time talking to psychiatrists, I'm basically qualified."

"Thanks?"

Charlie bowed his head towards me. "Anytime."

And so, I had tried the one thing I was best at: annoying Will.

Whatever energy Will had this morning after I barged into his room seems to have drained completely. Before, he shouted back at me and gave as much as he took. Now, he's just... grey. It's the only way I can describe it.