Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When my mother woke up in the back seat, she was incredibly disoriented. Her head ached from all the alcohol and she couldn’t hardly sit up straight. It was a little after noon and rain was sprinkling down on them. My father, having been up driving all night, thought it best to pull over and rest for a while.

“Vinnie, where are we?” she asked as my father pulled into a rest area.

“Almost to Nashville. How are you, darling?” he asked anxiously.

“My head hurts,” she said leaning against the window. “I think I’m going to throw up.” My father pulled to a stop and helped my mother out of the back seat.

My father rubbed her back as she stood, hunched over, and gagged repeatedly into the air. Finally, she threw up all over the parking lot. My father held her hair in his hands. “What happened last night? Where are we going, Vinnie?” she questioned, wiping her mouth of vomit with her sleeve.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. My father knew it was going to be hard to explain this to my mother. He wasn’t sure if she would understand. He knew she wanted to be with him, so he hoped that that would be enough to explain his actions.

Pulling into a parking space, he switched the truck into park and turned it off. It clicked a few times before silence overtook them. My father turned around and looked at my mother. “You came over to my house around one last night. You were crying and really drunk, so I helped you inside and got you some water. Only my parents came down and we got into an argument.” He left out the part about her spilling the glass because he didn’t want her to think it was her fault.

She observed his eyes. Watched them glance at her and then around the car. She wasn’t really sure what had entirely happened. “So you left?” she asked raising her eyebrows.

He nodded. It seemed childish now to run away from his problems, but in the heat of the moment he had felt empowered. It was bold, and he had been proud of his decision. But now, he was nothing more than embarrassed.

“But, what about your family? she asked expectantly. Only he didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back and face his father. Not after what had happened last night. His mother? Well, he knew she’d miss him, but she also encouraged him to go. He knew this was the right decision.

“You’re my family now, Jules. You and me and the little one,” he said poking her stomach. She giggled, and he smiled. And just as fast as her smile formed, it faded away.

“What about my mother?”

He bit his lip. He didn’t want to tell her that he saw her light on as he was leaving. How could he tell her that? Maybe it was selfish to leave, he thought. “I love you, Jules. And I know I probably should’ve talked to you before I left, but I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t imagine leaving without you.”

“I need to talk to her,” she whispered, looking at the ground. In that moment, he realized that he could lose her. A stabbing pain was what my father felt in the pit of his stomach, but he knew she was right. It wasn’t fair for him to take her away from her mother. He nodded and handed her his cell phone.

She looked at it for a moment, contemplating the situation in her mind. Her eyes shifted back towards him as though she was searching him for the answer. She let out a slight laugh. How ridiculous was this whole thing? He watched her, motionless. Unsure of what to do. She held the phone for a long time, thinking. Her and her mother had always fought in the past, and she always thought about running away. But now that it was real, she was scared. My father just watched her.

My mother shook her head, and handed the phone back. “I can’t tell her I’m pregnant,” she said.

He looked at her for a long time. She still seemed unsure. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

She was silent for a long time. Just stared out the window. My father questioned himself again. Why did he take her away from her mother? He had no right.

“I love you Vinnie, and I want to be with you,” she said, to his surprise.

“I love you too Jules.” he responded, grabbing her hand.

And just like that, my parents left behind all they had ever known to start a life together. Such a shame, those two fools left.

                                  ...

Chicago was where they finally settled. Not because either of them particularly liked it there, but because they were running low on cash and needed a steady place to settle down. Plus, my father figured that he’d easily be able to find a job in the city.

They reached the windy city on a Friday and married the next day. An empty church held their ceremony. Neither of them had been very religious, however, they wanted the wedding to be official. My father gave my mother the ring his mother so dearly cherished, and he proceeded to kiss the bride.

Their honeymoon consisted of a cheap motel in the city listening to the sounds of police sirens and car horns. They sat together in the hotel bathtub making each laugh while my father drank three glasses of red wine. One for himself, one for my mother, and one for the newest addition to their family. Me. It wasn’t anything special, but to them it didn’t matter. As long as they were together, they would be happy.

