One Touch | Charlie Gillespie

T W E L V E

"I realized I'm in love with you."

"Maybe you should sit down so we can talk 'bout it, hun," Quinn voices, grabbing my hand and leading me to the living room. I look around the apartment open-eyed— the damage I had caused was shocking to look at. Shards and particles of glass were everywhere, and on the floor were some bloodstains from my wounds.

Savannah strokes my shoulders as Quinn places me on the couch. Charlie settles down across me in one of the chairs, his mouth in a straight line and his brows furrowed. It seems like he has something on his mind. I can already guess what it is from the way his gaze looks around the place, as if he's just now realizing I'm crazy. He must have been traumatized after he and Quinn found me on the floor, crying and screaming like a psychopath.

I try to speak up, but nothing except a weird mumble comes out of my mouth. Forgot I lost my voice for a second.

"No worries, you don't have to talk. Maybe you can write down what you wanna say?" Quinn suggests, pointing her head to a notepad and a pen that's laying on the coffee table. I nod and Savannah hands me the supplies, smiling friendly, not knowing what else to do since she's kind of awkward with the whole situation.

How did you know? I write on the blank sheet of paper. God, this is ridiculous.

Quinn and Charlie look at one another, and to my surprise, Charlie begins to talk. "I was walking outside when I saw you standing in front of the window. You were crying, and you threw something at the window. I got worried and ran inside to find your cousin. Quinn said we had to get to you real quick, we couldn't waste any time."

All I can do is nod and smile weakly. I hate the fact he has to see me like this. Thanks for your help, I write. He smiles and I'm almost certain I heard a soft "of course" escape from his mouth, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was just a hallucination.

"I'm glad we were there on time, I don't wanna think about what could happen if we weren't," Quinn says, looking down to hide the tears that are coming up. She hates crying in public, especially in front of people she doesn't even know. 'It makes me look weak,' she always told me when she finally let her tears fall when we were alone. I'm one of the few people who's allowed to see her tears, she refuses to show it to the rest of the world.

I—on the other hand—am everything but strong enough to hide my tears. No matter how hard I try, they always find a way to escape my lacrimal glands.

I wrap my arm around my cousin and pull her close as I rest my head on her shoulder. Quinn has learned what to do when I have a tantrum, because she was usually around when it happened in our younger years. She always keeps calm and takes care of me after the attacks, even if she's afraid I would hurt myself, which is also why she's having a hard time when I'm in this state.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Savannah asks cautiously. Well, to be honest, I kind of did it on purpose. I didn't want them to look at me like I needed help. But if I think about it now, they would never look at me that way. They would take me for who I am.

So that is why I tell them the truth. I was ashamed. Didn't want you to think I was crazy, leaves a bad impression.

Charlie and Sav nod in understanding, shooting me a pitying smile as I roll my eyes. No sympathy needed. I'm gonna get some rest now if you don't mind, I write quickly and carelessly, which makes them all chuckle a bit.

I get up and go to my room, where my yellow notebook is patiently waiting to be opened. It has been a while since I wrote my last poem or text, but now I really have to write down my feelings. Something I have never told before: after these tantrums, I try to write a poem about it, so I can forget it happened. It may sound weird, but it helps. I don't want to remember those situations, so I write about what happened, close the notebook and never look at the poems again.

I never think of what words I should use, or if I should write a long or short poem. It just happens at the moment, without over thinking.

After I finally find my pen under a pile of books, I immediately start writing.

Murderous rage traverses my veins
As darkness encompass my gait.

Revenge shines through the dim room light,
Interwoven with deadly delight.

A shattered life is my gift shining bright
As I scream out into the deafness of night — alone.

Phew, what a relief. I take one last look at the lines before closing the book and never looking at them again.

_____

C H A R L I E

I hesitate for a second before knocking on her door. She's probably resting, but we really need to talk—even though she barely has a voice.

"Yes?" Her voice sounds hoarse, like she has a cold. But it's better than no voice at all.

I slowly open the door and look around the corner to see her sitting up in bed, her head leaning against the headboard and the covers pulled up to her chest. Her laptop is on her lap, so she's probably doing some work.

"Am I interrupting?" I ask, nodding my head at the laptop. She shakes her head and that's my sign to come further into the room.

June quickly types something, and then closes the laptop. She takes off her glasses and puts them in the glasses case on her nightstand. I pull the chair out from under her desk and sit on it next to her bed.

"So," I begin, letting out a deep sigh. "So," she repeats.

"I came here to talk... if you're able to do that?" She still looks bad, wrinkles around her eyes and beneath them are deep, blue circles. Her always shiny, dark brown hair is now tied up in a bun.

She nods, putting a few loose tufts of hair behind her ears. "Yeah, we really need to have that conversation. In a normal way," she says with a little smile.

"First," she continues. "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for what I said, and you should know I do care. I know it was her birthday and I know you wanted some space. But that moment in the hallways, when I yelled at you, it wasn't meant for you. I wasn't yelling at you, Charlie."

She swallows a few times, and I notice the water collecting at the bottom lid of her eyes. "I wasn't, Charlie, I wasn't." Her voice cracks at the last word, and she's trying her best not to let her tears flow.

J U N E

He leans toward me, putting his arm around my shoulder and rubbing his hand up and down my arm. The water from my tears pool in my eyelashes, making it difficult for me to see. "I'm sorry," I sob. "I know I shouldn't be playing the victim right now."

"June, please don't apologize. I get it," he assures, pulling me closer. I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh deeply. I don't understand why he isn't acting like I'm a piece of shit. This afternoon he couldn't even look at me. So that's why I ask, "What changed, Charlie?"

A long, endless silence takes over the atmosphere. I hear the honking of the cars in town, a few miles from our apartment complex. Occasional sirens, some chatter from people passing by outside, the tapping of the first few raindrops that started to come... I can hear every single detail of what's going on outside.

Until he breaks the silence. "I realized I'm in love with you."