Chapter 27 - Charlie
I feel so flat. The energy from staying with Mila for the past few weeks took far more of a toll than I thought. Mila was able to go home a few nights ago and Dante said not to come back for at least a week. I've been checking in with him but it's been nice to take a bit of a mental break from everything.
I have yet to feel guilty about being a couch potato these last few days, but the state of Porter's small apartment, however, finally got the better of me and I’ve spent the afternoon cleaning up and putting away the groceries we got two days ago. After living off hospital food and crappy pizza, it was nice to have salad and meat that wasn't questionably grey.
Moving around the apartment, I don't think I noticed the little changes that have happened over the past few months. It's slowly become our space and not just his. There's now a decorative pillow on the bed, not to mention a cushion and a throw blanket on the small couch. I love the way we have to practically sit on top of each other if we're going to watch a movie and the way he always puts me first no matter what we're doing. If we shower together he always makes sure I’m under the warm spray of water. He serves me dinner first and waits for me to start eating before he takes a bite. I love that he asks about what my day will look like and thinks I haven't realised he messages Dante to check that I've arrived. I love that he didn't leave when we took Mila down to Woodman and that he's not said I'm too much or not enough for him like I've been told in the past.
I love him.
The door to the apartment opens and I'm greeted with a clumsy smile from Porter as he walks toward me, one hand hidden behind his back.
“Hey, baby,” he drawls, “I was at the store and saw these for you.” His grin widens as he pulls out a bouquet of soft pink tulips. Gasping at the sight, I don't think anyone has ever gotten me a true bouquet of flowers before. Sure, I've had the crappy bunch from the local corner store but these are stunning, thoughtful, intentional.
“Porter, they're beautiful. Thank you,” I say, as I pull him into a hug and give him a kiss. “Let me find a jar or something to put them in.”
Moving to the kitchen, I start looking through the cupboards to find anything that could remotely work as a vase, settling on an old large pickle jar. He’s standing in the middle of the small living space looking at the mantel I was cleaning.
“Where’s the jar?” he asks, his tone stern and assertive.
“The jar?” I question, “You mean this pickle jar?”
I’m taken aback by the quick switch in his behaviour. He was being so sweet and kind only moments ago and I’m not entirely sure what’s happened in the last minute to warrant this change.
“No Charlie, I don't mean the pickle jar. Where is the jar from the mantel?”
“Oh, I was just dusting. It's down on the coffee table. Is everything alright? You seem tense all of a sudden.”
He looks between the coffee table and the mantel, almost confused by the simple task of me dusting. He picks up the jar and places it gently on the mantel, the copper coins inside clinking slightly as he does. I move toward him, reaching out my hand and resting on his forearm. I'm about to ask what’s wrong again when his head snaps toward me, fury and pain in his eyes.
“It doesn't belong to you. Don't touch it again,” he barks. Each word a struggle to get out. Pulling away from my touch, he stomps out of the apartment brooding over our exchange. Leaving me just as confused and conflicted over the complete submission to my feelings only moments ago, and whether I'm alone in them.