What He Left Behind

Twenty Four

The next couple of weeks are manic. On top of my ever-increasing amount of schoolwork, I have to find time to balance a social life, my tutoring, and taking care of my mother and oftentimes, taking care of Charlie too. Rena goes back home to LA, but we speak on the phone a few times and arrange to meet for a drink when she's next in town – Saturday 20th December.

I spend an endless amount of time debating whether or not to tell my parents about Rena and about Jacob. I can't even imagine how they'd react. Will they be happy that a part of Austin still exists and that they have a grandchild? Or will it prolong their grief and make everything worse? Will they even care or will they just bury their head in the sand like they do during every other situation that arises?

Eventually, I come to the conclusion that I should hold off telling them for now. Knowing about Rena and Jacob has changed things for me. I feel a newfound sense of hope, and I don't think my parents deserve to share that feeling yet. Maybe I am being selfish and unreasonable, but you could argue that they're being selfish and unreasonable too, because they're dealing with the loss of their son by refusing to love their daughter. So I find myself avoiding being in the house as much as possible, because while I'm feeling moderately happy, I don't want to risk their negativity jeopardising it.

Things begin to get more difficult with Charlie, however. When we're together and he's sober, everything is easy as always, but he periodically disappears off of the face of the earth, presumably on one of his self-destructive benders, and the worst thing is, they're becoming more and more regular. I try to focus purely on Rena and Jacob and not worry myself sick over Charlie's problem, but I know all too well that ignoring the problem won't make it go away.

"Noelle, can I talk to you a minute?" a voice from behind calls as I sit with my friends in the cafeteria one day. I look up to see the voice belongs to Stan.

"Sure," I agree, getting up from my seat. Stan grabs my arm and steers me across the cafeteria, just like Charlie so often does, through the doors and along the corridor until we are alone.

"Is Charlie in today?" I ask.

"Nope. That's what we need to talk about," Stan announces. I gulp, my stomach churning uneasily.

"What's happened?"

"We had band practice yesterday. Charlie was having withdrawals real bad," Stan explains, "He was shaking and having hot flushes and feeling dizzy. He couldn't remember the lyrics half the time. We hadn't been practicing an hour before he made his excuses and fucked off to go and find his next hit." I am quiet for a moment, taking in everything Stan is saying, but it's difficult to accept the fact that my best friend is destroying himself.

"I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you," Stan breathes, pulling me into his arms when he notices my worried expression. His embrace makes me feel supported. Charlie's embrace makes me temporarily forget the problem altogether.

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault," I assure him.

"But I can see it gets to you. I don't want to make you worry."

"It just sucks that he's throwing away everything you guys have worked for."

"Will you talk to him?"

"I'm not sure he'll listen."

"He's more likely to listen to you than anyone else, Noelle. I don't know what the fuck it is you do but you always seem to get through to him," Stan marvels and that familiar feeling of butterflies returns for a brief second. I hate myself for feeling like that because this is not how I should be reacting to this situation. It's toxic how much my brain is subconsciously romanticising all this because of some inconvenient crush I have on him.