Sandpaper

four

Charlie watches the raindrops roll down the windowpane one by one, breathes out slowly to mask the waking world outside and presses her head to the glass. Her fingers clutch a carton of unopened cigarettes, hair pushed over her right shoulder, ears filled with the screeching of the tea kettle. And she hates it here, stuck in the world of social graces and responsibilities, a world of tight-lipped smiles and small talk, where everyone expects her to crumble at any moment and silence stretches into oblivion.

"So I was thinking maybe we could like do some shopping today yeah?" Olivia says gently prying the package of cancer sticks from Charlie's fingers, replacing it with a mug of steaming tea. The smell of chamomile wafts upwards and makes her stomach churn. Charlie's always hated tea, but she welcomes the warmth and takes a large gulp, scalding her throat and tongue, letting the liquid settle in her bones. And she nods because she can't bring herself to tell Olivia what an awful idea that is. Can't maneuver her tongue to say that she absolutely hates shopping. Doesn't have the heart to admit that showing up here last night was just a mistake.

Olivia doesn't really want to go out either, wishes she could just lock Charlie in the closet and swallow the key. Fear driving away rational thought. Leaving her all alone again to pick up the pieces while Charlie runs, runs, runs. She sucks in a breath and swallows down her anger. Looks at the scared skin and bruised jaw, the dried blood and swollen lips, turns away and lets a tear slip down her cheek. It's not okay.

And Charlie is just a stranger staring out of a foggy window. Her eyes are hollow, her body beaten, his sweatshirt engulfing her. It's all Olivia can do not to drag the dark haired girl to the hospital, force some food down her throat, scream at her, hug her, break down again in front of her.

For three months she's wondered what had happened to the girl with the dark eyes and sharp tongue, and now that she knows she wished she didn't. She's just a shell of a person she once knew. The fire in her veins has been extinguished, the fight beaten out of her. There are so many unspoken words, and the silence is slowly eating away at Olivia. Dark eyes consuming every thought filtering through her head.

And Charlie hears the older girl's pain rattling the glass, sees the colors of the unspoken words, and smells her anger. She closes her eyes and sees an image of the boy with jet black hair, sees his scars, sees her scars, sees blood seeping together and fingers intertwining until there is no distinction between the two. She hears his voice in her ears screaming at her to get the hell away from him and feels the comfort suffocating her. Nothing makes sense anymore. She's so tired, but doesn't remember the last time she's slept for more than a few hours. She's hungry, but food tastes like ash, makes her stomach twist in knots. And she's so damn angry, but each fist she throws never brings him back, never ends with the sandpaper voice telling her it's going to be okay. She digs her fingernails into the palms of her hand to hear the pain, to remind her that she's still alive.

Charlie opens her eyes and sees two blue eyes staring back at her, but they're not the right shade, too pale, with too many gray specks. She has to remind herself that it's been three months that she can't keep lying to herself anymore. He's not coming back. Her hands tremble and her heart pounds against her hollow chest, and it hurts to breathe but she does it anyways. She grabs the older girl's wrist, locks her fingers with hers and smiles, or at least tries to.

It doesn't matter that it's the middle of the week, that Olivia has classes to attend and assignments to turn in. Somehow nothing ever matters when it comes to Charlie. She tries not to think about how much makeup work she'll have or the email she'll have to write to her professors explaining her absence. Tries to forget about responsibility altogether.

"Love you Liv," Charlie whispers. And it's a lie. It's always been a lie.

* * *

Olivia promised herself she wouldn't say anything, but it's been less than ten minutes since they've been outside and Charlie's bare legs are already pink from the cold, feet shuffling along slowly in the oversized boots Olivia let her borrow. The older girl bites the inside of her cheek, closes her eyes and counts to ten, breathes out once then continues pulling Charlie through the mass of people, hand clamped down around the younger girl's wrist like a cuff. And Charlie can hear her pain in the hum of the chatter around her. Her vision is splattered with color and her taste buds prickle with flavor as she listens to the conversations around her. Her skin is numb to the biting air and she feels the muscles tighten in Olivia's hand as she forces one foot in front of the other.