And with that bomb, she turns on her nude kitten heels and slides back into her limousine, leaving me like she has my entire life: ten times worse than the way she found me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jude
It’s been four years since I’ve felt like my life was out of control. Four years since I worked for the magazine. The moment I came back from my assignment overseas, I molded my life so that I could exist and be happy. I worked, I played soccer, and I picked up fast women. I never once felt like I was lacking anything, so why the hell does it feel that way now?
I pick up my pace, practically sprinting down the blistery city streets. The wind is working against me, pushing my body and adding extra resistance. I use it to work through my anger. I press on harder, whipping around the sidewalk and into Central Park. It’s too early for anyone to be here. Even in New York not many people want to get up and run at five AM, especially in fall. Cold air whips through my black fleece jacket, reminding me of the changing seasons. Does Charley like fall? If I had to guess, she would probably prefer fall and winter to springtime. She just seems like she’d rather curl up by a fire with her paintings instead of dancing in a flowery meadow. Although who would even do that anyway?
She’s called me a dozen times in the past few days, but I haven’t answered. She’s even left a few voicemails, and although I should, I couldn’t force myself to delete those. It seems too final. Not to mention, I know I’ll be desperate in a few days. I’ll need those voicemails for proof that she really did care… on some level.
…
As I round the corner back to my apartment, her little blonde head comes into view. It almost looks like a mirage at first because a perfect angel waiting for me at my doorstep seems too good to be true. But there she is with her hands propping up her chin and her knitted sweater pulled up over her knuckles. She looks like a scared animal, but I can’t pretend she’s that innocent. I can’t pretend that she hasn’t been lying to me, or hell, maybe just lying to herself.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I approach the weathered stoop that leads into my apartment building. The entire warehouse was refurbished a few years back. Each condo has a wide, open layout and floor to ceiling glass-paneled windows.
When she hears my voice her eyes widen and her head snaps to look in my direction.
“We need to talk.” Her blue eyes plead for me to listen.
“Do we?” I ask, crossing my arms.
She bites her bottom lip and glances away for a moment, down toward the bottom of the stoop. I’d be blind if I didn’t notice her lip quivering or her blue eyes starting to cloud with sadness.
“Yes, Jude. Please,” she finally begs.
“How’d you find out where I live?” I ask in a clipped tone.
“Bennett gave me your address.”
“Huh.” I raise my eyebrows sardonically, “good to know where his loyalties lie…”
“Jude…” she protests, not wanting to drag Bennett down with her.
“Can I just speak to you for a few minutes? If you’re still upset with me after, I’ll understand completely. But I can’t let you assume anything my mother said was true.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, taking a deep inhale, and then I sigh and brush past her. The industrial door to our complex slides open after I tap out the combination key, and without looking back, I start heading to my apartment. If she’s that desperate to talk, then she’ll follow me.
Our footsteps echo across the smooth concrete floor and I almost turn around and cave. It’s torture trying to fight the connection we have but caving now won’t do either of us any good.
The second my apartment door closes and we have privacy, Charley starts speaking so quickly that I can barely make out each syllable. Does she think I’m going to kick her out mid sentence?
“My mother was lying when she said I’m engaged. Well, I was engaged or technically “betrothed” to Hudson when we were in school, but that was just our parents trying to control everything. We never took it seriously, but my mom really thought I’d go through with it. She thought we’d go off to the same college, he would officially propose, and then we’d live happily ever after. I have no clue why she brought that up today. It’s a blatant lie, Jude!”
“Charley, stop!”
My stomach is twisted into a tight knot and I can’t listen to another word she says. Everything she spouts seems to complicate things even more.
“Obviously I know your mom is full of shit, but that’s not what made me leave. It’s the overwhelming secrecy that weighs you down. You won’t let me in. I would’ve known that your mother was lying right away if you had told me anything about her at all.”
I take a deep breath, but I still have so much left to say.
“What happened to your family? Why do you avoid speaking about them?” I pause, glancing up to see if she’ll answer, but when she doesn’t—I keep asking just to prove how much she’s been hiding from me. “How did your father die?”
I grip the side of my black granite counter top. “Is your real name Clarissa? You told me Charley wasn’t a nickname, so is it your middle name? At times I feel like I know nothing about you and it scares the shit out of me. I’ve shown you every demon in my closet, and yet you keep yourself hidden away from the world like a porcelain doll.”
“Jude…” she murmurs, but my name hangs in the air. She still doesn’t answer my questions.
Silence fills my apartment and my heart starts to sink all over again.
