24. Charlie
Charlie
Brody: Who the fuck were you with at the movie?
Charlie: Get a dictionary. We broke up. We aren’t together. I can hang out with whomever I want.
Brody: No, you can’t. You’re still mine.
Charlie: You need mental help at this point. I’m not your property. We aren’t together, and if I want to date someone else. I will do so. Stop following me around, and driving by my house.
Brody: It would suck for his little record store to burn down.
Charlie: Seriously? Are you making threats now?
Brody: I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.
Charlie: Leave me alone.
Brody: No, I’ll just send the video of you sucking my dick to your cheer coach. Or maybe your new boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll love that.
My fingers rake through my hair, and I’m about to pull out every follicle.
I’m wedged between the sink and the toilet.
My knees are pressed against my chest. I wiped away tears pooling down my cheeks with the back of my hand so much that my skin is raw.
At this point, the only logical thing for anyone to do is to go to the police.
But I can’t. It doesn’t even matter if Brody threatened to burn down Noah’s store.
The police won’t fix anything. Brody’s dad is the biggest donor to the judges in the county. They favor him and his son.
Mr. Thomas wins every single case.
My mind spins, and I can’t tell if that’s the White Claws resurfacing or my dumb choice of letting Brody love bomb me for months only to take off the costume of the Perfect Boyfriend and become my own personal night stalker.
The clicking of the lock on the door leaves me still like a statue. Footsteps squeak against the floor as Omen kneels down with no emotion on his face and a hand resting over his knee.
“You could knock.”
“It’s my house. Now talk.”
“About what?” I ask.
“Why are you on the floor?” I know this doesn’t look good. A girl sobbing on the bathroom floor. I’m that pathetic, insecure bitch wanting attention. I’ve seen it half a dozen times, but that’s not the case. I don’t want any attention.
“I’m fine.” I dig my nails into my kneecaps.
“Clearly you’re not.” He doesn’t blink. He just bores into my soul with his dark green eyes.
“I just don’t feel good,” I say. Which is partially true.
“Right. Who the hell have you been texting?” He points at the phone on my lap, then it buzzes again. When glancing at the name, it’s Brody again. “See, it’s going off again. You’ve been ignoring Noah since we got back.”
“It’s no one.”
“Bullshit. He’s my best friend, and he likes you. He doesn’t let anyone in but us, and I can see it on his face.”
“I like him too,” I argue but lose the staring contest. His eyes are too intense for me.
“You sure know how to show it. He’s not some fucking chew toy. He’s a fucking human, a real fucking person.”
I should storm right out of this bathroom and book it.
Get in my car and speed off as fast as I can.
The mental breakdown is seconds away. There’s a fault in the code of my brain.
The voices in my head spit out things I should do.
Run away. Tell him to piss off. But all I say is, “You wouldn’t understand. ”
“Enlighten me, please, because I know what he’s gone through in the last seven years, and you don’t know a damn thing. I’m not about to sit here and watch you use him as a rebound.”
“What are you? Gay for him?” I snap back, and Omen lets out a cocky laugh, running his tongue over his top teeth. “I don’t want a rebound relationship... fuck, you don’t even get it.” Regret already eats a hole in my stomach. Shit. I need to shut up before my bitchy mouth gets the best of me.
“So you move to insults when you don’t like what you hear.”
“You don’t know me. I don’t appreciate you assuming I’m using him. My ex is fucking insane, okay?”
“So you're texting your ex. That’s not something that is impressionable. When I look at it from my angle I think you’re not over him.”
My eyes simmer at the words, and I stare at the white ceiling. It’s not true, and I don’t want Noah to have the impression I still have any feelings for Brody. “I don’t, and I haven't, felt anything for him in a very long time.”
“Then why are you texting him?”
Omen doesn’t get it. Parasites of disgust and regret are all that I have left for Brody.
I’ve been over him before summer even hit.
I’m over him breaking his promises, and telling me he would stop fucking his hand to porn and wait for me.
The persistent reassurance he would make us official online.
That the girls in his stories were just fans, and not someone he was luring into his bed.
But guys like Brody lie like it’s muscle memory. It’s all he knows.
“You got nothing to say?”
“I’d rather talk to Noah...” I wipe the tears from my lashes and sniffle.
“So you can manipulate him more? Right. Love bomb him, use him. That’s my brother out there, if you break his heart, I’ll gladly show you the way out.” He points to the door before he gets up and marches out of the bathroom.
I place my palms on the floor, standing up, but also hitting the top of my head on the edge of the counter with a thud.
I wince, grasping the side of my skull that radiates with a sting, and crawl on the floor.
As I manage to stand up and my phone flops off my lap with the horrifying bloop.
It tumbles into the toilet. I cuss under my breath, dumping my hand into the toilet water of the porcelain stained with a yellow ring.
I slam my hands against the toilet paper, acting like a cat in a frenzy.
I take a good fifty pieces of toilet paper covering my phone to soak up all the water.
It’s in the speakers and charging ports.
The headphone jack is dripping. I can’t even type in my passcode.
It’s supposed to be water-resistant, but it’s glitching out regardless.
I give up. Frustrated, I throw the globs of white goo into the trash bin and leave the bathroom. The one thing I don’t want to do is leave a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, especially Noah. I come out of the bathroom like it’s a walk of shame because I’m probably coming off like a crazy person.
Noah is chalking up his cue stick as Vince is racking up the balls.
I’m yanking on the seam of my shirt, twisting it in my palms as I stroll up to him.
His eyes meet mine for a second. He’s too good for me.
I’m shaky all over when he flashes me a two-second toothless smile.
He’s a different breed of guy, and here I am about to be a wrecking ball and ruin it all.
“Can... can I play with you?” I ask. My voice trembles as my eyes fall to the floor, and I inch forward until my head falls into his chest.
All I want is for him to wrap an arm around me, kiss me, hug me – anything. But what he does is gently shrug me off as he positions his cue stick to break up the balls.
“Yeah, you can grab a cue stick.” He points his head towards the rack on the wall. I grasp one, and it’s as tall as me. “We are solid,” he tells me as Omen and Vince take the table, landing in a few balls.
As we play, I try to focus on the game, on the click of the balls, but Brody’s messages flash in my mind – a demon in the shell of my ear telling me he’ll never go away.
I’m the negative energy in the room, and I’m not clueless.
It’s me who’s ruining everything as usual.
Noah’s just kind enough not to tell me that.
When I get the chance, I make a break for the kitchen and snag another White Claw, popping open the can.
I want the buzz to do something besides make me depressed and mopey.
I wanna be fun and be silly. I would give anything to make Noah laugh and fall for me.
But I can’t seem to catch his eye. His gaze is fixed on the ball.
No smiles, no cocky jokes. It’s cold, and the ping in my stomach is worse than it’s ever been when Brody wouldn’t answer a text.
My own consciousness is plummeting its fists into my rib cage.
My raging heart can’t take it anymore. I lean my cue against the wall and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I nuzzle my head into his chest, wanting him, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, and he only stares out into the distance with his arms flat at his side as he stiffens.
“I’m sorry... it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It’s your turn.” He points to the pool table instead of pulling me closer. I squeeze my arms around him tighter, not wanting to let go of his spicy scent.
“Please...”
“Let’s just play the game.”