a sky full of stars - louis partridge

hope

CHARLOTTE
SATURDAY, NOV 25th 2020

Charlotte walked downstairs to the living room, pushing hair out of her face. It was getting dark out now. It had been a few hours since she'd gotten home from school, and final exams were getting close. She was determined to pass them. They were all she needed to get into her dream school, to be away from her mother for good. But she knew it just wouldn't be that easy, she now had the guilt of the thought of leaving her younger siblings alone with there mother and being miles away from them. Now she also had the guilt of leaving Louis. She'd never met anyone that she had grown to be so fond of like she had of him and she knew that nothing in the world would make her wanna leave him, well atleast that's what she thought. 

The lights were on in the living room, even though there was no sound, but in a second Charlotte saw Margaret sitting silently on the couch and understood. She looked up when Charlotte walked in.  "When'd you get home?" she asked, with a smug look on her face. "I didn't see you." she continue. "A few hours ago," Charlotte muttered. She didn't feel like talking, especially not to her. "I was in my room."  "Oh." Margaret said tapping her nails, and Charlotte kept walking, through to the kitchen. She wasn't hungry, but she wanted something to eat, something to do, to fill her stomach. 

"I'm going upstairs" she said quietly, attempting to get away as fast as possible before something could start. It didn't work. "Come sit" Margaret said, parting the spot beside her.

Charlotte stood still, staring with wide eyes. Margaret was definitely drunk again, that much was obvious, and suddenly Charlotte wanted to get out of the house, as far away from her mother as she could before things started to get bad again. She wanted to run. But she couldn't. There was no way, not without Margaret seeing her, not without leaving Eli upstairs alone ... But drunk Margaret had meant bad things recently.

Sometimes the drunkenness put her in a better mood though. Sometimes Margaret would just get a bit silly, laugh too much and too loudly, and eventually fall asleep on the couch. Sometimes she would call up her girlfriends, or make them pick her up so they could go out together. Sometimes she would just cry and cry and not let anyone speak to her, or touch her, or try to help her.  Other times it was worse. Her moods got dark. Even now Charlotte could hear it behind Margaret's humour. Sometimes it was angry, ferociously angry. Those were the hardest moods to endure and the hardest moods to stop. But they weren't the scariest. They weren't as terrifying as when Margaret went silent, and her words turned low and harsh, and her face became cold and icy cold and there was nothing left in her but stone.  Charlotte hated that she had become so used to it, too. The moods had become familiar to her, recognising them now was easy. And yet they still scared her. How was that possible? reluctantly over, she continued, "We haven't had a proper talk in ages, have we? Tell me about your life."  "Nothing to tell," Charlotte mumbled, taking a seat as far from her mother as she possibly could on the sofa, but Margaret just grabbed her arm and yanked her closer. The skin on Charlotte's arm began to sting. "Don't fucking lie to me," she snapped. Then her tone softened again, and she forced a smile, holding up the bottle. "Champagne?"  Charlotte shook her head no.  "More for me then." Margaret said taking a sip and then leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. "I told you to tell me about your life, Charlotte."  But there was nothing Charlotte wanted to tell. She could say that she was almost failing maths, that she couldn't concentrate anymore no matter how hard she tried, that the end of Year 12 was approaching and she still had no idea what she wanted to do besides this school in France. She could mention Louis, but that was the last thing she wanted to mention. She didn't want to share Louis with anyone. He was like her own private happiness, a little escape. Charlotte refused to let Margaret ruin that.  "Two of my friends got in a fight on Monday," Charlotte said, almost like a question. Was this good enough? "It got physical but teachers broke it up and now they're both suspended."  "Which friends?" Margaret asked, but she sounded as if she couldn't care less. She drank more from the bottle.  "Taj and Sam." They were just being dickheads to each other . . ." Charlotte trailed off and stared at her hands, uncomfortable.  "Look at me when you speak to me," Margaret snapped. Charlotte flinched, but otherwise didn't react. It wasn't the first time this had happened.  "I think I'm going to go upstairs." Charlotte started to stand up and move away, hoping that maybe she could escape. In a flash, Margaret was standing too, and had Charlotte's forearm in her grip again. Her nails were as sharp as claws, and long, and yellow, most likely from all the smoking.  "No, you aren't." Margaret glared directly into Charlotte's eyes intensely . All of the playful childishness had left her mood completely, as if it was never there. "You can't do shit unless I let you."  Charlotte didn't speak.  Margarets grip tightened. "Answer me."  "Get off me," Charlotte said, but it was too quiet. As much as she hated to admit it and as angry as she was, she was scared, too. She didn't want more bruises.  Louis had started to notice them. There was a huge one forming on her ribcage from a couple of days ago that hurt each time she moved, and she knew he had noticed her wincing. He didn't say anything, but he knew. The bracelets she wore, even the tights didn't hide her from his scrutiny.  But she had been seeing him less and less, the worse things got at home. She didn't want to burden him for fear that she would lose him completely, but in the process drove him further and further away. It was a cycle, an endless loop, like a cat chasing its tail.  When had she become so scared? Of Margaret , of losing Louis, of the fights between her and her mum. She never used to be like this. Vulnerable, weak. She hated herself for it more than she could even believe.  Despite how quietly she had said it, Margaret complied, throwing Charlotte down against the coffee table. "If you insist," she said coolly, then sat back on the couch and drank the last of her champagne. "Feel free to fuck off, but I don't want to see you down here again. I don't want to remember you exist."  And, despite the pain screaming in her side and her head from the impact, despite the urge in her to shout at Margaret and hit her and do everything she had ever longed to do, Charlotte stood, silent, and left the room. 

Eli was in his room reading when Charlotte opened the door to his room. He hardly even glanced up.  Recently he had been reading a lot more than he used to. It seemed to be some sort of getaway for him, like drawing used to be for Charlotte, and soccer for River. Most of the books weren't actually his, though some were River's, or Charlotte's, but that was on good days.

Charlotte sighed and sat on his bed, by his legs.  "What are you reading now?" she asked, poking him in the foot.  He looked up at her for half a second, then back down. "Charlie and the Chocolate factory."  "Is it good?"  "Yeah," he said, then paused. He seemed to be contemplating something. "I think I'd be pretty good friends with Charlie. I wish he went to my school."  Charlotte started to laugh, but the bruise on her ribcage hurt when she did, so she stopped. "I think you would be too. You're pretty similar."

Eli yawned widely before opening the book back up, and for the first time Charlotte realised how late it was. Definitely past ten.  "Shouldn't you be asleep by now, love?" she asked him softly, but he just shrugged.  "It takes me ages to go to sleep," he said. "I'm always thinking. So I just turn my light on and read again."  "Aren't you tired?"  "Yeah, but that's okay. Everyone gets tired sometimes." He didn't look up from his book.  "I guess so." She stood up slowly, sore and reluctant. She started to walk out, but turned back at the door. "Eli?" she said softly. "Mm?" he replied "Let's go shopping on the weekend and buy you some books of your own, okay? Then you won't have to have read all of my old ones. "Really?" He looked up at her hopefully. He didn't really own many books of his own. "Of course." Charlotte didn't have any money of her own, but she could get some off her mum, somehow. "We can go after Rivers game on Saturday."  "Okay." He smiled up at her. "Thanks, Charlotte."  "Of course," she said again, smiling, then walked out and shut the door behind her. But the moment it closed she felt empty again.