Moment in the Sun

4. Fight

Charlie POV (TW: sh, mental illness)

Back when I was fifteen, I was in a really dark place. My mental health was at it's lowest and my anorexia was out of control. I've been working hard for the last three years to get on top of it all and I finally got to a place where I felt good. But in the last few weeks, I've felt some cracks appear. I've been able to hide it from Nick for the most part but today he's definitely noticing. I've not been the most cheerful today and I haven't been able to bring myself to eat. At all.

Nick noticed it first at breakfast but I managed to divert his concern, assuring him that I was fine. Lunch proved a little more difficult but the real hit was dinner. Nick had made a beautiful dinner for me but the second he put it in front of me, it was like my throat closed up and I just couldn't do it. I pushed the food around my plate a bit, hoping I could convince my brain to give me some control back and Nick noticed.

"Are you okay, Char? You haven't eaten all day." His genuine concern shouldn't have pissed me off the way it did.

"I'm fine," I snapped, "Stop hovering over my every move." He visibly recoiled as if I'd slapped him.

"Charlie, I..."

"Leave me alone." I told him, pushing the plate across the table, maybe a little too hard because it fell to the floor, the food going everywhere and the plate shattering into pieces.

"What the fuck, Charlie?" Anger flashed in his eyes, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"I told you, I'm fine. You just keep pushing the issue. It gets on my nerves."

"You're clearly not fine, Charlie. Not if you're being like this. I thought we were past all of this."

"All of what?" I challenged. Part of me knew that I was being an idiot but I couldn't help myself.

"Charlie..."

"No. Don't patronize me. If you want to say something, just say it."

"I don't..."

"Just say it!" I yelled, slamming my hands on the table as I stood up.

"Oh grow up Charlie. You're an adult for fuck's sake. Just because you don't feel like it doesn't mean you can just not eat. I thought you'd gotten over it all years ago, this obsessive bullshit over food. But I've seen you picking at your food, not eating. Why the fuck not, Charlie? Huh?" His eyes were dark and angry and I felt myself crumble a little at his words but not enough to stop the next words out of my mouth.

"Because it's easier than fighting it." It was true. Spending all my energy on fighting my inner demons all the time was exhausting. It actually felt good to give into them again.

"Fuck you, Charlie. Seriously. Why should I bother to help you fight this when you've clearly given up." He stood up and glared at me, "Why should I exhaust myself trying to help you when it's easier to just not?"

"Well don't then. If that's how you feel, just leave. I don't care." The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth but I had no filter.

"Fine. But don't expect me to come running back. I'm done."

"Whatever. I don't need you anyway."

He paused and looked at me, as if waiting for me to take it back. Part of me wanted to take it back but the demons I thought I'd banished years ago were back stronger than ever and were taking over. "Go on then. Fuck off."

Tears shone in his eyes but he did as I said, turning on the spot and leaving the room. I heard the front door slam shut a moment later.

I was left alone in the dining room, breathing heavily as I surveyed the room. Aside from the shattered plate and food across the floor, there was no real evidence of our fight. Just a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. A heaviness I couldn't shake.

I don't know how long it took for my brain to reboot, shoving those nasty voices down, and the realisation of what happened hit me. Nick was gone. And he wasn't coming back. I let the tears fall, my legs feeling like jelly as I collapsed to the floor, leaning against the china cabinet.

The best thing that had ever happened to me was gone. For good. And it was all, completely my fault. I should have been strong enough to shut down whatever was making me say those things but I wasn't. I was useless. Weak.

I curled into a ball, sobs wracking my body. At some point, the tears dried up and I stared blankly at the wall, a million thoughts rushing through my head. Before I could focus and understand what I was doing, my hand was reaching out to pick up one of the shards of the shattered plate from the floor and using the sharp tip to press into the skin of my wrist. The pain felt good and as I watched a trickle of blood slowly move down my arm, it felt like all the bad things inside of me were pouring out. Pressing harder, I dragged the shard up my arm, watching in fascination as more blood poured out, dripping onto the floor beside me. I switched hands, pushing the shard into the skin of my other arm too, making an identical mark to the other side.

I started feeling a little woozy, black spots flickering in front of my vision.

The last thing I remember is hearing the front door open and my sister's voice calling out to me. There was a crash and a scream before I let the darkness take over me.