“Greenwich Village,” I shout at the driver as I jump into the back seat and toss forward a hundred dollar bill so he’ll take the quickest route. My eyes score the streets as my thumb taps against my thigh incessantly. I’m trying to calm my nerves, but nothing helps. I keep picturing scenarios that send a shock of sadness through me. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
Charley, please let me in. I plead to the universe as the cab driver rounds the city streets.
Was I a fool to push her away? Was she beginning to open up to me? I couldn’t tell. I felt like I’d given her everything but, she wasn’t ready. I can’t save her and she can’t save me. We can’t be bandages for one another…But I never thought of her as band-aid. If anything, being around her felt like ripping a band-aid off: fast, sharp, exhilarating, painful, and alive.
She’s so sad, but I made her smile. I forced her to live. And now what? Did I push her too far?
Fuck.
The moment the cab pulls up to her apartment, I throw open the door and jump out. By the grace of God, or whatever other deity I’d prayed to on the way over, one of her house mates happens to be walking out right as I pull up. I yell at him to hold the door and jog down the hall to her room.
One piece of solid red oak stands between Charley and me. I bang on that barrier until the entire house, or maybe the entire street, can hear me.
“Charley! Let me in,” I yell through the crack in the door hinge, but there’s no movement from within.
“You don’t have to deal with everything on your own. I want to be with you— whatever part of you that you’ll give me!” My voice echoes through the old house, hopefully reaching the one person who needs to hear it the most.
I bang louder, hearing the wood splinter in the door frame. Am I insane enough to break it down? God, what if she’s just not f**king home?
No. Naomi said she’s been worse than usual. She’s in there.
“Charley!” I yell once more before deciding I have to go to Mrs. Jenkins. If she truly cares about Charley, then she’ll come check on her.
I bolt up the stairs, but I guess my pounding didn’t go completely unnoticed because the old woman is already coming out of her second floor apartment.
“What is it, young man?” she huffs indignantly.
“I need to get into Charley’s apartment. I think there might be something wrong.”
She tisks, shaking her head. “I don’t make it a regular habit of breaking into my tenants apartments when they aren’t expecting me.”
Damnit, woman!
“You know Charley. You know how she gets. If she doesn’t want to see me then you can lock the door behind me and I’ll never come back, but I think there’s something wrong.”
It takes some convincing, and I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m Charley’s estranged boyfriend, but who am I kidding? I’m actually not far from it.
“Young man. You seem respectable enough, so I’ll do this because I really like Charley. But I pray that poor girl isn’t just taking a shower or napping. Or God forbid, you’re some kind of stalker.”
I open my mouth to assure her, but she’s already heading down the stairs and I don’t care at this point. I don’t care if standing in Central Park for four hours waiting for her to run by makes me crazy. I just can’t let another person in my life slip through my fingers and become one more regret.
My mouth goes dry as Mrs. Jenkins slides her key into the lock. I can’t swallow or breathe; I can’t process anything as that door slides open. My eyes cast down to the doormat that looks like an abstract painting threw up on it, then up toward the empty bottle of tequila that had wedged itself behind the door. It clinks across the floor as Mrs. Jenkins pushes the door completely open and my heart breaks.
She’s lying there, in a heap on the ground. Her face is ghostly pale and tears glisten across her cheeks as they stream down in a constant wave. She’s alive, but completely immobile. Her blue eyes are cloudy and focused out toward the wall above the door. I rush in, pulling off my jacket and leaning down to feel her pulse. It’s there, she’s breathing, but her expression is dead and she doesn’t seem to realize we’ve broken into her apartment.
Paint is spilled everywhere. Canvases spread out across the room. There must be half a dozen lying around her. But they’re all covered in the same dark image painted from different angles. A man hanging himself, depicted with such agonizing clarity that a cry breaks through me. He’s mirrored over and over again across her apartment floor with dark black brushstrokes. His cheekbones and light blonde hair are perfect replicas of Charley’s, and in a moment, I’m lying next to her on the ground, caressing her cheek and trying to coax her out of her darkened days.
“Charley.”
Nothing. Not even a blink in my direction.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Mrs. Jenkins asks with a shaky voice.
“I don’t know,” I answer before turning my attention back to the fragile creature in front of me. “Charley. You have to talk, baby. Are you hurt?” I try to ask gently, but I need to know if she’s injured herself.
I reach down to grab her wrists and then search the rest of her, there’s nothing that looks injured. My eyes flit around the room; there aren’t any pills or drugs. It doesn’t seem like she’s done anything but paint like crazy and drink the rest of the tequila.
I crawl closer to her, cupping her cold cheek in my hand. Her skin feels like ice beneath my fingers. Has she not had the heater on? How long has she been like this?
