Shielded.

Chapter 12

Charlie's P.O.V

When I wake up there's a strange pounding in my head and I'm drenched in sweat. The air around me feels damp and hot and I feel like puking. I rush to the bathroom and stick my head into the toilet bowl, emptying my stomach of all its contents. I think of the dream I was having, but I can't place my finger on it. I can't remember at all what it might have been. I lean my head against the wall, steadying myself. I think of Brian's face and I am oddly comforted, but then I'm reminded of Twiggy. The comfort of him standing up for me when Brian began yelling. My stomach churns.

I want more cocaine. I want Xanax and I want Brian. I want to sleep for a long time.

I look down at my torso and remember his David Bowie tshirt that is now drenched in sweat and no longer smells like him.

My hangover and half asleep mind races back and forth.

I should go see him.

"Charlie?" I hear outside of the door. The bathroom light blinds me when I turn my head.

"Yeah, mom?" I reply.

"Honey, are you alright?" she asks.

Since when did she begin to care?

"Yeah, I'm fine." I say. It's quiet for a long time. I hear her footsteps get quieter as she walks away from the door. I get up and rinse my face with cold water and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I can feel my heart racing hard, and I feel repulsed by standing up too quickly. I lift Brian's shirt to stare at what's underneath, my long bony torso, displaying my rib cage and my hip bones finely. The harsh lines above my breast that show my diaphragm.

Would Brian love me if he seen me completely nude?

I shake the thought out of my head and I lie down in the floor of my bedroom. Listening to my heart race, trying to calm my stomach from my hangover, and my mind from the painful comments I make towards myself.

He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me. I don't want him...

Brian's P.O.V.

I stand outside on the balcony of our "apartment" letting my mind replay when she walked into the living room with just a towel. Reminding myself how well she fit into my Bowie shirt and maybe I'm a fool for believing that someone like her could ever like someone as unfit as me.

I am interrupted by a somewhat stoned Jeordie creeping through the door.

"Hey man." He says.

I nod in reply.

"Do you think she's alright? She did a shit ton of drugs."

"I suppose so. What was she saying about a vision to you?" I ask. Do I seem too concerned?

I hate her.

"I don't know. Something."
Jeordie slouches over the balcony rails like a rag doll.

"Do you like her?" I knew he'd pick up on it soon. He always knows when I'm acting strange.

When I think of my feelings for her, I feel rage and pure hatred. I want to strangle her and hurt her.

I scoff.

"Not a goddamn chance."

I hear Jeordie laugh a bit. I slam the door and enter back into the apartment. I brush my hair out of my face and have Madonna cut me a line of Coke and I plop down on the couch.

Why did I let her do drugs in the first place?

I snort the Coke hard and heavy. The whole line entering my nasal cavity and giving me a sensation of pain and pleasure.

When was the last time I slept?

I want to pick up the phone and call her. I want to make sure she's okay but goddammit I hate her for making me feel things. I enjoyed being dead and cold and mean.

"Call her." Madonna says.

"What?" I reply.

"Fucking hell. The girl is probably puking her brains out and thinking she's having a heart attack, fucking call her."

"You stay out of my fucking business, Gacy. Do you understand me? I want nothing to do with her. She's a piece of shit. She's nothing to me."

I don't know why these words fell out, but they did. I didn't mean them. But they were how I felt. And when I said them, they felt right.

"Alright man. Whatever."

I storm to the bedroom, I walk in on Twiggy and Jessicka in between the sheets and slam the door and go to the bathroom.

My head swirls, I feel angry.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and I feel pure hatred at myself and all I can think of is her body and my shirt.

Skin to skin contact.

Her gasping.

My fist meets hard with the mirror in front of me. Blood gushes from my knuckles.

I drift into what feels like oblivion.

I am nothing to her.

Wooooowww a cliff hanger. Hope you enjoyed, let me know how you feel about the point of views.

-Marissa 🍩