She’s unsettled as she normally is- it’s been months and she played with the idea of leaving home but then her father croaked on account of alcohol poisoning and her mother drowned herself in her tears long enough to be ready and available in a hospital bed. So she’s alone, just as usual with her aunt unavailable at the moment- she always goes out late and comes home in the wee hours of the morning. So Charlie being Charlie furrows her brow and kicks off the remaining covers, pulling a sweatshirt over her head and opens the window to see a face she hasn’t seen in a while, “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah. It’s two. Why, does it matter?” There’s a rush to his voice, like he’s in some kind of hurry. He just really, really needs to see Charlie. And he’s freezing.
It always happens when he’s alone. The climax of his tragedy, the core center of his depression. He feels it coming down on him like a hot wave, and usually his default reference is alcohol or weed –– but tonight isn’t the night for that. For once in his life, he’d rather profess to something logical.
Charlie isn’t a good escape. If anything, she’s right there with him in the pit of shitty circumstances. But at least she’s not the hands shoving him down –– at least she has the heart to relate to him.
“Let me in, already. Please.” A shiver takes a liking to his voice, and his hands move to rub heat into his arms.
