Charlie.
I sit up straight with my hands folded neatly in my lap as I wait for my mother to bring out dinner. My father sits right across from me, but doesn't speak a word. It's a wonder that he's here at all.
Classical music plays through the small speakers in our dining room: Mom's doing. She thinks playing peaceful music like that will help keep me calm. Instead the scratchiness of the speakers makes me cringe and bite my bottom lip.
My eyes glance across the table at all the things set out for dinner; the silverware, plates, glasses, salad bowl. Each and every one of them are placed in a perfect spot, not even a single inch out of line. I let out a deep breath.
The joys of having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
A piece of my hair falls out of place and brushes across my cheek. Without a moment of hesitation, my fingers snap to work, securing the piece of hair beneath it's respected bobby pin. I can feel my dad's eyes on me, trying not to stare, but being unable to help it.
You think he'd be used to it by now; me and my freakiness. Perhaps he would if he didn't spend every waking moment not at home. When he's not working, he's going out to eat with friends from work, or going on golfing trips with his friends, or helping my grandma do some housework. I pretend not to notice, and I'm usually pretty successful.
My mother on the other hand can't hide her disappointment with him. I would be pissed too if I were stuck at home to deal with me all day long, having to keep the house clean as a whistle in order to keep my breakdowns to a minimum.
"I hope you're all hungry because I made enough to feed a village," Mom announces, carrying a large pan of lasagna out for us. The smell makes my mouth water, but I sit still in my chair, waiting for my mom to set it down and place the spoon at an exact 90 degree angle, facing me.
And she does it exactly the way I like it, as she does every night at dinner time. My father waits and watches me carefully, not wanting to move a muscle in case it causes me to freak out.
Okay, I lied. I'm never successful at ignoring his lack of participation. He makes it blatantly obvious that he's nervous around me. It's almost as if he's scared of me. When I was little, I had asked my mom if he was scared of me. Of course she told me I was being silly, but I'm not an idiot.
I'm not lucky enough to be that naïve.
"So, Charlie, how was your day today?" Mom asks as soon as we all serve ourselves, shattering the awkward silence that falls upon the dinner table more often than not.
I glance up at her, trying to chew what I had just put in my mouth as quickly and thoroughly as possible. I cough ever-so-slightly before responding with my usual response,
"It was fine."
That's all I ever say at the dinner table; tonight's no different. Mom takes that as her cue to go on and talk all about her day. Tonight's story involves her running into an old colleague of hers at the floral shop and getting their flowers mixed up. Just as always, her stories never make much sense and are incredibly irrelevant.
But she feels the need to fill the silence, that's her quirk. I figure she puts up with all of my 'quirks' (that's what she calls my disorder) that I could very-well put up with her useless stories.
As my plate gets emptier and emptier, I struggle to scoop up all the lasagna on my fork without getting my fingers dirty. If even a speck of sauce gets on my fingers, I'll have to get up and wash my hands thoroughly. That'll only upset my parents more.
"Charlie, do you hear me?" Mom pulls me away from my frustrating task of finishing my plate of food.
I look up, surprised that she's actually pulling me into the conversation. Usually I'm more than fine to tune her out the remainder of the evening. Being put on the spot like this makes me anxious.
By my expression, she can tell I wasn't listening whatsoever. She lets out a rather tired sigh, obviously not happy to repeating herself. Dad watches the two of us carefully, looking tired himself.
"I said, your father and I were talking and we think you need to go out tonight. It's a Friday night, you should be out having fun," She tells me.
My eyes widen as I freeze in my spot. They... want me to go out? Do they realize that I have literally no friends whatsoever? Obviously they have to know, because I never talk about any friends, nor do I bring any friends home.
At school, I'm sort of invisible. I keep to myself. Nobody really sees me. And those that do notice me, know me as 'that freaky girl'. Not even my teachers notice me. The idea of going out on a Friday night is actually impossible.
