Identity [ON HIATUS]

12. Charlie drinks. A lot.

Somehow, I don't even know where I'm going.

Charlie lives in some cheap apartment block on the other side of town. It's grey on the outside and green on the inside. The path to the building is cracked and riddled with potholes; I have to play fuckin' hopscotch just to get to the complex's main entrance.

After finally remembering the code for my phone, I scroll through my contacts and find Charlie's name. It rings and rings until I give up. My memory's so shit these days. First, I'm wearing my sister's clothes, don't even know how to get in my phone, and now I can't remember which apartment Charlie's in.

Seeing my hair at its original blonde before was shocking enough.

To my right are the apartment's mail boxes, each with a number and a name. I feel a little nosy reading each one, running my fingers along each box; Toby Williams, Meredith Keating, Sandra & Paul Finnigan, Charlie Merchant.

My man is on the second floor.

As I climb the stairs, nerves rise inside me. Why? I see him all the time, we're practically inseparable, it drives the folks crazy and I love it. I smile to myself as I walk closer and closer to his door, music blaring from the other side, probably annoying the shit out of Sandra and Paul.

I hesitate knocking on the door, but only for a second. What if Charlie isn't my Charlie? Something isn't right; something feels off, like I'm in a dream, like Charlie will look and act different, and that he won't know me at all.

But it doesn't get the better of me, and I knock three times. Nothing happens; Charlie's music still blaring and my knocks drowned out. Instead of just my knuckles, I knock with my fist, really thrashing into the wood until mid-knock it swings back, making me lose my balance slightly.

And there he stands; tall, blonde, and tattooed.

He holds a can of beer in one hand, his other hand resting on the door for support. He's disheveled, wearing what looks like an old shirt and slightly worn jeans. He rubs one eye with his wrist, before really taking me in.

I'm ready for a look of pure affection and joy, but instead, I'm welcomed by the expression of pure surprise, and even fear.

"Rose?" His voice cracks halfway through my name. And then he squints at me; like he's confused that I even fucking exist.

I know what'll jog his memory.

I step closer in one swift move and wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. He smells like alcohol and cigarettes and that aftershave I love. He smells like my Charlie, the one I dream of, the one I live for.

For a second I'm worried he won't, but then he does. He slowly wraps his arms around me, beer still in hand, and swings his front door shut, shutting the world out from us both. He clings to me, letting me absorb everything I've missed about him.

I'm OK, you're OK, we're both OK.

But then there's recognition, and a thrust. Charlie pushes me away, dropping his beer on his already stained floor, his eyes wide, red, and manic. He starts muttering to himself, something about an accident, something about it being his fault. As if he's never done it before, he reaches out, ready to touch my hair, my face, my shoulders. But instead, he lifts his arm, eyes longing...

...and faints.

The darkness and the silence disappeared.

I woke stood up, dressed in Rose's clothes, my eyes heavy and my hands rough. I was stood in probably the most disgusting apartment I'd ever seen; dirtier than Rose's room. Greasy pizza boxes, socks and clothes on the floor, beer cans and empty chip packets. There was a lingering smell of alcohol and cigarettes and I thought I was gonna throw up.

There was music bleeding from a really old stereo in the corner, and I waded through the shit to turn the dial down.

"Mmmmmmmugh..."

I yelped and pressed my hands against my mouth, and looked at the heap of a human lying at my feet. I panicked at the thought of him being dead, voices whispering inside me about how to hide a body.

"What am I thinking?!" I shook my head and gave the body a little nudge, and he rolled over. Charlie Merchant lay on his back, beer in one hand, and the other resting on his stomach. I didn't know if he'd passed out from alcohol or if he was hurt, but the minute he squinted his eyes open, his body kicked back into gear.

He shot into a seating position, shuffling away from me until the back of his couch stopped him.

"Please! Leave me alone!" He yelled, his hands outstretched, dropping the empty can.

I took a deep breath, before calmly asking "What's going on? Why am I here?"

Charlie calmed down too, lowering his arms and panting so hard he could've started hyperventilating. But then, he squinted, upon realizing that I was real, and he wasn't having an alcohol fueled hallucination.

"Rose? You're real?"