by Q. B. Tyler
He snorts again. “Okay, Charley. I did about a hundred things wrong.”
“But it led to us being together…it can’t be so wrong.” I want to convey just how much I feel that us being together is the right thing.
He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Nice try.”
“Baby, I just want you to feel better. I hate seeing you like this.”
“I know, Charley. I hate being like this. I’m sorry that I’m taking it out on you.”
“You’re not, it’s okay. I just don’t want you being so hard on yourself.” I climb into his lap and stroke both of his cheeks, my thumbs stroking the skin under his eyes. “I love you and I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
His eyes study mine for a moment before he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. “You make me happy,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
Two weeks later
My foot hasn’t stopped bouncing since I sat down, the seconds ticking by at a snail’s pace as I wait for the two minutes to be up. My eyes go back and forth between my watch and the bathroom counter. I will myself not to look at the pregnancy test until the time is up, but I’m on pins and needles wondering what it will say.
I am two days late for my period; that wasn’t completely out of the norm, but something told me to pick up the tests when I was at the pharmacy earlier. I’m not exhibiting any telltale signs but it’s a feeling. A feeling that I’m hoping will be correct.
Will and I both want children, and while Will isn’t exactly himself, maybe a baby on the way would be the perfect thing to snap him out of it.
Charley, babies don’t fix everything. Actually they rarely fix anything.
The words run through my mind on a loop and I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. Maybe I should have asked Will to wait with me.
It’s been two weeks since Will was suspended, and while he’s left the four corners of his office, and the townhouse, he hasn’t gone far. Drew dragged him out of the house a few nights ago to get a drink, and Will came home on the precipice of blackout drunk. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen Will lose control with his drinking, but in the past two weeks it had almost tripled.
I’d been worried that if Will had to live with the guilt of our actions he could have turned to other vices. I hadn’t taken into account that he still could have turned to other things for turning himself in.
I stand slowly to look at the test and my heart flutters in my chest as I see the two pink lines staring at me in the face.
Pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
We are having a baby.
Oh. My. God.
A smile crosses my face as the tears find my eyes and before I can wipe them, they’re flying down my cheeks. I look at the second test and see the word Pregnant staring at me straight in the face.
I hear movement in his bedroom, and when I walk out I’m startled to see Will with a full glass of bourbon in his hand.
“Will, it’s not even noon,” I tell him, my eyes narrowing slightly. I can hear the judgment in my voice, but to be honest I don’t give a fuck.
This shit ends now.
“What are you? My mother? Relax, baby.”
“Relax? Are you fucking kidding me?” I move towards him. “You reek of liquor, ALL. THE. TIME. You’re so distant and cold to me. You barely talk to me. Look at me. You’re a fucking ghost, Will. I understand you’re upset. I do…but you have got to snap out of this. If not for me then…” I wrap my arms around myself again feeling the chill once again. Now isn’t the time to tell him. “Then for yourself.”
“I would do anything for you,” he says. “I think I’ve proven that, haven’t I?” He takes another long sip.
“Wow,” I tell him. “Really?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.
“How did you mean it?”
“Charley, can we not do this right now?” He sits on the bed, his head in his hands.
“Yes, we need to do this right now.” He shakes his head and raises the glass to his lips but before he can drink the poisonous liquid I snatch it from his hands, the drink sloshing along the side of the glass and onto my hand. “Stop this shit, right now, Will.”
He tries to reach for it, and instead of letting him have it, I throw it. Hard. Against the wall. The glass shatters, and the brown liquid streaking down the white walls.
“God, Charley. WHAT THE FUCK?” he roars, and I’m so angry in this moment, I could scream.
“What the fuck is right! You are a mess, Will. A MESS!” I scream at him. I take a few calming breaths, trying to slow my accelerated heartbeat and move towards the bathroom slamming the door behind me. I grab the tests holding them in my hands before I grip them hard. I’m surprised that he wasn’t hot on my heels right behind me. I wait a few minutes to calm down, knowing that despite our anger this will be the happiest moment of our lives.
I move back into the bedroom to find him lying flat on his back on our bed, and I wonder if he’s asleep, making me wonder just how drunk he already was to be able to pass out that quickly.
“Will,” I say sadly, the tears moving down my face.
No answer.
“Will.” My eyes find the tests in my hands before they shoot up to find the passed out father snoring on the bed.
The roar of the pounding in my head wakes me up as I move my head to the side. The sun blares against my face as it streams through the blinds of our bedroom. I wonder if Charlotte opened them to give me a rude awakening. Her angry words come flooding back to me.
You’re a mess.
You’re a ghost.
You reek of alcohol.
I groan, thinking about this bender I’ve been on. I’ve gone through almost two bottles a day since the hearing, and I can see the fear in Charley’s eyes every time I look at her.
She knows your secret.
You have a problem.
And she’s denying it like you are.
I sit up, resting my elbows on my knees. I try to quiet the splitting headache as the hangover I’ve been avoiding for the better part of two weeks comes at me full force.
