Chapter 31 Austin
austin
Her car was in the driveway, and hope flickered in my chest.
Maybe she’s here. Maybe tonight we can finally talk.
I’d picked up some pizza on the way home, thinking it might help, but traffic had delayed me longer than I’d planned, so all I could do was hope she was inside and that I hadn’t missed her again.
When I stepped inside, the house was quiet—too quiet.
“Charlie?” I called, my voice echoing.
No response.
I set the pizza on the counter. Maybe she’d gone out with her friends. I’d have to see her eventually. I had to.
I opened the box, grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and sat down at the kitchen counter.
Quietly, I ate my slice as I tried to think of all the ways and reasons she’d be ignoring me after her call with her mom and brother.
I’d tried texting her this week, and even my messages went unresponded to.
Did I somehow mess up on the phone call with her mom?
I knew what it felt like to be rejected by a parent—the sting, the hollow ache that lingered long after the wounds were inflicted.
Maybe that’s what this was for Charlie, her way of dealing with what happened.
I wanted to believe that. I needed to. As I sat there, eating alone in the silence, the doubts crept in.
What if it’s more? What if she’s ready to leave?
The idea of her walking away, of us ending, left a void I didn’t want to face. This house, this life—it would all be so empty without her.
I glanced around. Everything in this place was hers. The vintage floors she loved so much, the carefully chosen furniture, even the faint sound of the lake outside—it all screamed Charlie. She was everywhere, and yet, she wasn’t here with me.
I groaned, shoving the half-eaten slice of pizza onto the counter, and rubbed my temples. The silence was unbearable. It didn’t feel right being here, not like this. Not when she had locked me out, literally and figuratively.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
I stood abruptly and shoved the stool back with more force than necessary. If she wasn’t going to talk to me tonight, I couldn’t stay here. I needed air. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow she’d let me in.
I had to think about the leaves and not the entire tree because if I started to think of the tree toppling over, then I’d be broken too.
I was going to grab an overnight bag and call Dirks or see if I could crash at my mom’s house because I couldn’t handle another night here. I didn’t . . . trust myself.
As I got up the stairs, I didn’t dare turn around to look at her room. Instead I just focused on heading to the bathroom, but that’s when I heard it.
Soft murmurs drifted from down the hallway, coming from her room. The sound was faint but unmistakable. Without making too much noise, I took a few careful steps in her direction. The door was cracked open, just enough for her voice to slip through.
I moved closer, but the next step betrayed me—a floorboard groaned beneath my weight. I froze, my breath hitching, straining to hear what she was saying.
“You are nothing.”
It was soft, barely above a murmur, but I heard what she’d said clear as day.
I stared down at the floor, silently begging it not to creak again. I was only a few steps from her door. If the boards groaned once more, she’d know I was there, heading toward her, listening. Yet, I needed to know what she was talking about.
I took the smallest step forward, carefully placing my weight on my toes before easing closer to her room. From where I stood, I could see through the crack in the door if I angled my head just right.
“You are ugly. Your breasts are too big.”
Her voice, usually so full of light and joy, was flat, laced with something dark and unforgiving. My chest tightened as I listened, her words hitting like tiny daggers.
Who the hell is she talking to?
I leaned in a little more, my eyes locking onto where she stood inside the room. She was in front of the large floor-to-ceiling mirror, her reflection staring back at her. It was just her. No one else was in the room.
She was talking to herself.
As I leaned in farther, the scene unfolded before me.
Charlie stood naked in front of the vintage gold-framed mirror, her body bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
Her hands moved with purpose, one gripping her cheeks, pulling harshly as if trying to reshape them.
The other hand trailed down her flawless curves, tracing every inch.
When her fingers reached her stomach, she pinched at the soft skin and murmured, “Your stomach is too fat. You’ll never keep a man because of this.”
