What He Left Behind

Six

Saturday arrives and I decide it's time to pull myself out of my low mood. I get up barbarically early and go for a run and catch up on the schoolwork and housework I've been neglecting for the past couple of days. It makes me feel a lot better but I maintain it's best to avoid Charlie and his friends for the weekend. Spending the day with them intoxicated will undoubtedly set me off again since I'm so goddamn fragile at the moment.

I text Charlie to apologise and then turn on my laptop so I can begin the English essay that's due Monday. Unfortunately, it is not long until I am interrupted by a knock at the front door which it of course falls to me to answer as my dear mother has seemingly forgotten an outside world exists. For a minute, I wait, hoping that the mailman or whoever it is gives up and leaves. They sure would if they knew what's best for them – no one wants to see me looking like such a state.

Much to my dismay though, whoever's at the door is persistent. They continue to knock until I grow frustrated, throwing back the comforter that's over my lap and realising I have no option but to answer it. When I open the door, I'm greeted by the one person I really do not want to see. I should have known that only Charlie Hemmingway would be so relentless.

"What are you doing here?" I ask dryly, giving him an I'm-not-in-the-mood sort of look. Charlie reaches out his hand and puts it on my forehead. It takes me a few seconds to register what he's doing but then I remember I told him I have a fever.

"I knew you were bullshitting!" he cries triumphantly. I let out a sigh, pulling the door open further to allow him into the house, painfully aware of how bad I am at saying no to him.

"Charlie, I can't deal with you right now. It's too early in the morning," I warn, knowing that now is not a good time for him to get under my skin as he so frequently does.

"Fucking tell me about it; I haven't gotten up this early on a Saturday in months. You should count yourself lucky," he declares, "Now get yourself ready because we're going out."

"I'm not going out," I tell him simply.

"Why not?"

"I'm ill."

"You're not ill."

"Just because I don't have a fever anymore, it doesn't mean I don't feel ill."

"You're a shitty liar," he accuses.

"And you're an asshole."

"You call me an asshole a lot you know."

"You completely disregard what I say a lot you know."

He sighs, exasperated, and shoots me a look.

"Come on, I came all this way to spend the day with you," he whines, flashing me his most innocent boyish smile.

"Oh god, that five minute drive must have been really taxing for you," I retort and he smirks.

"Just go get ready." I plaster a frown to my face and stare at him, hoping he'll get the message that I'm really not in the mood. Instead, he stares right back at me for what feels like the longest time and we both wait, stubborn as ever, for the other to cave first.

After a while, he cracks a small smile, that annoyingly charming smile and I know instantly that he's won.

"Where would we even be going?" I ask, frustrated, and his face suddenly lights up because the jerk knows he's getting his way. "Just know you're losing at least five brownie points for this. And you're already on minus numbers for pissing me off so much this week."

"Whatever you say," he mutters, waving his arm dismissively. "Where do you want to go?"

I press my lips together, thinking hard. I haven't explored much since I've been here so I don't know what's around. Shopping isn't really my thing. I've heard there are some cool museums around but I can't imagine Charlie would be up for that. Then I'm struck with an idea.