The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Being Alive~

Coins rattle and clink over the obnoxiously consistent sounds of water rushing and machines whirring. Mechanical beeps chime over the low hum of conversation that occurs as people wait impatiently, lounging on the wooden benches or lingering by the front door. It smells of cleaning products and some kind of harsh chemical they had cleaned the floors with. Not that it had been very effective. The shiny linoleum had already been strewn with stray hairs and dried up leaves that had blown in every time the door opened.

"Shit," Charlie Barber mumbles to himself.

One of the coins had tumbled from his fingers and rolled beneath the bench. He stuffs the rest back into his coat pocket for safekeeping and sets down his bag to hunt down the stray quarter. Its gleam catches his eye from beside the foot of an older woman, who looked to be no younger than fifty. He squats down, muttering apologies, and reaches beneath the bench, fingers groping around on the dirty floor for his lost coin.

The woman glares at him, huffing something about him being a creep. She snatches up her purse and scoots further down the bench, crossing her legs and arms to curl as far away from him as humanly possible. Charlie frowns to himself, pushing up from the ground while his knees crack a little in protest. He straightens up and relocates his abandoned bag, thankful no one had snatched it while his back was turned.

The washing machine door pops often, hitting him with a waft of warmth and rather stale laundry detergent. His water had been temporarily shut off. Since he was making so many trips between LA and New York, he couldn't afford to keep it running all the time. So he figured the most cost efficient way was to shut it off completely; especially considering the leaky faucets in his bathroom. Unfortunately for him, the owner of the building wouldn't return until tomorrow and Charlie was rapidly running out of things to wear.

Sighing heavily, he begins to remove his clothing from the bag. Buttons clatter against the grated metal of the machine, scraping and catching on the little slots. He only hoped he wouldn't lose any socks like he did last time. That might have been one of his pet peeves, he'd figured, having socks that didn't have a partner.

Fucking ironic.

Huffing to himself at the thought, Charlie nearly slams the door of the machine shut and inserts the rest of his coins. The machine springs to life instantly with an uneasy groan, filling the tube with water and white soap. He crumples the plastic bag he'd been forced to carry his clothes in into a small ball and stuffs that into one of his deep coat pockets.

"Jesus, I need a cigarette," he mumbles to no one in particular.

~

"No. No, I'm telling you, they were in and out in ten minutes."

"Didn't they book an hour?"

"That's what they paid for."

You grip your phone tightly to your ear as you weave through the crowd of people pouring out of office buildings onto the sidewalk. The chorus of honking and angry shouts grows louder with every passing minute, and the walkways busier with every fleeting second. A distracted man in a suit brushes past you roughly, almost sending your phone tumbling, but you manage to hang on tight. Jerk, you think to yourself as Ophelia laughs about something on the other end.

"Are you going to be back soon?" You nearly shout as you pass by an alley of street performers noisily blasting their music from cheap speakers.

She sighs on the other end, tired as ever. "I hope so. You know this is a great opportunity and all, but I'd rather be home with you-"

During your trip to Los Angeles, Ophelia had been called with an offer to help a team design a luxury home in Maine. Apparently it was just sitting right there on the lake; she'd sent enough beautiful pictures of the scenery to make you envious of her. She was right--it was a fantastic opportunity for her to grow as a designer--but that wouldn't stop you from missing her every second.