However, happiness in their relationship was short lived. Instead, their marriage began to consist of constant bickering and fighting. Mostly about money. They found a cheap apartment in a not so great neighborhood, but it’s all they could manage to afford. My father had found a job quickly working construction, but it was long hours and didn’t pay as much as he had hoped. And it certainly couldn’t pay for all of the expenses they needed. I guess they hadn’t realized how hard it would be to support themselves. The paycheck would come and it would be nothing but shreds by the time the rent, car, and phone bills were all paid for. My mother knew that the baby would soon need things: a crib, diapers, clothes. All of the necessities, yet my father wasn’t making enough money. That’s usually when the fights would start. Mostly just heated arguments with an occasional shove. It was always my mother. My father wouldn’t ever lay a hand on her. It’d end when my father would disappear for the night to a local bar and my mother would spend the night lying on the bathroom floor. My father hated seeing my mother cry, but there wasn’t anything else he could do. No matter what he tried, it was never enough. Long hours meant he wasn’t home. When he was home, no money was coming in. There was just no winning when it came to my mother.

Despite all of the heartache she caused him, my father still loved her. Despite all of the fights and all of the sorrow, he would do anything for that woman. What a damn shame.

He came home from work a little early one day to surprise her with dinner, but instead he found her crying in their bed with thrashed wrists and a knife lying beside her. He knew he was the reason for her pain. My father was always working, and when he came home, he was usually exhausted and went right to bed. My mother pitied him, but that didn’t stop her from feeling sorry for herself. She hated her new life. As much as she enjoyed the freedom that she had never gotten at home, she missed the affection. Here, she felt empty and alone. And nothing seemed to suffice in making her days better.

 

…

That’s another reason I can’t stand my mother. She knew how hard my father worked for her. She knew how much he gave up. His baseball scholarship, his education, his friends, his mother. He had dropped his entire life to be with her and me, and she still wasn’t content. I swear to God, nothing could make that worthless woman happy.

I thought about the sacrifices my father made to be with my mother. Her existence still bothers me. I wish she was the one dead and not my father. He deserved so much better than her.

And as much as I despise her, she is still the one on my mind. When you’re in a hospital for an extended period of time, there’s nothing but time. Time to wonder, time to think. And that’s about all I was doing.

The doctors still weren’t telling me how Caleb was doing so I was left to wonder. When I got sick from all the worries in my head, I thought about the accident. I dissected it even though it was mostly a blur. All I could remember was small little details like how red the stop sign was before the other car smacked into us. Or how loud the revving of the engine was despite the car being stopped. Or even the painful feeling of the tiny shards of glass pricking at every inch of my skin as I sat trapped in the car. Other than that, I can’t remember a thing.

Inhaling deeply, I looked around the room. It had become so empty since Noah had left. I guess I didn’t realize how little people I had around. He was the only one. And as much as I didn’t want to see him right now, I didn’t have any other option. I needed someone.

“Noah?” I called from my bed. It had been a couple of hours since I kicked him out of the room. I hoped he was still here.

“What can I help you with, Charlotte?” It wasn’t Noah. It was one of the nurses. She had walked in and started checking my vitals once again.

“The boy that was in here. Where is he?” I asked frantically.

“He’s just outside. Would you like to see him?” she asked, smiling. Her hands were cold against my arm as she took my blood pressure.

“Please,” I whispered, checking the monitor. She nodded. The creases of her lips rose as she offered me another soft smile. Quickly, she finished my blood pressure, flicked at the pouch of fluid hanging to my right, and walked out of the room with her fancy clipboard.

I inhaled slowly, not sure how I was feeling. I was so frustrated with Noah, but his presence always made me feel better. Moments later, he entered the small room with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Roses, of course.

