Notice: Prologue thru Chapter Six have been rewritten. Reread them if you would like.
| s y d n e y |
"Hey Michael, it's me," said Charli, turning away from the rain-streaked window, her phone pressed to her ear, "again." Halina and Dahlia had already left, and all the while, Michael hadn't even showed up. At this point, after her fourth call, Charli wasn't sure if she was more worried or annoyed. Maybe he had fallen asleep, or had gotten into an accident on the way here. Or maybe he had just stood them up. "Halina and her daughter have been gone for maybe ten minutes now, so it'd be nice to hear from you. You really have me worried. Please call me back."
She waited five more minutes, sitting in the library section of the store, watching for his car. The rain only seemed to get worse. With a sigh, she stood from her spot by the window, and walked out into the rain to Dawson's truck. She's had her driver's license for almost a year now, but, not having a car of her own, she had little experience, so driving now, in practically the strongest downpour she thought she'd ever seen (it wasn't true - the worst rain was about three years ago, thankfully, when she was off the streets), she was extremely anxious, torn between driving fast for her concern for Michael, and driving slowly for her concern for herself. She stuck with the speed limit, making it to Michael's house in a little under ten minutes.
The place was desolate, looking, for a second, like a place she used to know. But there, sat in the driveway, was his car. "Michael?" called Charli as she pushed open the front door. A huge gush of wind causing the rain to go practically sideways ebbed her to shut the door, and it was when she did that that she noticed the hole in the side of the wall. "Michael?" she called again, more urgently, now. She ventured into the hallways, worried, now more than ever.
His bedroom door, slightly ajar, was pushed open, settling with a small creak. She stood in the doorway for a moment, shocked by what was laid out in front of her. Charli had seen Michael upset, she had seen him cry, but this - this was Uncharted Territory. The light was dim, flickering with the occasional roll of thunder, giving the room an eerie feeling. Across the hardwood floor was shatter glass, and in the corner was a broken picture frame Charli didn't recognize, a picture that she couldn't see from where she stood amidst the glass. And there, atop the bed, staring down at an injured fist, was Michael.
"Mike," she whispered, almost reduced to tears in her shock. He did nothing in the way of recognition other than the slow release of his bruised fist. Charli waited for what felt like hours, terrified in so many ways. Primarily, she was scared of what had cause Michael this pain, but there was something in the back of her mind that was igniting that primal fight-or-flight reaction. There's been many a time that she was in this kind of situation with her father, and when she'd try to help, she would leave the room black and blue. This is Michael, she had to remind herself. He would never hurt you. He would never. He's not your father. But the thing was, she didn't know. This was Uncharted Territory.
"I was happy," Michael finally choked out. "I was happy."
Charli swallowed back that innate fear, ignoring her racing heartbeat, and stepped into his room. "Michael, what happened?" With a small leap of faith, she sat beside him, a hand gently on his hunched back. The second she did this, Michael caved, an arm slipping around her waist, his head falling into the crevice of her neck as the tears began to fall freely. Charli let out a relieved breath, thanking God that he was nothing like her father. Her hand blanketed his injured fist.
"She showed up," he spurted angrily. "Tahlia fucking showed up and reminded me of everything I wanted to forget."
Charli's eyes moved towards the broken picture frame in the corner, and the picture she couldn't see, no doubt of the girl that had ruined her boyfriend's life.
"And you know the worst part?" said Michael, with a sad laugh that practically broke Charli's heart. "I'm actually worried about her. Again. No matter what I fucking do - " Michael didn't seem to realize that he was being comforted by his girlfriend, and Charli tried to not let that sink in. He needed a shoulder to cry on, not a jealous girlfriend. "I'm sorry - " He stood quickly, and rushed out of his room.
She sat unmoved, surprised that she hadn't gotten used to rapid changes-for-the-worst, though she's had enough experience to write a book. She exhaled for what felt like the first time in years. I was happy, too, she selfishly thought. Charli has felt helpless so many times, so why was this time different? She didn't realize just how much she cared about Michael, and the thought of losing him tore her down completely. Her gaze traveled back to the shatter glass on the floor, and she did the only reasonable thing she could think of doing. After all, she's been picking up broken pieces all her life.
With patient, delicate hands, Charli collected each shard of glass, adding them, one by one, to the stained glass home she'd been building for years, praying that it won't shatter like the one before it. She made her way carefully to the point of impact, taking the now-splintered wooden frame into the pile she's been gathering. It was a beautiful frame, made of dark wood, complete with decorative wood carvings to further frame the important picture it was bound to hold (you wouldn't use such a beautiful frame for just anything), the photo that, now, was face down in front of her. Her heartbeat seemed to grow louder as she reached for it, and she half expected Michael to barge back in and stop her from seeing something so obviously personal. But there was nothing. She pick up the photo.
It was a Polaroid, something one of them must have borrowed from their parents. They were young, no older than fourteen, and it was the first time Charli had ever seen Michael's natural hair color. He stood a short distance from the photographer, a huge, genuine smile (one that reached his eyes) across his young, innocent face. She wished she could've known him at that point in her life, then retracted the wish the second she had thought it up; he wouldn't have wanted to have known her at that point in her life. No one did.
Fourteen-year-old Michael was carrying a girl on his back in the photograph. She was beautiful, extremely beautiful, with long, thick brown hair, tanned skin, and a friendly, familiar face. She'd had the thought, that what if, in the back of her mind from the moment Michael had first spoken her name to Charli, but she had never truly considered it. Charli knew the girl in the photo, the girl who had broken Michael's heart. The girl who had saved her life.
"Charli?" Michael said shakily from behind her. The photo still in hand, Charli turned, half expecting to get yelled at. But Michael didn't even notice the photograph. He was holding his phone in his hand, opened to a text message from an unknown number, saying nothing but I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. They were in Michael's car in a matter of seconds, the photograph left, forgotten, on the pile of glass on Michael's bedroom floor.
"Do you know where she might be?" Unfortunately, Charli was experienced in this kind of situation as well, with her brother to thank.
"I have an idea," Michael responded, not looking at her, but focusing frantically on the road. He was speeding down a route Charli didn't even realize was terrifyingly familiar. It wasn't until they pulled up to the house a few minutes later, that her heart stopped. "I really hope she's here," he said, turning off the car and opening the door.
"Michael - " Charli said frantically, her eyes never leaving the window of that second floor room. Michael hadn't even heard her, too worried about Tahlia to care about anything else. He was in the house now, not even bothering to look back to see if Charli was following him.
Her hand slowly crept towards her neck, her throat feeling particularly closed up. This is wrong, she told herself. This is so wrong. It's a dream. It has to be.
But it wasn't. Charli was sitting before her childhood home. The place her father had killed his youngest, and had nearly succeeded in killing the next in line.
Michael came running out of the house, screaming for Charli to call for an ambulance.
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Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing
Fanfiction"I couldn't save anybody! I couldn't even save myself!" "You saved me."
