Charlie's POV
"Here's your soup." Mom entered my bedroom with a warm bowl of soup in her hands. She placed it on the nightstand then took it upon herself to take a seat on the edge of my bed.
"So, how was it?" She wondered.
"It was great." I told her, though if I am being honest with myself, it was a crap show.
"Well, I want to hear all about it tomorrow." She says, getting up and walking towards the door.
"Eat your soup." She ordered before disappearing down the hallway.
"Mom!" I called out.
She rushed back, peeking her head in. "Yes?"
"Can you please close the door?"
It takes a truly psychopathic person to leave a door open.
"Oh, right. Sorry." She closes the door, leaving me to my bowl of soup.
Why didn't Ace stop me.
I wanted him to stop me.
Both times. But he didn't, instead he just let me go.
Did he not want to be with me anymore? Did he ever want to be with me?
God, seriously Charlie! Snap out of it!
If you looked up the word 'pathetic' in the Oxford Dictionary of English, there would be a tiny little picture of me right beside it.
Whilst eating soup, I stared down at my unlocked phone, waiting, hoping that Ace will text me.
One minute turned to thirty. Thirty became an hour, then came midnight.
Still no text from Ace.
I threw my phone across the room and slumped into bed, wrapped myself tightly into my covers as I begged sleep to envelop me.
And it did.
The first thing I did the next morning was check my phone. It had a new crack in it, but that's not why I checked it.
I turned it on to see if Ace had texted.
Still nothing.
I got back into bed and my mind gave way to my thoughts.
11am
I coughed uncontrollably, so much that it felt like my throat was on fire. My mother made tea, which tasted awful, but I appreciate the gesture.
There was still no text from Ace.
12:30pm
I sneezed twice, and it was gnarly as hell. Ella posted to her Instagram and tagged me in a picture of her, Clayton and I posing like a trio of lunatics in front of the Hollywood Sign.
But there was still no text from Ace.
When 2pm came, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, drying my post-showered hair with a towel. I felt a little bit better, especially after chugging down some cough syrup.
Ace still hasn't texted.
4pm
I was in bed and I felt way worse than I did earlier. So much for that cough syrup. I didn't need to check the notifications on my phone to know that Ace still hasn't texted, and I doubt that he was ever going to.
Maybe I should just text him?
Yeah, that's a not too bad idea. I'm doing it. I'm going to text Ace.
I unlocked my phone and clicked into our texts, pulling up the keyboard to type in my message.
Just type, Charlie...
Say something....
Anything.....
My mind went blank. It's like I wanted to say something, but I just couldn't type out the words.
I plugged earphones into my phone, then into my ears and looked for a song that fit my mood.
I miss you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams seems appropriate for the way that I'm feeling.
6pm
I ended up listening to Gracie Abrams entire discography. Then, when that was over, I moved onto Conan Gray.
I waited for Ace to text me.
9pm
I had fallen asleep before seven o'clock while still listening to music, waking up to find that my phone had died. My mom made me oatmeal and honey, which tasted delicious, and also seemed to temporarily soothe my sickness. I plugged my phone on charge and went back to sleep.
I woke up again at 11:16pm to the sound of my phone vibrating on the bedside table. I reached over, my eyes still weary as I tried to make out who was calling me.
Ace!
I sat upright as quick as a wink, inhaling a deep breath before answering.
"Hello?" I talked into the phone.
I couldn't make out any sound from the other end, not even the sound of his breath. Nothing.
"Ace?" I pressed, waiting to hear his voice.
There was a deafening silence, so deafening I swear I could hear the blood pumping through my veins.
Then he hung up on me.
Ace's POV
11:02pm
The whiskey burned as it travelled it's way down my throat.
It was my ninth glass, and I had only just begun to feel it's effect. Oh I miss the days when all it took to get me drunk was two cups of whiskey and cola accompanied by a shot. Now, it seemed that even drinking alcohol on it's own without a mixer took it's time to do the one thing I wanted it to do: get me drunk.
I pulled out my phone and clicked on Charlie's contact. I scrolled through our old texts, pausing when a photo he had sent came into frame. It was a selfie he had taken using one of those stupid Snapchat filters that distorts your face.
I laughed.
I should text him. But what would I even say? He doesn't want to hear from me, not after I went off at him.
I placed a cigarette between my lips and ignited it before impulsively clicking and dialling Charlie's number. I took a deep drag of the cigarette as I heard the line ringing, waiting for Charlie to pick up.
"Hello?" Charlie's voice came through. He sounded terrible. Was he sick?
I couldn't form the words in my mouth.
What do I even say to him? That I'm sorry?
"Ace?" His voice was desperately calm.
I held my breath, my heart skipping a beat as I tried to form something to say in my mind.
After coming up with nada, I hung up the phone, groaning to myself as I fell backwards onto the bed, a lit cigarette in hand.
"Fuck!"