Thinking back, I don’t know how he did it. How did he move on so fast? How did he cope with the death of Alex so easily? I mean, I knew her for only a month and her death absolutely crushed me. I felt so guilty, and he never felt any of that at all. At least he never told me about it.

“Hey there doll,” he whispered. His pace was slow. Maybe he was nervous. “I brought you these,” he said handing me the flowers. They smelled like her funeral. Her cold, dark funeral that I couldn’t even bear to watch.

“Noah, we need to talk.”

“I know, Charlie,” he replied. Did he know what I was talking about? Was he going to bring it up to me too? No. He couldn’t know otherwise he would’ve already brought it up.

“What do you mean?”

“That kiss,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have been there that night. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just thought…” his voice trailed off. What did he think?

“What is it?” I asked confused. What was he talking about? What was going on in his head?

“I just thought,” he swallowed hard, “that things would change after the night at the cabin.”

My eyes widened. Why would he think that things would change? This boy raped me. “What makes you think that anything would be different?” I asked furiously. God, was he serious right now? Who the f**k does he think he is? Has the nerve to take advantage of me and then look me in the eye and tell me that he thought things would change. This was some sick joke. He took a step back, looking startled.

“Charlie, you told me you loved me,” he stated ever so calmly. My head fell backwards and hit the pillow positioned upright behind me. What did he just say? Was I hearing this right? I closed my eyes. My breathing quickened as I tried to recall the events of that night again. I remembered the boat and the fish and the water. Everything I had remembered before. I recalled him practically carrying me into the house, but what happened next? I can’t remember. Oh my God, what did I do? Is this all true?

He noticed my confusion and sat down. “Charlie, we headed back to the dock when it started raining. I tied up the boat, but you were drunk. I wasn’t sure how you got so drunk so fast. I only saw you drink a couple beers,” he stated. That was true. He only offered me four. I drank a few more while he was focused on fishing. “You couldn't hardly walk, so I guided you back to the cabin. Once we were there, I sat you down, and got you some water.” I listened intently to every syllable. I didn’t want to miss a word of what he said. “Your clothes were soaking wet, so I helped you undress and laid you down in bed.”

I felt violated. “You stripped me?” I asked in disbelief. “How could you do that?”

“You couldn’t go to sleep in wet clothes. I didn’t want you to get sick,” he stated in his defense. “And it didn’t mean anything. I was just trying to make sure you were okay,” he said softly. His cheeks became flushed, and I knew he was embarrassed. He was telling the truth. I knew him. I knew when he was lying to me. And right now, it was nothing but the goddamn truth.

“I changed into dry clothes and threw both of our clothes in the washing machine. You passed out right away.” This wasn’t making any sense. I don’t remember him lying me down in bed. “After I finally threw our clothes in the dryer, I came into the bedroom to check on you. I guess you had just woken up. Said you were thirsty, so I got you another glass of water and sat down next to you rubbing your back as you drank it.” He paused, breathing in slowly. He was nervous again. “That’s when you said it.”

“Said what?” I asked confused.

“That you loved me. God, it was something.” He looked up, smiling. “I hadn’t hear those words since Alex,” he whispered, clenching his fists. His breathing quickened. Honestly, I don’t think he ever got over her. And sadly, I don’t think he ever will. “It just felt,” he paused thinking of the word to say. “Real.”

I stared at him. He stared at me. Silence. He wasn’t lying. I closed my eyes remembering that night. As he said it, it became more vivid in my head. Maybe I was just making it up, but it felt like a real memory. I remembered the light coming on and how awfully bright it was. I can taste the water. So cold on my tongue. It hurt my teeth. And I can feel his hand rubbing my back. Slowly. In circles. Clockwise, I think. I remember speaking, but I can’t recall the words coming out of my mouth. It was all coming back to me now. That night. I must’ve told him I loved him. I remember how his hand shifted to my leg and began rubbing my thigh. I remember leaning in closer to him, close enough that our bodies were pressed up against each other. I could feel his heat radiating onto me. Then I remember our lips meeting. The sweet taste of Noah’s lips on mine. Did I initiate that? Did I kiss him? Oh my god, did I really do this all? Did I cheat on Caleb with Noah? How could I? I didn’t want to believe it. I really didn’t.