"As I was watering the plants today, I heard a few kids that were passing by talking about Jake Feldson throwing a party tonight. You remember Jake, right? He lives just down the road. He's always been a sweetie, I'm sure he'd love for you to come," She gives me the most encouraging, yet desperate smile I've ever seen.
I can hear my heart thumping in my chest and I wouldn't be surprised if they could as well. I place my fork down beside my plate, carefully of course, before I fold my hands in my lap once more.
"I'd rather just stay in tonight, Mom. I've got a lot of school work to catch up on," I explain, making up the first excuse I can think of. I've never had to really lie to my parents before. They wouldn't interfere with my school work, right?
Dad lets out a snort, as if he were so fed up with me. It felt like a slap to the face. I'm sure the hurt was obvious in my eyes as I glanced in his direction.
"Charlie, we're just trying to make you happy. We don't want you to miss out on life because you're different. You're a wonderful girl who deserves to go out there and have fun just like everyone else," Mom tells me, reaching over to place her hand on my knee.
Her eyes water as she looks up at me, like this is her final attempt of having a normal child; what her and my father have always wanted. After me, they couldn't have anymore children, they didn't even think they'd be able to have me.
I feel bad for them, I really do. They so desperately wanted a child, and when they got one, they got a fucked up kid like me. It's as if someone up there is just trying to make their life as miserable as possible.
"Mom, I'm really not feeling well. Can I be excused?" I start to hyperventilate.
Okay, so maybe I'm not having a freak out at the moment, but they don't know that. Mom pulls her hand from my lap, looking at me with so much disappointment. She sits back in her seat with a sigh,
"Of course," She whispers, grabbing her glass of wine and taking a large gulp.
I fold my napkin carefully and place it on my seat after getting to my feet. I'm just about to scurry up the stairs when a large bang stops me dead in my tracks. I turn around slowly to see dad standing up with his fist heavily resting upon the dinner table. He's fuming; I've never seen so much emotion in him before.
"Dammit Charlie!" He shouts, causing me to jump nearly a foot in the air, "Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do. Your mother and I are trying to help you and you're just making things difficult. You're going out tonight whether you like it or not," He lays down the law.
I'm frozen in place, stuck just staring at my mother, waiting for her to interfere. Instead she just stares into her wine glass with so much fascination. She sits very still, as if she were trying to just disappear. I know because I do the same thing.
Trying my hardest not to cry, I whip around and dart up the stairs as fast as my feet will carry me. I slam my door shut, acting like the stereotypical teenager. I'm sure if the circumstances were different, my parents would be jumping up and down with my display of an emotion.
All the stress has caused me to feel dirty. Without even thinking, I strip out of my clothes. Wishing I could just leave them rumpled on my floor, I scowl in disgust as I fold them and neatly place them in the hamper in my closet.
Letting the steaming hot water hit my body, I scrub as hard as possible without breaking through the skin. My hands shake with frustration and anxiety as I scratch shampoo into my hair. Though the longer the water hits my body, the more calm I become. It's probably due to the feeling of all the dirt washing away from my skin. That's why I shower at least three times a day, maybe if I'm clean I won't feel bogged down with stress.
Even over the noise of the shower, I can hear my parents arguing downstairs. They do this whenever dad's home, another reason he's usually gone. I hum under my breath, trying to tune it all out.
They're not going to actually force me out of the house tonight, are they? I get that they're trying to help me, but do they realize that's only going to make everything worse. I could have a breakdown on the side of the road and some creep could easily pull up and grab me.
And they want me to go to Jake Feldson's party? I'm not sure if they've actually seen him since I was in grade school with him. He's the polar opposite of me; dirty and living a life full of trouble. I'm going to step foot in that place and get eaten alive. People like me don't go to parties, they stay home and reorganize their CD collection.
I step out from the shower, grabbing one of my crisply folded towels and wrapping it around my body. The first thing I do is brush my hair until there isn't a single knot in it, then I clean my brush. As I let my hair air dry, I wash my hands and face and brush my teeth.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
The steam billows out of the bathroom as I open my door. My eyebrows furrow together as I hear someone rummaging around in my closet. I peer around the corner and see my mom's butt sticking out as she digs towards the back.
