Charlie's Web

Rick

This isn't happening.

This isn't real.

This isn't happening.

This isn't real.

This isn't true.

It's not true.

It's not.

It's not.

It's not.

Rick chanted those words in his head like they were his lifeline as he watched the scene unfold. As he watched his darling girl talk to that man. That awful, disgusting excuse of a man. Something was very clearly wrong. He felt it as soon as that lowlife had walked through the door. He knew when he saw something illuminate in Charlie's eyes, something he'd never seen before. Something precious, something that belonged to him. That light in her eyes mocked him, he wanted to crush it. The flapjacks he'd been enjoying turned to tasteless mush on his tongue, grabbing his napkin he quickly put it up to his mouth, spitting the indelible food into it.

He'd recognized the man immediately, he had been the one to help Charlie when she'd lost her balance at the party. Even then, seeing another man touch her sent an ice cold wave of nausea through him. Now it was even worse, she was no longer inebriated, yet she still seemed to find that scum of the earth so interesting. Suddenly, sucking air into his lungs seemed like an uphill battle, his chest was tightening, constricting. Even in the spacious booth, he felt the stained walls coming towards him.

"Yeah, I'm free after this," his ears perked at the sound of his angels' voice. Momentarily, his rapid heartbeat slowed, air filled his aching lungs. She was his medicine, his cure.

"Awesome, well after you're finished eating, why don't we go back to my place?" Now this voice, this voice felt like a cheese grater to his eardrums. That godforsaken ache returned, the tightness in his chest. That agonizing white, blinding rage swarmed inside of him, tearing at his organs. He began to shake, it started as a light tremble, somewhat manageable. Then he heard Charlie speak up again. Surely she would tell him off. She would laugh in his face and reject him, Rick was certain.

But she never told him off, instead her cheeks darkened, her lovely dark eyes fell to the ground, seemingly embarrassed, and agreed. Sharp teeth punctured Rick's inner cheek, immediately rich, coppery blood poured into his mouth, filling it with the sticky red liquid. The fluid built up as he continued to deepen the bite, the pain felt nothing more than an afterthought as he watched Charlie and Jesse converse. Tears pricked at his eyes as he scrambled to find the cash he'd brought, slamming the money on the table, he abruptly stood, making sure to keep his head down. He couldn't bear watching them any longer, his stomach twisted uncomfortably as he made his way out to his car, quickly speeding out of the parking lot.

He could no longer hold back his tears as he sped home, the salty droplets ran down his cheeks, mixing with the small trails of blood leaking from his wounded mouth. As soon as he was home he fled to his room, flinging open the top drawer of his dresser he quickly found the most recent pictures he'd taken of their special night together. She looked like a sleeping beauty in the photograph, so peaceful at his side. Her plump red lips were parted slightly, a tuft of soft raven hair stuck out awkwardly, brushing against her cheek. She was his sleeping beauty after all, his Talia, as Basile, a talented Italian poet would call her. He was supposed to be the brave king who stumbled upon the elegant princess in a deep, unending slumber. He would be the one to gather the first fruits of her love. Rick would make sure of that.

He felt empty as he continued looking through the photos, sighing, he stood, making his way towards his closet. He would need to invest in another dresser once she moved in, for his closet had already become crowded. It had such a familiar scent, and he'd gone to quite a bit of trouble to achieve the exact aroma. Even going so far as to smoke a camel crush, giving the small space a note of that intoxicating smoky mint. So many hours of work had gone into collecting and documenting, filing and organizing. There was a four drawer storage cart cramped in the back, each drawer was dedicated to a certain item or aspect of Charlie's life. The top held pictures, all dated and classified. Many of the older ones were of bad quality, blurry and shaky. As time went on, Rick slowly progressed, taking what some would call professional quality photos. The second drawer held small knick knacks he'd come in possession of throughout the many years he'd been watching over her. Old clipper lighters, combs, bandaids, junk that he figured she hadn't cared much about anyway. But he cared, he cared about every part of her so deeply. Every moment, every discarded tissue, every candy wrapper she'd thrown at her trashcan and missed. They had all been touched by her, imprinted by her, and that made them invaluable to him.