“I�"I don’t remember, Noah. What happened next?” I asked hysterically. I grabbed ahold of his arms, sitting him down in the chair next to me. I needed answers, and I needed them now. Tears were already starting to form, and I could hardly hold it together anymore.

“You kissed me.” Those words felt like they didn’t even come from his voice. They felt like they were my own conscience reminding me of what I had done. My head fell back again. I couldn’t stand this anymore. I hated myself. How could I do this to Caleb? I loved him, not Noah.

“What next?” I asked again. I had to know. Did I initiate sex with him or was that him? Oh God, please tell me it was him. I don’t know if I could live with myself if I had done it.

“We kissed for a while, and then we fell asleep,” he said.

“Caleb said you talked to him when we got back?” He nodded. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth.” His voice was steady. Didn’t even miss a beat.

My head fell back in disbelief hitting the pillow. I gripped the bouquet of flowers tight in my left hand and grabbed Noah’s arm in my right. He shouldn’t be here, sitting beside me. His arm wrapped around my fingers. But what other choice did I have? There wasn’t anyone else here. No one else to comfort me. No one else to sooth me.

I couldn’t believe what I had done. It’s something I wouldn’t ever think of doing, yet I had still done it. It was so wrong, but that hadn’t stopped me. And yes, I was drunk, but it’s still no excuse for what I had done. Being drunk doesn’t change your mentality. Drunk or not, I guess this was always bound to happen. The worst part of it all is knowing that no matter what I did or said now, I could never make that up to Caleb.

Reviews

[Lorry]

Really good that we are seeing Charlottes parents, as they were before Charlotte. I think Ironic is the word that comes to mind, that while reading of their early lives and troubles, they were more than real people once, before the reality of their lives turned them into what Charlie knows. And then we have Charlotte, known to the reader who has more than her far share of worries and trouble in her young life and we see that people aren’t all that different at all. Just some are further down the line and have lived through more mistakes than they care to remember, most times. But remember they do, even in denial.
It’s also interesting because it tells us of Charlotte’s history too. How she started out in life, the where’s and whys. Sometimes a writer can flashback without needing to let the reader know that it’s happening. You do so here effortlessly.
You write powerfully here, when you are telling the Charlotte/Noah exchange. It makes it feel that not only the reader is there for the reality of what happened, but it almost feels like you, the writer is hearing it for the first time too. Completely unforced and more potent in its impact as we find out the fog haze clears and Charlotte realises the awful truth. Superbly captured, leaving each chapter at just the right point, leaving the reader eager to turn the page.

[Sarah]

Thank you for the kind review! That's always been my goal, to keep the reader engaged and on edge while reading my story. I'm glad you like it!

[Rebecca]

is this meant to be a romance novel? The first two chapters suggest a much bigger theme: fighting the darkness of one's own mind, and finding a way to love yourself. Could use a flashback instead of Noah telling Charlie what happened. Or both.

[Christopher Miller]

It just dawned on me that Charlotte must have some sort of communication with her mom later on, or where else does she get this history? I thought at first it must be a meetup, but after a few hours away and reading start of this chapter again there's something in her tone that seems like she's extracting all of this from a journal of her mom's, or perhaps a final letter. The speculation is just part of what's keeping me going at this point.
I like how the events in the cabin aren't so simple to parse out blame for. What an outside observer might see happening, what she was experiencing, and what he was perceiving are all different things, and there is no simple "what really happened". It hits close to home, with one of my own experiences.

[Sarah]

I guess I never really clarified how she knows all of this information. I suppose her grandmother could have told her, but that wouldn't make sense really. I need to revise that. Thank you for catching it.

[Mifa]

Hmmm...moving on to the next chapter. This just got even more interesting.