"Mom, what are you doing?" I ask, my mind racing with all the reorganizing I'm going to have to do when she's done.
She jumps ever-so-slightly, not expecting me to be done so quickly. She steps out of my closet, throwing a dress onto a pile of clothes that have collected upon my bed. Her eyes are full of guilt, as if she has been caught doing something bad.
I glance towards the clothes she has taken out; all dress clothes; clothes perfect for a party. My stomach drops slightly with the hopes I had of getting out of it all.
"I thought I would help you pick out your outfit," She explains, taking a seat on my bed beside the massive pile of assorted outfits.
My eyes drop down to the ground, feeling rather betrayed by this woman that's supposed to protect me no matter what. I feel like a girl living in the dark ages, being pawned off by her heartless parents. It may not seem like that big of a deal to them, but they don't know me at all. As hard as mom tries, she is completely oblivious when it comes to me.
"I think I'd like to get ready by myself," I say quietly, keeping my eyes glued to the ground.
Mom gets up quickly, knowing that if I actually said it out loud, I mean it. I watch her feet as they shuffle across my carpet, pausing in my doorway.
"I love you, Charliekins," She says, calling me by the name she used when I was a kid.
I stay silent until she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Then a loud groan leaves my throat as I slump down onto my bed, not caring about all the wrinkles I'm causing with my wet towel.
My eyes go up to the framed portrait of Marilyn Monroe hanging on my wall, a gift from my mom a few Christmases ago. Jealousy rages through my head as I stare at her with wonder.
Why can't I be some beautiful blonde woman with curves that could kill? Why can't I smile flirtatiously at the camera without a care in the world? Why can't I let my dress wrinkle? Why can't my hair be messy chic? Why can't I laugh without any force?
Feeling defeated and drained, I get to my feet, turning to face the large pile of clothes that my mother had torn so carelessly. I see many dresses, some I haven't put on since middle school. I need to wear the most inconspicuous-looking one, perhaps I can just blend in at the party, standing against the wall until I'm free to leave.
I sift through the clothes, putting them neatly back onto their hangers as I shake my head. It's not until I get near the end of the pile that I find my favorite dress. It's a simple red dress, very vintage. I can't buy things at the local thrift shop because someone else has already worn it, so whenever I find things that look vintage, I snatch it up.
After finding a clean bra and underwear, I slip the dress on, along with a pair of black tights. Gazing out my window at the intimidating night sky, I grab my leather purse, checking the bottom to make sure my pepper spray is still sitting there.
Slipping on my favorite pair of brown boots, and grabbing the first black cardigan I can find, I head out. I don't hold back as I clomp down the stairs, letting my boots make as much noise as possible. If I had the courage to actually do some damage, I definitely would.
"Aw, Charlie, you look beautiful," Mom gives me the biggest grin in the world as she emerges from the living room.
Still beyond angry with her, I roll my eyes as I head towards the door. This is her dream come true, right? I'm finally going out and acting temperamental like any other teenager in the world. I hope she's happy...
"Charlie, here," She reaches out and gently grabs my shoulder, knowing not to be too aggressive.
Letting out a sigh, I turn around to see her holding out a fifty dollar bill for me. A bit taken back - Mom and Dad are usually rather stingy with their money - I hesitate to reach for it.
"It's just emergency money, in case you need it. You have your cellphone and your pepper spray, right?" She asks, being a stereotypical overprotective mother.
This is not right. Our family isn't so... normal. It just feels all wrong. Perhaps I don't really want to be normal? Maybe normal just isn't right for me?
I grab it and carefully place it in my wallet, making sure there are no crinkles or folds.
"Have fun," Mom continues to act cheery, despite my soggy attitude.
Knowing better than to leave home on an angry note, in case something were to happen to me - you never know - I lean over and give her a very small peck on her cheek. I'm not usually one for public displays of affection but I figured since I very well may be murdered tonight, might as well.