Her voice was cruel and unrecognizable. She slid her hand down to her thighs, gripping them with the same unforgiving touch. “None of the boys will ever like you, Charlotte.”
The use of her full name, coupled with the tiny hiccup that escaped her lips, froze me in place for a moment. Then I saw it—a single tear rolling down her cheek as I saw her swallowing back a sob in her reflection.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I pushed the door open, not caring if she saw me. She didn’t flinch. Her hand dropped from her cheek, her eyes flicking to me briefly over her shoulder before drifting back to the mirror.
“Char,” I said softly, my voice barely audible as I stepped inside.
My heart was pounding, my feet moving on their own. I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
I stood behind her, not sure what I should do, but that’s when I saw the mascara running down her cheeks and her swollen, red eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Please. Talk to me,” I begged.
She only shook her head again.
I stepped into her en suite bathroom and grabbed a satin robe hanging from the back of the door. I picked up a towel and dampened it lightly with cool water before heading back to her.
When I returned, she was still standing frozen in front of the mirror, her arms limp at her sides, eyes fixed on her reflection like she was trapped.
“Come here,” I whispered.
She didn’t move at first, her gaze unmoving.
I stepped closer, holding out the robe as if offering her a lifeline.
She let me slip the robe over her shoulders, the satin fabric gliding against her skin as she pulled it tight around her. Her eyes stayed on the mirror for a moment longer before she finally let them drop.
I stepped between her and her reflection, gently lifting the damp towel to her face. She didn’t resist as I wiped away the smudged mascara.
“What’s happening?”
Her lips parted as if to answer, but no words came.
I set the towel aside and scooped her up in my arms, cradling her against my chest as I carried her to the bed. Gently, I laid her down, the satin robe slipping slightly as she adjusted herself. I knelt in front of her, bringing us face-to-face.
“Talk to me.”
She whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for ignoring you this week. I . . . I needed time to think.”
“It’s okay,” I crooned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Why were you saying those things about your body in the mirror?”
She gripped the robe tighter against her body as she swallowed hard. “M-My mom,” she stammered.
“Your mom?” I repeated, leaning in slightly, trying to piece it together.
“When I was younger, she used to make me sit in front of the mirror. She’d point out everything that wasn’t ‘perfect’—my stomach, my thighs, my breasts were the biggest things.
She’d tell me what I needed to fix, like it was some kind of lesson in self-improvement.
” Her eyes flicked away from mine, filled with shame.
“She said it was meant to make me better, to help me see my flaws so I could fix them. All it did was make me hate what I saw.”
“Charlie.”
Hearing her words stirred a deep mix of anger and sadness.
Anger at the woman who had done this to her, and sadness for the younger Charlie who had endured it.
She’d carried this pain for so long, taught to see herself as flawed.
She deserved so much more—to feel whole, beautiful, and free from those harmful expectations.
“I think with the phone call, it all came bubbling to the surface.”
“Have you been doing this all week?”
Charlie nodded.
“Honey,” I whispered. “You . . .”
I didn’t have the words. She couldn’t see herself as the woman I saw every single day. She saw herself as flawed, but I saw her as selfless, beautiful, and warm.
“Stand up,” I said, getting to my feet. I reached toward her, and she looked at me, her eyes wide.
“Please?” I asked, and she nodded and grabbed my hands. I led her back to the mirror.
“I can’t change how you see yourself. I don’t have that power. Only you have that power within yourself. I learned that with my disease. I couldn’t change for someone else, I had to do it for me.”
She nodded, her lower lip trembling as she held back tears.
I moved behind her, my hands gently gathering her long, golden hair. “What I can do is show you who I see.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes met mine.
“Can I show you? Can I show you what I see?”
Her lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping. “Yes.”
She turned back toward the mirror, and I began with her hair, running my fingers through the soft strands.
“Your hair is beautiful,” I murmured, brushing it over one shoulder. “Its honey color catches the light in ways that make it impossible not to notice.”
