Charlie sits opposite Aubrey on her shiny, four-seater glass dining table. She has a bottle of beer in her hand and he has a coffee in his. They were supposed to be discussing their relationship but as always it's the last thing to be brought up.
Aubrey taps her long, fake fingernails against the beer bottle while glancing around her kitchen ceiling in boredom. She is wearing silk pyjamas with a thin gown over it and her hair is tied back ready for bed.
"You sure you don't want a drink?" she asks him.
"No," he says.
"You never drink. You're boring."
Charlie leans back and sighs. She is still mad with him for changing their plans of going out tonight and is somehow even more mad at him for turning up unexpectedly at her apartment rather than not at all. It'll be morning soon and Charlie has plans to spend the rest of his Friday night somewhere else.
Aubrey begins playing with the strands of her dark hair, twisting them around her fingers as she rolls her tongue around her mouth. They are both waiting for the other to speak, they are equally stubborn and Charlie knows that is a dangerous flaw in a relationship.
Finally, Aubrey gives in and meets his gaze angrily. "It's four 'o'clock on a Saturday morning and you're sitting at my table drinking coffee. What is the point to this?"
Charlie shrugs. "You tell me."
She yawns sarcastically. "I am not playing games with you. I'm tired. I've been out all night. My head is a wreck. Either say what you want to say or go."
"Out where?" Charlie questions.
"Well, seeing as though you cancelled our plans again I took it upon myself to give myself a good time."
"That isn't an answer."
Her eyes shine with fury. "I'm sorry, weren't you the one that told me not to question you on what you do? If you don't need my permission then I sure as hell don't need yours."
"I'm not saying you need my permission. I'm asking you where you've been. I'm making conversation, it's a simple question. Unless you've got something to hide."
"I don't. I just don't want to tell you."
Charlie bites on his lip in frustration. She is hiding something. The odd thing is he doesn't really care. Deep down, he knows they are headed nowhere. Maybe it'd be easier if she cheated on him, maybe it would give him the courage he needs to walk out the door and never look back. After all he's still in high school and she reminds him of that every waking moment of the day. It's her greatest shame.
"Your sister invited me to a private party last night," Charlie says. "Were you there?"
"What if I was?" she hisses. "What can you do about it now?"
Charlie rolls his eyes.
"What do you mean she invited you? You mean she invited us."
"No," Charlie says. "She just invited me actually. Camilla isn't the angel that she pretends to be, at school she's-"
"Here you go again. Badmouthing my sister when she isn't here to defend herself. I'm sick of you always thinking badly of my family."
"Have you met your family?" Charlie says. "It's with good reason."
"Well I'm sorry that my mother isn't as perfect as yours. I'm sorry that I was born into money which I chose not to take while your family grafts for a living."
"Your parents detest me," he tells her. "They always have. They look down on me and you know it."
"Yeah," she says. "Which is why I left home, which is why I earn my own money and rent my own apartment. My family are awful people but I have the right to say that, you don't. Keep your opinions to yourself."
Charlie begins rubbing his temple with his finger. "So I'm not allowed to ask where you've been, I'm not allowed to speak about your sister even though it's the truth and I'm not allowed to have an opinion. Am I missing anything?"
"How about you just don't speak at all? Then everyone's happy. It's not like you have anything intellectual to say."
Charlie blinks. He doesn't know if it's her exhaustion talking or her drinking that's blurring around her system and making her more truthful but as he waits for her to take it back he realizes she means it. He slowly stands to his feet.
"You and your sister aren't that different," he mutters.
"We are because she's in school. I could have any man I want; do you know how lucky you are?"
"Go be with one then!" Charlie shouts.
He storms towards her apartment door and ignores the cursing at his back. She screams more abuse at him from the doorway and he turns the corner of the hallway, not rising to her bait.
Charlie's temper is the one flaw that's hard for him to beat. When he's like this it's better for everyone to stay out of his way. He hates arguments and Aubrey is the only person that manages to bring out that suppressed part of him. Once it ignites he can't turn it off. He wants to punch something, anything.
When he exits the building Charlie is greeted with the cool air of early morning. He left his car at his house because he didn't want to wake his mother and sister but he's now regretting it as he walks the dark streets in the cold.
