11. Charlie

CHAPTER 11

Charlie

I t had been six months since I'd stepped into my own house and despite the dust and the pile of mail on the kitchen table, it looked like I'd been gone for only a day. Everything was in its proper place. Even the spare key was still under the mat, which was great because I had nothing to take home with me from the hospital. Not even clothing. The hospital had to supply me with something to go home in.

The biggest loss, of course, was my opal arrowhead. I'd been wearing it the day we'd gotten in the accident. It was no surprise it was gone though. It was probably crushed against the mountainside as the car rolled down it. Maybe it was for the best though. Having it would've reminded me of Phoenix too much anyway.

I pushed him out of my mind. It was better if I didn't think about him anymore.

Despite all its familiarity, the house had a sepulcher feel about it. The air was stale, the lights were out, the curtains drawn, and although it was in pristine condition, it felt like I'd stepped into an abandoned house. I felt a lump rise in my throat as I stepped over the threshold, a cane clutched in my left hand to help me stay upright. Everything was just as my mother had left it. Even her shoes were still sitting by the door, ready to go when she needed to get the mail or run to the corner store. It was like I'd stepped into the past. But no one was home and there was nothing I could do to fill that empty house with life once more.

I was completely alone.

Pushing the door closed behind me, I stepped into the kitchen. Ignoring the mail on the table, I went straight to the fridge, expecting it to be an absolute mess. Holding my breath, I pulled open the door. The air whooshed out between my lips as I was met with a sparkling clean white interior. I stood there for a long moment, realizing I'd never seen the inside of my own refrigerator completely empty. Upon further inspection, I found the freezer was also empty, and the cupboard had been cleared of all food items except a few canned goods and some unopened condiments.

And that's why dishes still sitting in the dish rack next to the sink was so jarring. They were the same ones Mom and I had eaten off of before we headed toward Portland that morning. I remembered her insisting on washing them before we took off for the day. Of course, now they were coated in dust, but nobody had touched them since she had. I reached out a hand, my fingers running over the edge of the plate. Just like everything else in that house, it felt wrong to disturb it. It was just a plate. I knew that. But to know Mom would never touch it again or do dishes or put away groceries or do anything ever again in that kitchen… it made me want to curl up into a tiny ball and die from the grief.

I wiped my eyes, noticing a small, unsealed card sitting on the counter with my name on it. It wasn't penmanship I recognized, so I grabbed it and pulled it open. Inside was a gift card for the local grocery store and a handwritten card .

We had to throw everything out before it went bad and made a mess. But this should help you get back on your feet.

Love,

-Laura, Ted, and Phoenix

P.S. We know you want to be alone. But we're always here if you need us. You're still family.

I wiped the tears away from my cheeks angrily, throwing the card back on the counter. The McKean's had been in my house. Recently too. I was furious that they insisted on being part of my life even after I'd had them all barred from visiting me in the hospital. Of course, that didn't stop Phoenix from trying nearly every day at first. But after a while it turned into weekends only, then he just stopped visiting altogether when he realized that I wasn't going to give in.

If I had anything to say about it, I would never see him again.

It wasn't that I hated him or his family. In fact, considering all the things they'd done for me while I was in a coma, I should've been on my knees thanking them all. But I couldn't. Not when they'd buried my mother without me. Not when they'd cleaned out my house without asking me. And especially not when I found out that I was permanently damaged from the crash.

The doctors told me it was lucky that I sustained no permanent physical injuries. However, they seemed completely unbothered by the fact that for the past two months, I'd been having night terrors, panic attacks, and straight up stopped breathing a few times because I couldn't deal with the overwhelming grief of my situation. Each night when I went to bed, I dreamed of the crash and woke up screaming. And every morning when I woke up, I was forced to confront the reality that my mother was dead and all my opportunities for a normal life went with her.

And the guilt… that was the worst part. Every waking moment of every day I had to deal with the fact that I survived and she didn't. I had to go on living and breathing while she was rotting away in the ground at some cemetery I'd only been to once. I knew it was every kid's destiny, hopefully, to outlive both of their parents. But I was barely nineteen, and I didn't even know how to be an adult yet. And now I had no one to teach me, no one to lean on, and no one to watch me succeed. I wasn't going to succeed anyway. I'd slept through my scholarship, and I felt horribly guilty for that too. Mom had bragged all around town about how smart I was for landing that full-ride. But it was gone too, just like everything else.

Between the guilt, the anxiety, and the constant state of overmedication that I had to be in to remain calm, I quickly came to the conclusion that I was right to push Phoenix away. He was passion, fire, and a free spirit. While I was never those things, I at least hoped we could find some common ground. And now I knew we never would.

The doctors had laid it out for me. The next year of my life would consist of physical therapy, monthly check-ins with physicians, and a lot of medication. On top of that they wanted me to start seeing a shrink so I could balance my meds and live a more normal life, whatever the fuck that meant. Oh, and I still had to sort out my mother's entire estate, live in a house that still smelled of her while not falling to pieces at every turn, and somehow find a job so I could pay for the damn thing.

Because I was out of the hospital, all of that responsibility started now . The very thought of it made me dizzy and I felt myself sway away from the cane. My hip struck hard on the edge of the counter, but it stopped me from toppling onto the floor at the very least. Pain radiated through my side, and I knew there would be a bruise there come morning. I glanced at the pile of mail, the untouched dishes, and the gift card thrown angrily to the side. All of it was just too much .

Leaning against the cupboard, I sank to the floor, my now bony frame hitting the vinyl tile. I was surprised that it hurt, my butt offering no padding anymore. I barely had enough muscle to hold myself upright and all the fat I'd accumulated throughout my childhood was gone, lost to the four months I spent wasting away in a hospital bed.

Tears of frustration, anger, and grief ran down my cheeks all at once. I kicked out at the cupboard weakly, hoping it would help quell some of these horrible feelings consuming every fiber of my being. The door smashed loudly against the cabinet as the top hinge broke, the bottom corner of the door hitting the tile. Inside the cabinet was a single bag of marshmallows, the big puffy kind that I always bought for Phoenix and I when we went to the creek.

Picking them up, I stared at the bag for a moment, all those good memories flooding back to me. But they no longer felt good. They just seemed to taunt me, showing me what I used to have and what I'd never have again. With a cry of rage, I reeled back and hurled them across the kitchen. The bag tore as it left my fingertips, marshmallows scattering across the kitchen with dull thumps.

Phoenix and I would never make s'mores together again. That Charlie was dead, and he was never coming back.

I sobbed as I reached into my pocket, grabbing the pill bottle I'd been sent home with from the hospital. There were only two pills there, meant to calm me down in an emergency until I could see a psychiatrist tomorrow.

For half a second, I found myself wishing there were more so I could take them all at once. But the moment the thought crossed my mind, I hurled the bottle across the house, watching it disappear somewhere in the living room.

Miserable I might be, but I'd live, anyway. My mother would never forgive me if I did something stupid. So, despite the tightness in my chest and my racing heart, I abandoned the medication and curled up on the kitchen floor, tears quickly slicking the cold tile pressed against my cheek.

She'd promised me she'd always be there. She'd promised .

And yet, I was alone.

And that's how it was going to stay. For the first time since waking up at the hospital I was forced to face the realization that every bit of normalcy and peace in my life had been burned away in a split second. And now I was left with nothing but ashes and no idea of how I was ever going to recover.