My mom is dead.
My mom is dead.
It's on a torturous replay. It is playing on a loop, and I want it to stop.
I glance at the white walls in my living room. They hold only a few photographs, all of Charlotte, my best friend of four years. A black and white photo of Charlotte stares back at me. She is wearing her favorite yellow floral sundress in a field of flowers. Long chocolate locks billow about her as she twirls, caught forever in that moment laughing with me. The summer sun temporarily kissed her usually pale skin, turning it into a nice tan. Charlie’s happy-go-lucky carefree smile is the balm to my skinned knees of a heart.
I must get out of here. Suddenly this is the only thing I can think. My skin is itching and burning. It's crawling. And I'm not going to feel better until I leave this room. Maybe if I leave the room, I can leave the pain.
I’m out of my hole-covered purple nightshirt in seconds. I throw on a short summer dress, not even bothering with a bra. And slap on one of the few pairs of shoes I own, my worn-down brown sandals, onto my bare feet. I race off to my best friend's apartment.
I'm sweating by the time I get there, not just from the sun's heat. Anxiety isn’t always evident to the everyday eye, but today mine is obvious. I must look like a crackhead needing a fix as I aggressively mash my fingers repeatedly on the buzzer button on Charlotte’s apartment building. And in a way, I need a fix. I press the buttons as fast as possible, but it still takes a few minutes before the buzzer grants me access to the building.
My feet hurry up the steps. I focus only on putting space between myself and my pain. Finally, I reach her apartment on the third floor. The doors open as I approach them. I came to see Charlotte. So, when I see Bradley instead, it surprises me.
He allows me entrance, stepping aside as I approach her small foyer's threshold. My eyes covertly scan what I can see of the rooms and don't see Charlotte in the immediate vicinity.
Before I can ask him where she is, he's answering me in his southern hick twang, “Hey Ella, Charlotte's not out of class yet. She'll be here soon, though. I used my key to let myself in to wait for her. I mean, it's cool if you wait here too. If you wanna.”
I nod my head, and the door closes behind me.
Chapter 2
Charlotte’s apartment, which she shares with her younger brother, Thomas, is three or four times larger than mine. It has two bedrooms and one and a half baths. Her dad, Edward, was the best father I’ve ever known. The only good guy I’ve met. I’m sure Thomas will turn out just like him. He is already a dead ringer for their dad with their matching dimpled cheeks, dark curly locks, and a well-defined jawline leading to a chiseled chin. They even share the same shade of Charlotte's coveted green eyes.
Her dad paid a year’s worth of her rent as an early graduation present before he died six months ago from a heart attack. Charlotte believes it was a broken heart from losing their mother too soon. She hasn’t had a mom since I met her. Her mother died in a car crash a year before Charlotte popped up in my life. Thomas moved in with her after their dad passed. She has been scrambling to earn extra money because she is desperate to hold on to the place for Thomas.
Thomas is partially deaf and has been since he was nine. He has a cochlear implant but prefers to communicate via American Sign Language and texting. Since their dad died, Charlotte has been taking care of him. But, realistically she won’t be able to keep it more than four more months after the year’s lease is finished if she is lucky.
I don’t believe in luck, but Charlie does. Even sitting as an orphan with a kid brother to care for, she is optimistic about life.
The entrance is bright white, as is the kitchen to my left, excluding the dark forest green cabinetry. The ceilings soar high at twelve feet with intricate crown molding. Even if it's crumbling, it looks sophisticated. Charlotte has a top-floor unit with a balcony that overlooks a garden. She has also renovated the rooftop into her very own little secret garden. She loves the outdoors so much that she even brought plants inside her apartment. I can barely keep myself alive, let alone anything else.
Before you enter the white living room, you have the option to enter a short hall to the right that hosts a tiny powder room and Thomas’s small bedroom. The bedroom door is open, and Thomas is nowhere in sight. A breath of relief I didn’t realize I was holding hisses through my lips.
Reading my thoughts, Bradley murmurs, “Tommy is out with his friends. So it’s just you and me here, honey.”
His words crawl across my skin, skittering into my brain. I fight the urge to shake physically.
To the left of the living room lies Charlotte’s bedroom door, which also hosts a full-size bathroom and laundry room.
The living room is blinding white but in a chic way, whereas my apartment looks lackluster. She has multiple massive black-framed photos of various flowers and landscapes that Charlotte has personally photographed hanging on the walls everywhere. Dark furniture dominates the room. Two matching worn-down leather wingback armchairs that we painstakingly reupholstered ourselves summer before last. And a luxurious-looking emerald green velvet vintage sofa she thrifted. Various jewel-toned pillows lie across it.
An extraordinary cylindrical-shaped yellow velvet pillow lays centered on the sofa as if on display. You could say it's Charlie’s favorite pillow. It’s the kind you might put under your neck after a hard day’s work to relax. And in a way, she does use it to unwind.
She practically died from embarrassment when I walked in on her fucking herself with it. Every time I see this yellow pillow, I can't help but smile at the memory.
I sit on her sofa and grab the yellow pillow, rubbing it like a magic lamp, hoping it'll magically erase my thoughts. Then, lazily, I drag my fingers across the fabric, watching it as the design of the fabric shifts.
I think of my best friend lying on this couch, exactly where I’m sitting. Propped up, no panties, just frantically rubbing this pillow against her pussy. Happily, I replay the memory, losing myself in the moment.
Charlotte’s long dark hair curled around her, splayed fanning across the couch, draped over her shoulders. Her head tossed back; hooded eyes closed. Cheeks flushed, breaking out in the slightest of sweat. Her chest heaved as she used her free hand to pluck her pebbled nipples, back-arching, her breaths coming out in hurried gasps, toes curling.
When I caught her, Charlotte flexed her wonderfully muscled, strong legs. Those long legs are my favorite feature of hers after her green eyes.
I lose myself constantly thinking about being between her legs, feasting upon her. I wonder how she tastes?
Charlie's chest flushes a beautiful red shade when she's reaching her climax. Her eyebrows tend to raise, and she looks so damn beautiful that my longing for her trumps any jealousy over how perfect I think she is in every department.