I trudge to the bathroom and take a few Advil before swishing the taste of alcohol out of my mouth. I glance at my watch and I see that it’s not even three pm.
Three pm and you’ve already passed out from drinking.
I run a hand through my hair and frown as I look at myself in the mirror hating the person staring back at me. My eyes are tired and red, dark bags circle my eyes and it looks as if I’ve aged five years. I look exhausted, having barely slept last night. I tossed and turned on the couch in my den not wanting to disturb Charley with my insomnia. I haven’t shaved in at least a week, and my beard has grown in, slightly unkempt. My hair is sticking up all over the place, and for a brief second, I have to recall when the last time it was I’d showered. I’m sure Charlotte would be all over this mountain man look, if I didn’t look more like a homeless mountain man.
My heart constricts as I think about Charley’s face when she threw my drink against the wall, the anger shooting out of her eyes at me.
It’s official, I’m at rock bottom.
I run a hand over my face, scratching the skin before I turn on the tap. I collect the cool water in my hands and submerge my face in it. I brush my teeth, and I cringe thinking about the last time I’d even done this.
At least before, I was a functioning alcoholic.
What are you doing to yourself, Will?
My stomach flips in response, the anxiety of facing Charlotte coursing through me.
“Charley!” I call out, but there’s no answer. “Charlotte,” I call a second time, as I make my way downstairs.
I find her on the deck, staring out into the fall day. You can feel the chill in the air that indicates fall is coming, but it’s still warm enough to only need a sweater. She’s pulled her knees up to her chin, with a bla
nket wrapped around her. A box of tissues sits next to her, and what appears to be a cup of tea. “Hey.” I’m wary about approaching her, wondering what kind of mood she’s in after what happened earlier. Her eyes flash to mine, anger running rampant in her eyes, but I can tell she’s been crying. “I’m —”
“Sorry?” she asks. I’d yet to witness this level of anger towards me, and I feel out of my depth.
Not to mention hungover.
“Charlotte…” I try my best to tell her with my eyes how sorry I am. How much I love her. How much she means to me. But the look that she’s giving me tells me she’s not hearing it.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
That I’ve relapsed? Yes, but not at the moment.
I drop to the seat next to her, and stare at her willing her to answer her own question. “What do you mean?” She moves her gaze around me and focuses on something on the other side of her.
I crane my neck slightly and only now do I see that there’s a box on the floor next to her. She pulls out an empty bottle of Macallan and sets it on the table. “Found your little stash.” Her eyes flit to the box on the ground and I swallow knowing exactly what else is in there. A lot of empty bottles. I was too nervous to throw them out; I knew Charlotte would see just how much I was putting away if they were in the trash. I knew I had to get rid of the evidence, but I hadn’t yet. I was hoarding them until trash day, when I could sneak out in the middle of the night and put them in the bins that sit outside of my house. If I have to guess there’s close to fifteen bottles in there, showing her just how much I’ve drunk in the last week.
“Charlotte.”
“Will, you have a problem,” she whispers. Her lip trembles and her eyes well up with tears as if she’s realizing that not only do I have a problem, but a dangerous one.
I swallow, not knowing how I’m going to explain this.
You should have told her weeks ago. Hell, months ago. You should have been honest about your past. So she could help you avoid it. So she could help you fight the demons.
“I’m just stressed out, Charlotte. I did lose my job.” Not an excuse.
But maybe she’ll see it as one. She’ll tell me to stop, I’ll go to some AA classes, and this will be over. This is just what I needed, Charlotte’s kick in the ass to get me back on track.
She leans forward and puts her hand on my knee, squeezing it gently. Her features have softened dramatically, and I breathe a sigh of relief as she touches me. So, she’s not too angry. “I know. And you have no idea how terrible I feel. I wish I could take all of the pain away. I wish I could fix it, but—”
I interrupt her, knowing where she’s going with this. “I know things have gotten a little out of control. But I’m done. No more drinking, I swear.”
“See, Will, that’s the thing. I don’t think it’s that simple.” Her eyes well up with tears, and in my gut, I know that somehow, she knows. She opens up her hand revealing the twelve-month chip that was in my sock drawer.
No.
Nausea bubbles to the surface making my body convulse with the need to be sick. I swallow it down, not wanting to be sick in front of Charlotte, even though if she tells me she’s leaving me she won’t be able to avoid it.
“Charley…” my voice is quiet and timid, fearing what she’s going to say next. “I love you so much.”
“You’ve been lying to me.” She pulls another tissue from the box and wipes at her eyes. My chest aches with the need to comfort her.
“I didn’t…”
“You surely haven’t been honest. I had no idea you struggled with…this. You having this chip means…” She bites her bottom lip, and her shoulders droop slightly. “When?”
“Charlotte, I was young and—”
“WHEN!?” She shoots to her feet and stares down at me. “God dammit, Will. You should have told me this. I let…” She sniffles and pulls the blanket tighter around her. “I let you spiral. I didn’t know, I didn’t see the signs until now. And now it’s too late!”