I slowly trailed my hands down. We both watched as I traced the outline of her face.
“Your eyes,” I whispered, looking into the wide amber pools reflected in the mirror. “Always so curious, like they want to see everything the world has to offer.”
I softly brushed my thumbs along her cheekbones. “And these ears,” I said, my voice lower now, “they listen—not just to words, but to what people aren’t saying. You hear what others miss.”
My gaze dropped to her lips. They were slightly parted. “And these lips . . .” My voice was rough. “I think about them pressed against mine every single hour of every single day.”
She inhaled sharply as I carefully tugged the left side of her robe, letting it slip past her shoulder. Her breath hitched, the air between us growing thicker as I took in the smooth skin now exposed, every movement deliberate and filled with quiet reverence.
“But my favorite part is this,” my hands danced along her neckline.
I stopped, holding my hand still right above her breasts.
She was breathing heavily beneath my touch.
“Your heart is selfless, open, and full of so much life. You give so much to everyone around you, Charlie. You make people feel seen, cared for, and you do it without even realizing how rare that is.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and I continued. “And that bucket list? It’s fearless, just like you. You take chances, find joy, and remind me life’s meant to be lived.”
I leaned in, my lips close to her ear. “You don’t settle for a life half lived, and that’s what draws me to you. You make me want to take those chances with you, to be the kind of man who can stand by your side and share in every wild, messy, beautiful moment.”
Her breath hitched again, her eyes glistening in the mirror.
“Charlie, you’ve got this incredible gift. And that heart of yours? It’s the best damn thing about you.”
“Austin,” she murmured as a tear fell down her cheek.
“Don’t cry, honey. Let me continue. I’m not even close to being done.” I paused and wrapped my other hand around her waist. “I’m right here. I’m always here.”
I straightened, my eyes locked on hers as she watched me through the mirror. My hand drifted down her chest, and the robe slipped open farther, revealing her fully. My fingers slid over her skin, tracing the swell of her breast before rolling gently over her hardened nipples.
She let out a soft, shaky breath.
I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear. “Your breasts,” I murmured, my hands continuing their deliberate worship. “I love them because they’re so full, soft, and made to be touched, kissed, and devoured.”
My fingers rolled her thick, sensitive nipples, tugging them just enough to draw a sharp moan from her lips. I pulled harder, watching the way they bounced and swayed, her body completely at my mercy. Her moan deepened, and she let her head fall back against my chest.
“Charlie,” I growled. “Look at yourself.”
Her eyes snapped open, meeting her reflection, pupils blown with lust.
“Look at how your body was made for me.”
I slid my hands lower, gripping her curves as I leaned in. “Every inch of you is mine to touch, to taste, to ruin.”
With one more tug, I let the robe fall open completely, her tits spilling out, nipples hard. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders.
“Fuck, Charlie,” I murmured, my cock straining against her back. “You have no idea how badly I want to take you right now.”
“Do it,” she mewled. “Take me . . . now.”
I chuckled and walked in front of her, dropping to my knees. “No. I’m not done worshipping you.”
I slid my hands down from her breasts, gliding over the soft curve of her stomach.
“Your curves should be written about in every history book. They’re breathtaking.”
I let my hands drift lower, tracing the line where her hips flared, my fingers skimming over her skin until they reached the apex of her thighs, where her pussy was fully exposed.
She gasped, and her body arched slightly into my touch.
“Look at you,” I murmured, dragging my gaze over the creamy stretch of her thighs.
I pressed my lips to her skin, slowly lifting her leg over my shoulder. My mouth followed a path up her thigh, stopping just before the neatly trimmed strip of hair framing her pussy. I gave her one slow, deliberate lick and savored the taste.
She glanced down at me, and I stilled.
“Look in the mirror, Charlie,” I purred. “I want you to see yourself. Watch as I devour you, as I worship every inch of your body. Watch how beautiful you are when you come undone.”