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“Why don’t you make me?” I threw back with a grin. “I’d like to see you try. I’m sure, somewhere in that tiny—and I meantiny—body of yours, you got the means to shut me up.”
She pulled us out onto the road, and as she did so, she did a double take in my direction, and when she did, I noticed her cheeks were flushed. Not from her recent crying, but from something else. From me and what I’d said.
In the end, she chose not to say anything.
In fact, Charlie didn’t say anything the entire ride home, which made for quite the boring ride.
We got back to the house, and we still had two hours before her parents got home. That was why I followed her into the house. She went upstairs to her room, and I trailed after her. Should charge my phone while I was here. I got the cord from her nightstand and plugged it in, and then I plopped myself down on her bed and watched her.
Charlie stood with her back to me, gazing out the window. One of her arms was pressed against her side, while the other was bent, her hand gripping her elbow.
I couldn’t take the silence, so I spoke, “Are you going to try to tell me to leave again? Say you hate me and I need to get the fuck out or something? Because, let me warn you now, this time I’m not going to listen to you.”
“I didn’t say any of that before.”
“You might as well have.” The smile I always wore fell off my face. “Why did you tell me to leave, Charlie? Is it because you regret what we did?”
At that, she turned around, away from the window, her brown eyes staring at me across the room. Her bedroom wasn’t large; a fifteen by fifteen-foot space, but it was enough to make the distance between us damn near unbearable. At least she didn’t look like she wanted to cry anymore. At least she didn’t appear as if she wanted to die.
When she said not a word, I went on, “You know, what we did? That thing, up there, in the treehouse. Did you lock those memories away already? Do I need to go into detail about what happened Saturday night to refresh your memory?”
All she did was turn her back to me again.
“Oh, great. So we’re not going to talk about it, then. We’re just going to pretend nothing happened. You’re right. That’s a great plan,” I deadpanned. “Great plan. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it first. Let’s just forget anything happened.”
I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees as I hunched over the side of the bed. My feet started to tap on the carpet, an anxious sign, an indicator that everything was not okay. It went on that way for a few seconds, but then I couldn’t take it anymore.
Getting up, I said, “You know what? No. Let’s address the elephant in the room. Let’s talk about it. I want to talk about it.”
Charlie was slow to turn around, and she leaned her back against the wall near the window, her eyes on me. “Brett, I—there’s nothing to talk about. It wasn’t a big deal.” There was no heart behind those words, so they rang hollow.
“It wasn’t a big deal?” I asked, taking a step toward her. Still way too much space between us. Way too much. “So, you kick everyone out after you sleep with them? Or was it just because it was me, hmm? Was it because I’m a serial killer and sleeping with a serial killer while you’re aware they’re a serial killer is generally frowned upon?”
I got even closer still as another possibility dawned on me. “Was I not good?” A moment passed, and I shrugged off that possibility. “No, I was good. Great, even—”
She narrowed her gaze at me and muttered, “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I am, although not as full of myself as you were Saturday night—you were quite full of me then.”
“Oh, my God, can you stop?”
“I’ll stop when we talk about it.”
“We’re talking about it now, aren’t we?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m doing the talking, not you. You’re just standing here looking a little broody and pensive. Don’t you know that’s so old-school?” I now stood two feet in front of her, close enough to tower over her and remind us both of how small she was.
“I’m not—” Charlie closed her eyes. She angled her head up at me before opening them, unwavering as she said, “It was a mistake, Brett. It was all a big mistake.”
“Bringing me here to kill your stalker or fucking me?”
She flushed a little at my language, stammering out, “Both. Helping you was stupid. A crime. I never should’ve brought you here. This whole thing is just—” She abruptly changed tactics. “And as for the… the fucking, it’s all your fault.” She lifted a finger and pushed it against my chest, as hard as she could, bless her. “It’s all your fault. One hundred percent.”
As I rubbed the area she poked me, I muttered, “That’s going to bruise. And how is itmyfault? I didn’t come up here and whisk you away to the treehouse for a midnight tryst while you struggled and fought me every step of the way.”
“No, but you don’t know what the definition of personal space is. You’re always getting too close to me, and—and that night, when I went to a party and saw Zak, you came strolling over like you owned the place. I never agreed to have you pretend to be my boyfriend. Oh! And let’s not forget you coming to my family’s cookout without so much as warning me that you were coming! My parents think I kept you to myself on purpose because I knew they wouldn’t approve of you because of how old you are!”
She was practically shouting now. It was kind of adorable, really. Like a little harmless kitten acting tough. Of course, it was what she said last that made me huff, “Hey, I’m not that old. You keep acting like I’m fucking ancient or something—”
