F O U R
I sat on the floor, color-coding my books while waiting for my duvet to be done drying downstairs. I slept with a bare comforter last night, being too tired after our trip to Ikea to put my bedding in the wash.
I was too tired to cut Charlie’s hair as well, which is why he strolls inside my door now to find me on the floor.
“You really need to lock this door.” His brows furrow like a protective dad.
“You really need to learn how to make a fist and press it to a door. Repeatedly.”
His teeth grind as he turns the deadbolt. “I need a haircut.”
I set down the book I held, pursing my lips. “I need Chinese food.”
He pulls his wallet from his pocket, tossing it at me. It hands in my lap with a thump.
“Order it while I wet my hair.”
It takes him what seems like two steps to end up in my bathroom while I pluck his debit card from the worn dark brown leather. I roll my eyes as I reach for my phone and put in an order, happily giving them a pretty tip for their troubles.
I hear the shower turn off while I grab my sheers from a random drawer in the kitchen .
“Seriously?” I frown when I see him using my towel as he ruffles his hair. The towel that was wrapped around my own body, not but an hour ago.
“I could have gotten you your own.”
He pulls the towel together, letting it hang over his shoulders. “What’s the point in that?”
“It doesn’t gross you out that it was still damp from me using it an hour ago?”
He shrugs. “Does it gross you out?”
Charlie plants himself on the toilet, unaffected.
I exhale. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes, Next-Door-Charlie.”
“I’ve used lots of sketchy towels in my day, Banks,” he assures me. “One you’ve used, no matter how filthy, would never gross me out.”
“You make it sound like I’m some monster from the deep.”
I push the door, grabbing my comb from the bag that hangs behind it.
“You are a crab.”
“I am not,” I mutter as I start brushing his hair. “I’m a cancer.”
“Whose symbol is a crab.”
“What’s yours then? A hedgehog?”
He chuckles. “Where the hell did you get a hedgehog?”
“Prickly but cute.”
“Awe, you think I’m cute, Banks?” He attempts to look back at me.
“Stop it.” I force his head back the way it was.
“It’s a water barrier.”
“A what?”
“Aquarius,” he says. “Its symbol is a water barrier.”
“What is that?”
“A pretty lady pouring water.”
“Interesting,” I utter, cutting my guideline. “Why do you know so much about zodiacs?”
“They are named after constellations in space.”
“Good point,” I hum.
“When Carsyn was little she wanted me to teach her about the stars and she in turn would tell me about zodiacs and tarot.”
“She likes tarot?” I ask. “Like readings and stuff?” I snip more.
“Just for herself. I think more than anything she just liked learning about it all.”
“Maybe one day she can read me,” I say. “I could use some guidance,” I tease.
“Maybe.”
A haircut later, I resume my place on the floor while Charlie makes himself at home on my sofa. Though, he did build it, so I guess that’s just.
I go back to color coding, quickly getting lost in my head.
“Girls really like this crap?”
I’m not sure how much time had passed, but he now sat with his lengthy legs hanging off the arm while his neck was crooked into the edge of the other, supported by one of the dark green pillows. He’s reading my copy of Punk 57 by Penelope Douglas.
“What?” I ask, setting another blue cover on top of the blue pile.
“He’s so mean to her.” Charlie peeks over the top of the book with a twisted brow. “It’s toxic.”
“What are you, the healthy relationship police?” I spat. “It’s a book, anything goes in Romanceland.”
I reach for one of her other books and toss it at him.
“What is this?” He holds it up. “ Credence ?”
“You think Misha’s toxic, wait till you read about Uncle Jake and his sons,” I snicker.
Charlie huffs, letting Credence sit on his abdomen while he keeps reading.
I grab half the red stack and stand, walking over to my newly installed shelves and start to place them. I started with white, which faded into pink and now red.
“Where is this Chinese food?”
“Hopefully close.” My stomach rumbles in agreement. “Isn’t your appointment with Kai soon?”
Charlie glances at his phone. “I’ve got another hour or so. I could probably read a few more chapters and then eat all of your chow mein.”
“I ordered two boxes.”
“Egg rolls?”
I roll my eyes. “I got you egg rolls, Next-Door-Charlie.”
He winks at me with a big bright grin. “You’re the best.”
I finish with the reds and start on orange when there is a knock at the door. Charlie jumps up from my couch and opens it while I grab two ciders from the fridge. Charlie steps around my piles and slumps back down on the loveseat, undoing the plastic bag. I pull over a little table and sit next to him.
He hands me a box with some chopsticks. Then hands me a second pair .
“What did you do without me when you ate Chinese before?” I snort, taking them and splitting the two pieces of wood.
“I used a fork.”
“Then why don’t you still?” I hand them back to him.
“Because you’re here and you can evenly split them for me,” Charlie replies as if it’s some ancient art form. He takes a bite of one of his egg rolls and I watch as he awkwardly holds the chopsticks. We do this every time. I grab his hand and fix them.
