It isn't long until we arrive back at Charlie's. I've never been to his house before and I feel weirdly anxious and a little intrigued. I know Charlie has a dad and an older brother and no mom, but that's virtually the extent of what he's shared about his home life. The analyst in me is interested to see what life is like in the Hemmingway household, to fill in another piece on the baffling puzzle of Charlie's life.
The house is set back from the road, with an empty lawn and some steps leading up to the front porch. The door opens to reveal a living area that doesn't look much different to mine. There are two couches facing a television set, and a staircase running along the right hand side of the room. Instead of a door to the kitchen like in my house, the wall has been knocked through and it's now an open plan kitchen and living area. It makes the house feel more spacious than mine, despite the fact it's only a little bigger. Reflective of Charlie's life, it's clear to see the house is lacking some female influence; instead of plants or paintings dotted around, there are beer cans and cider bottles. Everything is mismatched and thrown together in a chaotic sort of way.
Charlie follows my gaze around the room and then looks at me, sheepish and uncomfortable. He kicks off his shoes and sits down on the couch nearest the front door. I hesitate, sensing he doesn't let many people into his home life like this. I can't help but feel I'm intruding.
Slowly, I take off my shoes too and sit down next to him. Charlie turns to face me and we interweave our legs and he tells me to stop looking so uncomfortable, a rich statement considering the fact he looks like someone who's just be walked in on while showering. For a while we chat about everything and nothing, and I can see he starts to relax but the peace is unfortunately short-lived.
We are interrupted by the noise of keys in the lock and we look up to see a drunken man stumbling in. I've never met him before but I figure it must be Charlie's older brother Brandon. His hair is shorter than Charlie's, but it's scruffy and all over the place. He is clearly drunk and my god does he act like his brother when he's drunk. The atmosphere in the room instantly changes, becoming cold and uncomfortable again.
Charlie abruptly jumps to his feet, tensing up like he does every time he senses a threat. I awkwardly swivel my legs onto the floor, wishing that I could just disappear for a moment because I really am too sensitive to be around drunks today.
"Is this the girl you've been on about?" Brandon slurs, eyeing me up and down.
I look down at my feet, losing all sense of security that I had just seconds ago. Charlie steps in between the two of us, his protective instinct taking over. I wonder what he's afraid of. He's never spoken of his brother particularly unfavourably. Then again, he hasn't spoken of his brother much at all. But his reaction to Brandon being drunk isn't exactly reassuring.
"Brandon, go upstairs."
"Why? Am I interrupting something?"
"Just go."
"Or what?" he hisses, grabbing Charlie by the collar.
"Fuck off okay?" Charlie orders, pushing his brother off of him. Brandon smirks and turns his attention to me, crouching down to my level. He places his hand roughly on the side of my face, stroking my cheek with his calloused fingers. His breath stinks of alcohol and I can't move.
"Don't," Charlie warns, shoving Brandon's hand away from my face. Brandon is unfazed and sustains his attention on me, ignoring Charlie altogether.
"You're a pretty girl," Brandon chuckles, "Why are you wasting your time with my brother?" At first I suppose he's only messing around but then I notice the look of hurt and shame in Charlie's eyes. It is the first time I've ever seen him look vulnerable and I realise immediately that his brother's words cut him like a knife. Suddenly our conversation at lunch makes sense. Perhaps the reason he could relate so well to what I talked about was because he's in a similar situation. All that stuff he said about losing someone gradually and being in limbo – could he have been talking about his older sibling?
Brandon stands up, wobbles slightly but then regains his balance. He looks at Charlie. "Is she staying here tonight?"
"Yeah," Charlie says quietly.
"Great. You seem like you have a lot of...aggression you need to let out, as long as you keep the noise down." Brandon chuckles to himself again.
I look to Charlie, expecting him to argue back like he normally would but instead he stares sadly at his brother, looking depleted.
Brandon shrugs and chuckles once again before finally trudging up the stairs, sure to pass out the second his head touches the pillow.
"I'm sorry," Charlie sighs, staring down at the ground. He looks utterly defeated and destroyed and, just like that, I realise that the whole arrogant self-assured persona is nothing more than an act to mask his insecurities.