“Baby…” I stand up, trying to be closer to her and she backs up shaking her head profusely.
“No. If you touch me, I’ll crumble and I can’t afford to crumble. I have to be strong for—” She pauses and blinks the tears out of her eyes before scanning the land behind my house. “I want the truth, Will, and I want it now.”
This is it. You have to put it all out on the line for her.
I just pray she’ll still want me after she hears it all.
* * *
“I’M SORRY I DIDN’T TELL you,” I tell her honestly. “There were so many times I planned to, but there was so much going on between Matt and your divorce and then learning he’d planted the device and then the hearing and Audrey and…” I stand up. “I just wanted a minute alone with you with no bullshit. I wanted to be a normal couple with no problems for a little while. Is that so wrong?” I shoot her a look but she’s still staring at the chip in her hands. My chip. “Give me that.”
“Why? It doesn’t make much difference now, does it?”
Her words are like a slap in the face. I shake my head at her as I lean over the railing of my deck, not wanting to hold her gaze. “You would have been afraid of me if you knew,” I tell her quietly.
“Afraid? Why?” I can hear her moving towards me, but she’s wary as if she is slightly afraid to get near me.
“Because of your stepfather.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just stands next to me, not touching me, as she follows my gaze. She stares at the trees rustling in the wind and finally after a few moments of silence her eyes find mine. “Were you violent? I mean can you get…”
“I’ve never hit anyone, Charlotte. I would never hit you. See this is what I mean. You’re afraid of me. Me.”
“I’m not afraid but…all…” she takes a breath, “drunks say they would never hit you when they’re sober.” Her voice is somber and it’s a punch in the gut as I think about the fact that perhaps her stepfather made those same promises in the beginning. “Things escalate. They get worse. At first, it’s a slap, or grabbing you so hard they leave a mark. It’s not always being pushed down a flight of stairs or breaking your bones.” She swallows hard. “But it’s comforting to know that you don’t have much experience with that the first time around.”
“I am not a violent person, Charley.”
“You’re not you when you’ve been drinking. People with alcoholism are rarely the same person when they’re sober. The few times they are sober. Will, I just want to understand, how— you’re a counselor. You stress the importance of honesty and trusting your partner. You talk about the dangers of addiction. I just don’t understand how things spiraled. Why you kept me in the dark. I would have helped. I surely wouldn’t have been drinking around you—or at all. I certainly would never sacrifice your mental or physical health.”
“I know.”
“You knew if you told me, I would keep you accountable. You didn’t think you had a problem. Or you thought you had it under control. You were in denial.”
“Charlotte…”
“You should have told me, Will. God, what else are you keeping from me?”
“Nothing!” I exclaim. “Charlotte, this was before you came into my life. Before I was a therapist. This was years ago!”
“And yet it still affects you!”
“Of course, it does, that’s what alcoholism is, Charlotte!” Her lip trembles and I take a deep breath trying to calm my agitation. “The things I’ve told you about my family, my childhood…my relationship with Drew. It went a little deeper than that. I used alcohol to cope with feeling like an outsider in my own family. I used it because alcohol never made me feel like an outsider. It made me feel like I belonged. Or maybe it just numbed the pain.” I rest my elbows over the railing.
“How long?”
I let out a breath. “I started in high school, nothing aggressive, but I did my fair share of partying. I told myself once I got away I wou
ld stop. And I did, I went to college and grad school back to back, foregoing summer vacations and winter breaks because I couldn’t bear being around them. I threw myself into work, taking four years to do what it took most people six. It wasn’t until I graduated from grad school, that I picked it up again. I was relying heavily on alcohol to temper the pain. I was lonely, in crippling debt from grad school having come from a family with too much money for scholarships. I hadn’t wanted to use a dime of my trust fund, and I was making next to nothing as an intern. I was barely speaking to my parents, the resentment for them and my brother after a childhood of hell still coursing through my veins. In short, I was miserable. Tuck took me under his wing. Helped me get clean. I guess you could call him my sponsor. My family never knew.”
“How…? How could they not know?” she asks. “I know you didn’t want much to do with them, but they didn’t take an interest…in you?”
“No,” I say without another word. She clears her throat slightly and I can see she’s struggling with telling me something. “What is it, baby?” I know she’s angry with me, and in the deep, dark places of my mind, I fear that this is the end of us—but that doesn’t stop me from pushing.
“Drew said—I mean—earlier when he called, he said not to let you push me away.” She purses her lips. “That he should have fought harder for you when you pushed him away.”
Of course, that mother fucker would act like the victim. Like I hurt him. Like he wasn’t the problem.
But was he?
Was it his fault that your parents favored him?
No, but he certainly ate it up.
“Don’t buy that bullshit Drew is selling, Charley.”
“He sounded—”
“You bought that ‘he pushed me away crap’ because you don’t know him like I do.”
“And how is that? Because he’s somewhat involved with my best friend, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“Then she should probably end her involvement,” I snort, thinking about how he’s slept with half of Atlanta.