“See?” He scrunches his nose at me. “What would I do without you?”
“Starve.”
My little studio is coming along even for just one day. Charlie put my furniture together, his neighbor helped him set up my bed and only six boxes remained unpacked. I’d been busy this morning. My lion sat on the edge of my bed with his panda hat, the shelves mounted around my dresser and desk with my loveseat wedged in the corner by the windows.
Charlie is still reading while he shoves noodles in his mouth. I glance over his shoulder, seeing him reading the library scene.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” he says as if he didn’t just read that dirty scene.
“What is?”
He stares.
I hum, taking a drink from my cider. “You’ll have to finish it.”
Charlie doggy ears his page, knowing I abuse my books in the same fashion, and sets it on top of Credence. “I’ll take these with me,” he announces. “I’ll need something it occupy my mind later.”
“Kai is going to give you shit.”
“Probably.” Charlie shrugs, completely unbothered.
I am so envious of his ability to be so comfortable with his sexuality. Most men would shutter at the thought of even seeing the cover of one of those kinds of books, let alone actually read one. Not to mention in public, around their guy friends.
“You’re really not going to tell me what you’re getting?”
“Nope.”
“Next-Door-Charlie.”
“Banks.”
I pout and a chuckle rests in his chest. I shift my body, throwing my legs over his lap as he slouches into the back of the loveseat.
“Were you always a reader?” I wonder. “I didn’t remember you carrying books around.”
“No,” he answers. “I only really started doing it in high school.”
“Oh yes, how was high school in Germany?”
“It was on base,” he tells me. “I’d doubt it was much different than it was here.”
“Why did you decide you wanted to go to school in the States? Why not in Germany or somewhere else in Europe?”
Charlie sighs, taking another sip before saying, “I wanted to come home.”
“Germany never felt like home?”
“No,” he mutters. “It never did.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened while you were there? ”
His light eyes glance at me, his lips forming a line. His faint scar becomes more visible as he does this. “It’s in the past. I would like it to stay there.” His tone isn’t angry, but it is serious and final.
“I just feel like there’s a blank spot in who you are,” I confess. “Like I know you, but I don’t really know you.”
“You know me, Banks,” he replies earnestly. “You know me in the ways that matter and better than anyone else does.”
“Tell me something,” I ask. “Anything.”
He stares at me, tipping the bottle to his lips for a long drink. When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I wrestled in high school.”
“What?” I gape. “But you’re so tall.”
He snorts. “I wasn’t this tall in high school. I hit a spurt around twenty.”
“Were you any good?”
“I was alright,” he murmurs. “But like you said, I was a bit tall for the sport, too lanky. If I wasn't careful, it could be easy for my opponents to tie me up.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I graduated.”
I lightly kick him.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I suppose.”
I groan. “Charlie.”
“I’m here, Banks. In the present. I’m here when you need me.” He gently grabs my foot. “Isn’t that enough?”
I sneer at him. “Why won't you tell me anything real about you though? We’re supposed to be friends?”
“We are friends. ”
I pull my feet from his lap, standing. “My friend would open up to me. My friend would feel safe enough to do so. Do I not make you feel safe?”
“You’re…” he sighs. “You’re overthinking this.”
“Answer me.”
“Of course, I feel safe with you, Banks.”
I start to clean up the food, not sure why I am so frustrated, but I am.
“Germany and my life there was before you and it doesn't matter anymore.”
“Your experiences make you who you are,” I protest, dropping the food on my counter. “I feel like you know how many times I shave my legs each week and I don't even know why you are a scientist, yet you work as a stocker for a grocery store.”
Charlie kneads his palms against his thighs, looking at the floor. “I should go,” he says quietly. “Is it alright if I still borrow these?” He grabs the two books whilst standing.
“Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms as I let my body fall against the sink.
Charlie moves gradually, stopping in front of me. I look away from him as he leans down and kisses my forehead. “You are my best friend, Banks,” he murmurs tenderly. “The only person who truly knows me,” he repeats, and I say nothing.
“The only person I feel completely myself with.”
My eyes stay on my concrete floors as he reluctantly pulls away, and I wait to hear the door shut.
I don't know why I freaked out on him. I am constantly spilling my guts like a sewer, but that doesn't mean Charlie has to. But is it truly so wrong that I want to know more? That I crave to understand the anomaly that is Charlie Barnes?
Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the right to demand anything of Charlie. I convince myself that I am so small, that I should feel lucky that he even looks me in the eye let alone actually speaks to me. I tuck myself back into the slot of the pity friend he made. He saw a lost puppy that night at Harlem’s and like all young foolish adults decided to bring it home with him.
I know that’s just my self-doubt talking. Charlie doesn’t pity me, not in the ways I’d think he would. I don’t understand what he gets out of our friendship besides a decent haircut, but I do know deep down I do deserve honesty. It’s to what level I seem to struggle with.