“I don’t want to be with someone who can’t be honest with themselves, Charley. I don’t expect you to trust me with everything right away, but I walk on eggshells around you. That’s not what relationships should be like.”
There. I said it.
My hands relax enough for blood to start flowing back into my white knuckles once again, but it takes a few minutes before I can look up at her. When I finally lift my head, her eyes are distant and focused a few feet above me. Her features are relaxed: soft eyes, tan poreless skin, rosy cheeks— but I know there’s a war raging behind that facade.
She doesn’t protest or even offer a rebuttal. She doesn’t have a sudden epiphany and tell me every sad memory from her past. Charley nods her head slowly. Just once. Then she turns and walks out of my apartment and out of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Charley
I couldn’t run fast enough. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t stop. I should have stayed away from the very beginning, but I didn’t because I’m selfish and depressed and I wanted someone to heal me.
I wanted him to be enough to take away the blackness, but he’s wasn’t, and so for his sake, I walked away.
My mother said it best. “No one wants a depressed girl”. I’m flawed at best and Jude needs someone strong and happy. He’s already had too much sadness in his life.
I have to fix myself, not in hopes of getting Jude back, but in hopes of living a life worthy of his love.
So, it’s time to finally face the past.
Jude
I almost fool myself into thinking that the last few weeks didn’t even take place. After all, it’s not like I have to avoid our favorite restaurant or that one park bench where we’d sip our coffee on Sunday mornings.
Nope. Charley and I never got to find our favorite places; she made clean work of that.
So I go about my life as normal, returning to the routine and pretending that the status quo is good enough. It’s strange how the brain works, though. Charley shouldn’t weave her way into my mind since our lives were never completely intertwined. Yet, I find myself constantly wondering what the answers would be to questions I would have known if we had actually worked out.
What does she look like when she loses herself in a painting?
Does she listen to music while she works?
What recipe would she have made for me at my apartment if we had never been interrupted by her mom?
…
Charley
I scroll through the search results, rereading archived articles again and again. When it happened, I clipped every newspaper and printed out every online publication I could find on the subject. I kept everything in a neat folder with no label and no description of what lay hidden inside. But it’s been four years since I ripped everything up.
When I read about him back then, the wounds were fresh and I could hardly process the written words in my mind without sliding back into the dark void. Now, the articles seem less severe and I can process them with a hardened perspective. Certain words still jump out at me — criminal, father, life imprisonment. But I hold my breath as I read each one and push forward, past the pain.
A hard knock on my apartment door jars me away from the middle of an article.
“Charley!” Naomi yells from the other side. She’s been by every day this week, but I can’t talk to her right now. She’s my best friend, and I hate ignoring her, but if I let her in, she’ll do what she always does— make me forget. Right now, I need to keep up my momentum or I’ll never dig up my demons.
“Charley! Please, let me in. This is ridiculous.” Her anguished tone pierces through the oak door, but I can’t let her in.
It would be too easy to fall back into old habits if I did. My nails run across my bottom lip anxiously as I try to decide what the best option is. I know I’m doing the right thing, but I shouldn’t ignore her either. I don’t want her to have to worry. With a resolved sigh, I shove my computer off my lap and pad across my apartment toward the door. My socked feet thump softly across the wood floor and I know she’s probably relieved to hear movement; to know that I’m alive.
With both of my palms pressed against the oak surface, I lean in and console her. “Naomi. I’m fine; I just need some privacy for a few days. Don’t worry about me. I love you, and I’ll text you when I can.”
“Charley, that’s not good enough.”
“Please,” my voice cracks with the plea, and I pray she doesn’t keep fighting me. There’s so much weighing me down; I just need her to understand.
“I’ll give you a week, but not a day more.”
In spite of everything, the edges of my lips curl at her loyal persistence. One day, I know I’ll be just as good of a friend as she’s been to me these past few years.
…
Jude
Bennett stalks into the living room and slams a six pack of beer onto the coffee table. I barely flinch. I’ve had the TV on for the past few hours even if the noise hasn’t actually been registering. Bennett raises his eyebrows as he steps over an empty pizza box that’s a few days old.
“I see you’ve been taking good care of the place,” he mocks, taking a seat in the overstuffed arm chair adjacent to the couch.
“Fuck off,” I snap back, although most of my words are lost in the cushions pressed against my mouth.
“That bad, huh?” he asks, popping the top of his beer.
“You don’t want to know.” I push my upper body up off the leather couch cushions and reach for one of the beers.