Charlie & Charles

Little Talks

I woke up the following afternoon having a headache, hangover, broken heart and smeared mascara all over my face. I laid, without a will to live, covered in bedsheets in my small room upstairs, hearing Carrie humming to the old songs played on the radio in the kitchen.

After I screwed things up in every possible way last night, we got into an elevator, exited the building (finding out that no serious boxing was on TV after 2 am, as security told us), took an Underground and ended up standing awkwardly in front of the house's entrance. Charles hadn't spoken a single word except for asking me to sit down in Tube while he was standing all the way through 3 zones.

He wasn't mad. He didn't even complain or show his annoyance (after all, he had every right to do so - he spent the whole night doing his best to provide me with a great time, while in return he got a cold shoulder). He only stood there in silence, looking like a tired, stray dog, having his heart broken by a heartless witch.

We stood in deaf silence, looking everywhere but at each other, though as I said my goodbyes and wanted to turn away, climb up the stairs leading to the front door, he stopped me. Uncertain, Charles took my hand and pulled me closer gently, embracing into a hug, and, after a night we had, I needed a lot of strength so as not to burst into an uncontrolled sobbing against his chest.

"Goodnight," He murmured, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. Then, as if nothing ever happened, a soft smile appeared on his lips and he let me go.

To say I was confused would be an understatement.

"Wakey, wakey, Charlie!" Carrie stormed into my cubby-hole, delivering mouth-watering breakfast with a huge grin on her face. Marmalade lazily followed her owner.

I sit up, still slightly sleepy, having in mind that last time somebody brought me a breakfast to bed was three years ago when my nephew placed a handful of worms on my nightstand.

"Good morning, Carrie," I said, holding back a massive yawn and stretching my arms.

She placed a tray containing fresh fruits, scrambled eggs and two deliciously looking toasts on the bed and then sat down on the chair beside a desk.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, "I think I wouldn't survive without you."

"I won't argue with that," She smiled with satisfaction, leaning back on the chair and taking Marmalade on her lap to stroke her. Carrie looked around my petite room and made a remark about the windows needing replacing - she did that at least twice every week.

We small talked for a while, well, she was the one talking, I focused on eating the goodies she brought. "There's no better cure for a hangover than a proper breakfast" as my dad would say.

She let me finish half of the eggs and a toast, but she couldn't hold her inquisitiveness anymore and asked, pretending not to be bothered, "So did you have fun with that boy of yours yesterday? What was his name again? Chad?"

She could be an actress.

"Charles. He's name's Charles," I answered, holding my laughter as I swallowed.

"Oh, is it?" Carrie grinned, "Yes, maybe that was Charles. So how did you spend the night?"

I took a sip of orange juice and replied, "Well... It was... Nice."

"Nice?" She insisted.

"Absolutely so."

Carrie rolled her eyes, "And you're not going to tell me anything else? No spicy details?"

"Carrie!"

"Oh, come on! I'm sure there's something more to tell!"

"Carrie, please. I don't want to talk about it. Yet," I said, avoiding her stare. I needed to admit that refusing to tell her everything was hard, but I knew perfectly well what she would say, and I wasn't ready for a lecture just then.