Charlie's Web

Charlie

Everything was dark.  My body had melted and mixed into the soft cushion beneath me like poured cement. 

It all felt the same. 

It was hard to know what was real or not.  Or even what parts of my body were me.  Everything had jumbled and assimilated into one confusing mess.  There was one thing, though, one thing that had so graciously given me some semblance of reality.  Deep, ragged breathing. It went in and out, in and out.  There was a rhythm to it, it was something I could depend on.  It shocked me a good bit when the comforting noise ceased completely, replaced by a whisper.  The gentle words comforted me, yet I couldn't decipher a specific language.  I could feel the emotion behind the unfamiliar words, which some people could argue was all you needed if you wanted to understand someone.  But it was all gibberish, something my brain simply could not comprehend. 

There was another sensation, skin hitting skin.  I could feel it, a palm making brief, but sharp contact with my face. 

My tired eyes shot open, the action sucking a large amount of energy out of me.  I squinted against the harsh light, trying desperately to focus on the figure hovering over me.   

"Cha– r kayyy," the voice was a million miles away, it was like trying to hear underwater, the sounds echoed against my eardrums.  Panic seized my body as the blurry face came into view.  Those freckles.  The skin below the cheekbones was gaunt and angular.  And those eyes, they were dark, unending pits of pure blackness.  Why did they seem so familiar?

"Charlie, are you alright?"  The mystery man's voice was laced with desperation.  "Shit.  Just look at me.  Focus on me, okay?" 

I tried, I really tried to keep my eyes on his face, but the more I looked at him, the more my vision started to spin and shake.  Before I had time to think, my body shot up, each movement causing my stomach to gurgle and twist in protest.  The unforgiving hardwood floor caught my limp body, and my stomach tightened, preparing me for the expulsion of yesterday's lunch.  That all too familiar contraction hit me, the one where your throat muscles tighten, your stomach pushes up, and then everything spills out.  The first go left me writhing in pain.  God, what had I taken last night?  I hadn't felt this bad since the incident with Vivian's triazolam prescription. 

    Round after round of toxic bile came pouring out, burning the tender skin of my throat.  Each time I released I also felt more aware, stronger almost.  The lumpy-acidic liquid had covered a large amount of the beautiful cherrywood flooring.  Where was I?

    The floors weren't covered in scratches and it didn't take a genius to tell that they were expensive, probably recently done. 

    Suddenly, I felt a hand on my back, rubbing light circles in a soothing motion. 

    "God, I am so sorry, Charlie.  This is all my fault, here," a small mug was handed to me, the liquid inside was clear, but I still wasn't convinced I could trust whoever had given it to me.  "Don't worry, it's just water.  Drink it.  You'll feel better," the voice urged. 

    As soon as the water hit my tongue, I felt overcome with intense thirst.  The liquid leaked down my chin as I threw my head back, my mouth suddenly devoid of all moisture.

"Oh–"  the ceramic mug was snatched from my hands, "Careful, sweetie.  We don't want you getting sick again." 

I glanced behind me, my head following the voice. 

Oh, god it was him.  Rich or Riley or Robert, or whatever his fucking name was.  The scary man that I'd met at the park, just a week ago.  I crawled away from him, a look of fear apparent on my face.