With no desire to go home yet Charlie heads to the one place he knows he can find some control. It is the one place he keeps hidden from Aubrey and everyone else he knows for fear of having to admit he has a problem and for having to admit to himself the truth about who he really is.
Charlie wanders aimlessly through the dead of night, his hands already clenched as he moves into the shadows of the outer-buildings of downtown. He follows the noise into his favourite underground club. The guard at the door, an extremely large man with a tattooed face, grants Charlie an immediate pass.
Illegal boxing fights are his shameful pleasure. He enjoys the buzz, the excitement, the electric atmosphere from the betting audience. Charlie used to be the one in the ring, he used to be the one winning those fights and taking beatings like he'd never known. Now he is merely an onlooker, observing others and scanning for new talent.
He stands at the back of the crowd with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. A fight is ongoing. Two men. One looks bigger than the other which Charlie knows can put the odds at an imbalance. The smallest of the two looks around Charlie's age but he is fast and resilient. He takes a punch but it doesn't make him flinch. The larger man is becoming tired, Charlie watches as he begins perspiring. The runt may just win.
The crowd roars and groans. Some in joy, others in anger. Those that bet on the smaller fighter have taken a risk and it is paying off.
"Charlie?" a voice says. Charlie becomes vigilant for a moment, turning to see who has called his name. It's only when the lights shine on the man's face that Charlie relaxes.
"Thomas," Charlie says. "Hey."
The two greet each other with a handshake that turns into an aggressive bear-hug. Thomas was Charlie's last fight in the ring, and even though Charlie won, Thomas has never held a grudge.
"I haven't seen you down here in so long," Thomas says. "I thought you'd retired."
"No, I still come. Sometimes. Just to watch, I guess."
"Well, you're late. This is the last fight. You missed a bloodbath earlier; it was a mess."
Charlie laughs. "I'm sure Carl loved cleaning that up."
"You're not interested in fighting again then?"
Charlie shakes his head. "No, those days are behind me. It became a little too complicated to have to explain all the bruises."
"You got a girlfriend," Thomas says, grinning. "It sure becomes a complication."
"Ironically," Charlie says. "she's the one that draws me back here. I miss it."
"Carl did say you were the best fighter he contracted. Maybe coming out of retirement will satisfy those urges. You're what. . . seventeen? You could run rings around these idiots."
Charlie considers it for a moment. He promised himself he would never step inside a ring again unless it was legit. But he can't deny he misses the rush. There is no adrenaline like it. He was only fifteen when he began fighting for money and he had never been taught a thing about boxing. His experience came with experience. He learned something new from each fight, from every loss. He learned to get back up when he couldn't get back up and that's what made every fighter afraid to fight him.
Even though he craves it there is a blockage now. He cannot fight while holding in anger. Boxing is the wrong sport for releasing it. Those in the ring must rely on a clear head at all times otherwise someone could end up dead.
"No," Charlie says. "Just watching is more than enough."
"For now."
The entire crowd screams in unison and Charlie looks back to the ring. The larger man has knocked the boy unconscious, and he has been declared the winner by Carl.
"Shame," Thomas mutters. "I thought the kid had it in the bag."
"Yeah," Charlie agrees.
Thomas turns to greet someone else and Charlie uses the opportunity to slip back towards the door. The streets are even more silent than before despite the sun beginning to rise on the horizon.
To get home he must cross a bridge. He walks along the bridge for so long that he begins to feel sleepy. His head wobbles and his muscles ache and he starts to feel dizzy. Charlie pauses at the wall of the bridge, his hands spreading apart as he glances down at the water below him. Far below him.
Just when he decides to start moving again a girl walks by him on the sidewalk. It's so subtle that he almost misses it. He doesn't know what makes him turn, maybe it's the direction of the wind or the need to glance at the most lit-up houses upon the highest hills of the other side of the bridge. His eyes find the body that strolled past and it is no longer the wind that controls his movements.
All he sees is dark blonde hair from the back of her head but it isn't her appearance that he's interested in. What interests him, what panics him, is that she's climbing onto the ledge.