Mom beams at me as I open the door and head on out, into the real world. Immediately I'm met with the strong urge to run back inside and burst into tears. I'm met with that urge quite often though, so I push on through.
I suppose now that I've got money, I could treat myself to dinner. That way I'd be safe inside a restaurant and not left to fend for myself at some savage party...
Heading down the sidewalk, walking at my normal brisk pace with my head down, I try to remember the directions to the nearest restaurant. The sounds of the nighttime cause me to wrap my cardigan tightly around my body.
Up ahead I hear a burst of loud conversation. Glancing up, I see a group of people, four of them, headed my way. I consider crossing the street, but don't want to direct any more attention to me. So, I keep my head down and move more quickly.
"I can't believe your car broke down, that's a bunch of bullshit!" One of the girls in the group slurs, causing the others to laugh. I can hear the affects of alcohol in their voices.
My pulse beats much quicker, echoing throughout my entire brain.
"You're the only reason I was driving in the first place. Now we're missing the party..." One of the boys says sourly, obviously not finding her comment very funny.
They're much closer now, their footsteps heavy and a bit staggered. I hear the sloshing of liquid inside a glass bottle. I hold my breath as I approach them.
"Hey, you there!" Someone calls out, causing my heart to stop.
Keeping my head down, I see a pair of clunky black boots stop directly in front of me. I nearly knock right into her. My head snaps up with fear, staring into the eyes of a familiar girl; Pia Magnus. She's one of those rebellious girls, hangs out with Jake and his gang.
My eyes travel to the group of people travelling with her, all people who go to my school. I see Clove Westwick, the only girl I ever see with Pia. And the two guys that are with them are Trax and Daimon, more of Jake's delinquent friends.
"You're in my psychology class, aren't you?" Pia asks, squinting her eyes as if that'll help her impaired memory, "You're that crazy girl," She smiles as she recognizes me.
Unable to defend myself, I just stare up at her with wide eyes. I gulp in fear as the others all eye me up with amusement. I'm sure they're all wondering the same thing:
What's a basket case like her doing out in the middle of the night alone?
Hell, I'm wondering it as well.
"What's your name, crazy girl?" Trax smiles at me, standing at Pia's side. They both look like a pair of sharks, their eyes harsh and intimidating and full of experience; much opposite of mine.
"It's Charlie, right?" Clove steps forward with Daimon trailing behind her as if they were tied together at the hip.
Biting my bottom lip, I nod. I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate, my chest rising and falling with each shallow breaths. My fists ball up at my sides and I squeeze my eyes shut. Please not right now, not in front of them...
"Hell, she is crazy," Daimon comments, his voice followed by a smack from somebody.
"Who isn't these days?" I hear Pia defend me, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder.
My eyes fly open as I watch her in shock. She doesn't look at me with fear or disgust like most do. She actually smiles at me, like a genuine human being. Not at all the type of thing I'd expect from her. Girls like her - dangerous - don't treat girls like me nicely.
I find myself actually smiling at her comment. I haven't really smiled in such a long time, it feels weird on my face.
"I bet you get the best pills, don't you?" Trax laughs, giving me a playful elbow as he starts heading in the direction I came from.
Daimon follows him with Clove at his side, who gives me a sympathetic smile. The fact that she even notices me is strange enough.
"C'mon, let's go," Pia snakes her arm with mine, pulling me along with them.
Alarms are going off in a part of my brain, telling me this is exactly the kind of things I've been taught to run away from my entire life. It's for situations like these that I read that entire manual on how to properly blind an attacker with pepper spray.
But yet, my feet move in step with Pia's. A different part of my brain, a part I've never felt activity from before, tells me to keep going. It encourages me to make conversation, to crack a joke, to take a sip from the bottle in her hands.
Maybe this is the normal part of me I've been missing all along?
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AN: Helloooo :)
The song on the side of the chapter is 'Teen Idle' by Marina and the Diamonds <3
I also want to dedicate this chapter to @1Derzx for creating the lovely Charlie :)
I hope you guys are enjoying!