Charlie's Web

Rick

Every day was more enervating than the last. Planning, that's what he had been doing. Everything had to be perfect, there was no room for error. There was no time, no time for eating, even when his stomach growled and protested. No showers, no sleep. Still, the clock seemed to move at the pace of a tortoise, and the irony wasn't lost on Rick. He had a routine, every morning he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Hold it together. You have to hold it together. For Charlie. His ribcage now clearly jutted out in an unappealing way, stubble had started forming on his chin and lower cheeks. Every part of him looked worn down, and suddenly his insecurities were at the forefront of his mind. Charlie wouldn't want to be with him, not in the state he was in.

He started forcing the food down, and it hurt, it hurt so badly, but he needed his strength. Especially for his upcoming plans with Jesse. They'd gotten closer, it killed him, but they had. It was tormenting him, watching them, waiting, always waiting. He was perpetually on the outside looking in, always just an observer. It had made him violently ill, and sometimes after forcing down something as simple as a ham sandwich, it would come right back up, causing painful burns to form inside his throat.

Their dates had become a weekly occurence, which put Rick's plans on the backburner. He had to know what they were doing anytime they were together, he had to protect his precious girl from Jesse. One particularly cold night in november, Rick had been gazing at the two through Charlie's window, when the worst happened. They'd spent the evening watching movies and cuddling, it disgusted him to see that filth hold Charlie in his arms, but he continued to watch. A new movie had started, his stomach twisted into knots as the two kept sneaking glances at each other, the tension was unmistakable. His bloodshot eyes stayed glued to the scene as it happened, as Jesse took his wonderful Angel's face in his hand and pulled her close, closing the small gap of space between them. It knocked the wind out of him, and he allowed himself to sink into the grass of her backyard at that moment. Immediately he rolled the sleeve of his shirt up, easy access, he'd done that on purpose. There laid a large rough scab, it had formed and progressed through the days, slowly becoming bigger, more painful. He picked at the edges, trying to drown his thoughts with the rhythmic throbbing of torn skin.

He sighed in relief as he pulled the scab from his tender skin, blood gushed from the irritated wound, the sensation calming him for a minute. It was at that moment that he came to a realization. This wasn't healthy. Ever since Jesse had come into the picture, the picking had become second nature to him once again. It hadn't been that prevalent in his life since his mom had left, or his beloved Grandfather had died. Normally, watching Charlie helped him stop, to focus on something else for a change, but it was a compulsion. One he didn't see getting any better until he witnessed the life drain from Jesse's eyes. He needed to take him soon, once he was out of the way, it wouldn't be long until Charlie would finally be his.

That night he'd decided. He couldn't do it anymore, it was excruciating, seeing them together. He needed Charlie soon, or he was scared that he wouldn't be able to hold on anymore. He didn't know how to function, Charlie was the only thing that tethered his soul to the earth, that kept his feet on the ground. Nothing made sense, the only thing that did was them, together. Alone. For the rest of their lives.

The morning after, he set everything into motion. Through his thorough research and stalking, he had come across Jesse's number, and the moron still sold weed on the side. It was perfect.

Rick: hey man. Cop a 1/4 tonight?

Jesse: yeah fs. meet at park around 7

Rick: sounds good

Rick had already started to buy weed from him, he never smoked any of it, he just wanted to get a feel for the process, because once it was time, there was no going back. He got his backpack ready, he had already prepared a small "kit" of sorts. A syringe filled with the liquid form of flunitrazepam, more commonly known as rohypnol, a gun, handcuffs, gloves, and a black balaclava. His heart raced, he hadn't felt so alive in a very long time. He practically skipped through his house and to his car.