Charlie's the most talked about person at school. He's one of those people that everyone has an opinion on. I wonder how many people truly know him though. How many people have even been to his house, let alone seen him like this? Probably not many, because that's exactly what he tries so hard to avoid. Pretending he's immune to emotion supposedly means he can't get hurt. Not depending on anyone means he can't be let down. Shooting up on drugs each weekend gives him the confidence he needs to get through the night. Being in control of all the girls that fall at his feet makes up for the lack of control he has over every other aspect of his life.
It's not right; I'm not justifying it for one second, I swear. All I'm saying is that I now realise that the way he acts and the way he really is are two completely different things. He's not trying to be popular and he doesn't get a kick out of being a jerk. He's simply holding onto himself the best he knows how to.
"It's not your fault," I tell him, wishing I could comfort him the way he always does me. He doesn't respond. Instead he slides his hand around my wrist and leads me upstairs, opening the door to the first room on the left – his bedroom. The room is small: an unmade double bed taking up most of the space, and other bedroom furniture squished into the gaps around it. Charlie opens a drawer and passes me a folded shirt that smells like him. He goes across the hall to the bathroom, leaving me to get changed in his room.
The false smile he offers when he returns doesn't fool me for a second. The atmosphere between us is different now than earlier and we're both too consumed by our own destructive thoughts to know how to help each other. The memories of Austin keep replaying in my head and thinking straight is impossible. This is all such a mess.
Charlie sits down on the bed, resting his back against the wall and I go to sit next to him, but he snakes his arms around my waist and pulls me in between his legs so my back is pressed to his chest. I don't know if he's doing it to comfort me or to comfort himself. He buries his head in the crook of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and the electricity from the close contact is almost enough to block out the thoughts that are eating me up most. Almost.
"Your brother too?" I ask in almost a whisper.
"Yeah," he says sadly, "My brother too." My heart aches for him. I wish I could offer some advice but honestly, I don't have any. I thought you were supposed to come out of these bad experiences stronger and wiser but really I feel just as clueless as ever. Witnessing Austin lose himself to his addiction killed me, but I'm not sure what I could have done differently that would have prevented his illness or preserved my own sanity. If I could rewind the clock, there is really only one thing I would change and that is something I'm too ashamed of to speak about.
"Noelle, you can talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking," he says after what feels like forever, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does. You can tell me anything sweetheart," he assures. "You can trust me." I know I can trust him, hence why I tell him most things, more than I can tell anyone else, but there's some things that even he doesn't need to know. Besides, I've done my share of confessing for the day. He clearly has some skeletons in his closet too so perhaps it will do him good to talk about them.
"What about you Charlie?" I ask, pulling away from his embrace and turning round. "You're hurting too. I know you are. You take drugs to block out whatever shit is going on in your life, just like Austin did, so tell me."
Charlie stares into space, his eyes glazing over with that distant look again.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's hard for me okay?!" he snaps, momentarily getting frustrated, "I don't need anyone to help me."
"And I do?"
He is silent.
"But it's good to talk about things, right?" I continue.
"Right, fine, whatever. What do you wanna know?"
"What's bothering you most right now?"
"You first."
"No, you."
"I don't know," he shrugs, "I'm worried about my brother." I take his hand in mine, lacing my fingers with his. I know that feeling like a shepherd knows his flock.
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. He started drinking heavily about two or three years ago now and then it progressed to drugs, cocaine mainly. It started out as just a one off and then it became a social thing, and now he's hooked on the stuff and god knows what else." I sigh and wonder if Charlie realises he's headed down the exact same path. I wonder if he even knows any different.
"So why did you start using then, having seen that?" I ask, before adding, "I assume you started using after Brandon did."
"Yeah, I started using about seven months ago," he admits, chewing on his lip. "I'd had a bad day. I was at a pretty low point. A guy offered me some cocaine, the same guy that got my brother hooked actually, and I guess I wasn't in a position to say no."
"That's sick how someone can take advantage like that."
"A businessman saw an opportunity and took it," he justifies.
"He used your vulnerability to his advantage, Charlie."
"The same way I use girls' vulnerability to my advantage."
The comment causes my breath to hitch in my throat. I guess I never thought of it like that. I'm not sure how to respond; I know as well as Charlie does that he uses girls to get what he wants.
"Your turn now," Charlie says, a pleading look in his eyes, "What's bothering you?"
I have a thousand more questions I want to ask Charlie but the pained expression on his face tells me he can't cope with answering anything else. Despite how curious I am, and how much I don't want to talk about my own issues, I don't push Charlie any further. I know it's a huge deal that he's even told me this much. I'm scared he'll clam up if I push my luck.