“I’m going to take you to the ER unless you start talking, Charley. I don’t know if you’re okay or not. You don’t have to be scared. Tell me, baby.”
Her head shakes a fraction to the left and she blinks her eyes, but when she speaks her tone is flat and empty. “I’m fine… not even drunk… Anymore.”
It’s hardly anything, but I sigh and feel the initial shock begin to wane ever so slightly.
“Do you want him here, Charley?” Mrs. Jenkins asks, still standing in the doorframe.
Charley doesn’t move or speak for several long seconds, and I start to panic that she wants me gone.
“Yes,” she finally clips out, barely louder than a whisper, but the old woman nods in acceptance.
“I’m going to go make some tea and get you something to eat,” Mrs. Jenkins calls as she starts to close to door. I glance up to watch her leave, and I notice that finally her eyes hold a morsel of kindness for me. She seems to realize that I want the best for Charley. I know she’s letting us have some privacy now that she trusts my reasons for being here.
Once she’s gone, I lie down on the ground and face Charley. The cold hard wood greets my body with its unyielding mass. My clothes dip into the paint scattered across the room, but I’m so close to her now. Mere inches. We don’t touch and I don’t try to speak again. I just want to be here with her. We could lie here all day if that’s what she needs.
My eyes roam across her features. Her cheekbones look more prominent than they were two weeks ago and I know she’s lost weight. My poor Charley. Her long lashes flutter closed every now and then, pushing more tears to fall from her pale blue eyes. Her lips are a dark red, such a contrast to the rest of her pale features. Has she been chewing on them while she cries?
“I’ve never been to his grave,” she says out of the blue. Her eyes don’t meet mine, but her words hang in the air between us. Is she talking about her father?
I nod slowly once. She doesn’t need my questions or input right now, she just needs me to listen. She’s been trying to fight for so long, but it’s time for her to let go.
“I didn’t go to his funeral either,” she admits with a soul-crushing wail that reverberates through the small room.
“I hated him,” she screams.
I don’t move a muscle.
“I hate him!” she cries, lashing out and hitting her hand against my chest. In a flash of limbs, our bodies collide. I tug her into my lap and her hands clench my shirt into tight fists. She thrashes against me and cries out, letting the tears wreck through her. She has so much pain stowed away. I know how it feels to implode from within. She pushes against me, slaps my arms, my chest, my cheek. Her pounding feels like beautiful caresses though; it means she’s opening up and letting her demons see the light of day. She’s finally facing the past.
“He left me!” she cries once more before collapsing into in silent sobs.
We sit there rocking back and forth for hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Charley
Jude didn’t leave me once last night. I didn’t think he would come; I didn’t let myself truly wish for his presence until he was pounding on the door outside. When his loud yells broke through the silence in my apartment, the tears started pouring down all over again. He came back, he ignored my stubbornness, and he wasn’t going to give up where so many others had before him.
After he made sure I wasn’t physically injured, he just laid there with me, never pressuring me to talk. Mrs. Jenkins brought me tea and soup, and Jude fed me bite by bite. I fell asleep with him on the floor, but I stirred when he carried me up onto my twin size bed and wrapped himself around me. I let myself soak in everything about him. His intoxicating aroma, his soft words wishing the darkness away, his strong arms wrapped around me telling me he’d never let me go.
I’ve never slept so peacefully than cradled in his arms on that tiny twin bed.
But he left ten minutes ago and I’ve used those few minutes to assess the complete mess that is my apartment. Hopefully all of the acrylic paint will come off the wood floor or I’ll owe Mrs. Jenkins a fortune.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to look at the canvases in the light of day, as though the dark secret was better kept in the night. But I don’t glaze over them. I lay in bed, flicking my eyes from one to the next, taking them in from the distorted angles of my horizontal position. They’re truly haunting, but so magnificent. I don’t have any idea what I’ll do with them.
Suddenly my door crashes open. “Up and at em’!” Jude commands, storming into my room just like he stormed into my life: fast and uninvited.
I jump back against my pillow. “What? Why?” I ask as he strides across the room and places two bagels and two small coffees on the nightstand by my bed.
“Up. Get dressed,” he demands, leaning down and kissing my hair. His hand strokes down my cheek and I glance up into his earnest blue eyes. He’s the one I always dreamed of. A dream I can’t possibly possess.
“Jude… I don’t know. I think I just want to res…”
“Charley. I will drag you out of this room or you will come willingly. It’s up to you.” He grips the sides of his waist in a predatory stance. His broad shoulders tug on his dark green shirt that he’s paired with grey pants. His brow is raised in a cool arch, as though he welcomes the challenge of dragging me out of bed.
I groan and crawl out of my warm blankets to throw on some clothes.