I get to my feet, grabbing a crutch, and hobble over to him.
“You realize you just issued a challenge, rightCharles?” I emphasize his name so he understands whose home this is.
Charles hangs his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. I rest my crutch against the wall, reach onto a shelf, and feel around to see what’s up there. I try to get on my toes, my fingers just skimming something, but I don’t have the range of motion nor the leverage of two feet. Each touch keeps pushing the item further and further out of the way.
“I wish you would call me Charlie. Only my father calls me Charles.” He sidles up beside me before reaching above me with his stupid height that dwarfs my five-three frame. I have to try not to be affected by his proximity. He slides whatever it is closer to me so I can reach it myself. I pull it down, pointedly not looking at him or where his shirt has risen, showing off tanned skin just above his belt. I catch the sight of a happy trail leading from his belly button down to…
Above the belt!
I need to keep my eyes above the belt. I may not remember the last five years, but my body clearly remembers being very sexually frustrated. That at least explains why no boyfriend has come out of the woodwork looking for me.
When I see the green fuzzy thing in my hands, I yelp, dropping it. I forget that my leg is broken for a fraction of a second in an effort to get away from what was growing in the back of my cabinet. I stumble, my leg not bending the way I want it to, and pain lances through my body. I can feel it in the back of my throat. I expect to go down, wind up in the hospital again for my carelessness when Charles grabs my waist, hauling me against him.
“Thanks,” I murmur, enjoying being in his arms far too much.
Charles is slow to let me go, the depths of his brown eyes searching my face for something.
“So eager to escape my company you would rather be back in the hospital?” He chuckles, grabbing the offending article. Even he makes a face, tossing what I think used to be English muffins into the garbage bag.
“Something like that, Charlie,” I try out the nickname and decide I like how it makes him brighten up.
“Looks like you don’t have any roommates or a boyfriend.” His words are matter of fact as he pokes his head into the bedroom.
“I guess the slasher porn is from an ex?” I state, limping my way over to my inner sanctum. I expect to find more mementos or knick-knacks here. Maybe pictures that prove I had a personality, but there is even less. No pictures from college; hardly any personal touches. My family quilt isn’t even out, but the photo of my parents from their wedding day is where I’ve had it for the last several years: a place of honor on my nightstand.
I want to cry. I want to cry because I miss them. They would know that I had been gone for two weeks. They would have reached out. Before they died, I would talk to them every day. Both were only children and so was I. It made us closer than most families because we only had each other.
Charlie watches me sit on the bed, which is unmade. Aside from the moldy food, it’s some of the only evidence that someone actually lived here.
“Your parents?” he asks, probably already knowing the answer.
I see my family quilt across the room on a shelf in what only a shrewd real estate agent would dare to call a closet. I want to wrap it around myself and sob, falling back into that never ending pit of grief that had enveloped me after they died, but I can’t find the words to ask for it. If I open my mouth, the tears will start to flow and I won’t be able to stop.
“Yeah.” I say softly, setting the frame back on the nightstand. Staying with Charlie is only going to be temporary. Leaving this photo here is proof that I will be back. Ihaveto be back.
Charlie gives me my space and goes to my closet. “I want to find a bag to take some stuff for you.” He holds up a small duffle bag, little more than a gym bag. “Is this okay?”
“Still convinced I’m coming home with you? You need to at least buy me dinner first.”
He gives me a cheeky grin.
“If you really want to stay here alone, I’ll leave you to it.” His tone makes it obvious that he’s not serious. It’s the tone a parent would use on a stubborn child who is picking the exact wrong battle. I wonder what he thinks of the situation, and why that makes him so damn pushy to make amends.
“Fine, go ahead. But leave my underwear drawer alone,” I say with a scowl.
“Do you even know which drawer that is?” he teases and I laugh as I throw a pillow at him. It should be too soon to make a joke like that, but it might be the only way we can get out of this with our pride intact.
Before we leave, I have Charlie set out my family quilt, laying it along the foot of my bed. He keeps swearing he can carry it, but the agony from the trip of the stairs is too fresh. Charlie might be in great shape, but running these stairs three times with my things and my crutches and me will be too much to ask. My heart aches, wanting that familiarity with me, but it will serve as my anchor. I will return to this apartment again. I will get my old life and my memories back.
Chapter 3
Mypainissooverwhelming, I’m gritting my teeth by the time we pull up to Charlie’s apartment building. He wasn’t kidding about the proximity to the hospital. We don’t pass it, but I do see signs for it as we approach. He carries the duffle bag full of the few belongings that we grabbed from the apartment. It’s almost exclusively clothes. I’ve been wearing underwear purchased by someone else for the last week so I’m looking forward to wearing something that is mine, even if I don’t recognize it.
“Benji!” Charlie calls out as we walk into the building. There is a liveried doorman standing behind a counter with a smile on his face. He looks young and like his uniform doesn’t quite fit.
“Mr. Breckenridge,” the young man greets Charlie with a smile. His green eyes skate over my face, pleasant, but committing it to memory. I wonder how many other women Benji has seen Charlie bring to his apartment.
“Charlie,please.This is Elia. She’s going to be staying in my apartment for the time being while she rehabilitates from an injury. Please assist her in any way that you would assist me.”