"Just Austin I guess," I say glumly, "It's weird; I used to spend every minute worrying about him and fearing the worst. Now the worst has happened, but I still find myself constantly thinking about him."
"What do you think about?" he asks.
"How much I miss him."
"And?" he pushes, clearly noting there's something more. It's times like this I wish he didn't know me so well.
"And nothing." I curse myself for giving possibly the most unconvincing answer imaginable.
"There's obviously something."
"It doesn't matter," I dismiss, beginning to panic and back away. I can feel the tears coming and I don't think I'll be able to hold them back unless we change the goddamn subject.
"Noelle, what is it?"
"Don't, please."
"I'm not gonna judge you."
"Nothing just...it's nothing," I cry, dropping my head between my knees and covering my ears, rocking back and forth. Despite my best attempts to keep myself together, I can feel the tears begin to fall. I feel horrible and wish the ground would swallow me up.
I want to tell him. I really do. I trust him more than anyone, which is probably stupid because I don't know what the hell I'm letting myself in for, but I trust him with every piece of me. He listens. He understands. He cares about me.
But I can't tell him. I've never told anyone or even considered telling anyone. How can I justify something so stupid and careless? It's been driving me insane ever since it happened, constantly eating me up. I know that I've probably thought into it way too much but after months of these thoughts swirling endlessly in my head, I've built such a block against it that my stomach does backflips just thinking about saying it out loud.
"Sweetie, it's okay. You're okay," he tells me, shifting so that he is kneeling up in front of me. He grabs my wrists, trying to prise my hands from my face.
"It's not okay Charlie. I fucked up."
"You didn't fuck up."
"I did. It's my fault. Everything is my fault. I could have stopped him," I whimper, pressing my hands even tighter over my face.
"Is that what this is about?" Charlie gasps, stunned. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and holds me close to his chest, resting his head on top of mine. "Oh my god, it's not your fault at all."
"It is."
"No it's not. You can't spend the rest of your life wondering what you could have done better or you'll never come to terms with losing him."
"Charlie," I whine, thinking, debating, teetering on the edge of telling him my deepest regret.
"What?"
I have to do it. I can't do it. He'll understand. What if he doesn't?
"I knew he was going to do it," I blurt.
"What?"
"I think he overdosed on purpose," I say so quickly that I'm sure my words must have all jumbled together. "Everyone assumed he did it by accident," I explain, "But I know he didn't. I remember that night so clearly. He came home and was acting really weirdly. He was detached and out of it, like not just 'high on drugs' out of it. It was more than that. I asked him if he was okay and he hugged me and said he loves me and said he wanted to be on his own. In my gut, I knew, I knew, something was wrong but I didn't do anything about it, Charlie. I sat worried in my room for an hour and all I can think is that if I went to check on him fifteen minutes earlier, he'd still be here. He'd be alive."
I drop my head in my hands and begin to sob pathetically, completely overcome with guilt and regret. I feel like a defendant on trial awaiting a verdict, waiting to hear whether Charlie thinks differently of me now. I wouldn't blame him if he did. It's what I deserve.
"There's nothing you could have done," Charlie says gently, after what seems like an eternity.
"How can you say that?" I cry, "I knew something was wrong and I didn't check! He's my own brother and I let him kill himself."
"Noelle listen to me!" Charlie orders, grabbing my face with his hands and forcing me to look at him, "There is nothing you could have done. I promise you that. If he wanted to do that then there was nothing you could have done to change his mind."
"How can you know that?"
"Because, for him to want to kill himself, he must have been in a really bad place and I'm telling you, I swear on my life Noelle, there is nothing you could have said or done that would have stopped him."
"Come here," he whispers, lying down and tugging on my arm. We lie side by side, facing each other and he slips one arm around my shoulders and the other around my waist, pulling me close to him so that I'm cocooned in his warmth.
The thing with Charlie is that his voice has such a sense of finality and authority to it that you simply don't argue. He speaks his words as if he's speaking the law. He just has this knack of making you believe anything. He could say that pigs were flying and no one would doubt him because that's what Charlie's like.
"Promise me something," Charlie demands, more than asks.
"Anything."
"We have each other's backs. Me and you. We'll look after each other."
"Okay," I agree, "Always."
A/N - My favourite chapter so far! Please let me know what you think.