The first time Sam saw Charlie again was after she'd finished paying for her coffee. Lately the pixie haired beauty had needed more and more coffee to stay awake. She spent all her time crying and whenever she wasn't crying she was writing sad poems and songs.
A shoulder hit hers as she walked through the streets, nearly knocking her coffee into her skirt. Pushing up her black sunglasses, she turned on the man.
Charlie.
"C-Charlie?" She stuttered.
"Hi Sam," he said in that awkward way of his and gave her the smile she loved.
Crooked, teeth showing in a nervous way. His eyes were warm as they searched hers.
"Can we talk?" Sam asked as he began to walk away.
"Sorry," Charlie said, "I'm busy."
The boy with the black hair faded into a crowd of people. Sam stood where she was. She felt lost, but she knew where she was. She wanted to chase after Charlie and declare her love for him in the middle of the street, but by the time her legs worked again she couldn't see any sign of him.
When Sam got back to the apartment she shared with her step brother Patrick she was in hysteria. She slammed the door shut and yelled, "I'm home!" to no one in particular. She didn't care who knew she was home. She just wanted her head ache to be gone.
Running water splashed across her naked thighs as she slumped in the bathtub. Water slowly filled up around her. For the first time in months Sam felt warmth and nothing else. She didn't feel pain or sorrow or sadness. All she felt was warmth.
Maybe because she felt someone else's foot graze her own. Sam looked up. The boy with the blue eyes and the black hair looked back at her. Charlie's bare shoulders stuck out of the water. He gave her a shy grin.
Sam started forward crying, again.
"Charlie? Oh Charlie I'm so sorry," her lips moved as she closed her eyes and leaned in.
She met air. Her eyes were opened once again and a flash of pain dealt her heart as she took in an empty bath tub.
Charlie was gone.
"Samantha."
Sam tried to lift her head but she couldn't. Gravity held her down, wouldn't let her answer to any one of her brother's pleading.
Her eyes opened with force. In front of her a large pile of scrambled eggs sat. Instantly Sam felt a sudden hate for eggs. They were happy and yellow and brightened the room up like sunshine. They reminded her of a certain boy with black hair she knew.
Sam's vision blurred. Her eyes shut again and she refused to open them.
Sam saw Charlie everywhere.
In the malls, across the street, in her own apartment. But she wasn't imagining him. She knew Charlie was out there somewhere, probably laughing at her broken heart.
Sam's weight became practically non-existent. She couldn't eat anything. Everything tasted bland and gross to her. She couldn't help but remember things about Charlie from all types of food. Sam put her foot down to milkshakes and brownies. She remembered the first time they'd hung out and Charlie had gotten baked on weed brownies and he'd really wanted a milkshake.
She'd made him one and smiled as he told her the second milkshake was better than the first.
One morning Sam woke up to cramps. Terrible horrible cramps. She rolled up in a ball and decided to stay like that as the blood soaked her underwear.
When she finally awakened from her spell the first thing she did was cry. She cried heart wrenching sobs and whatever she did, the crying would not stop. Her pillow never did dry up.
The second thing Sam did was pick up the phone. The lady on the other end comforted her, but couldn't save her.
Sam sobbed, "I've lost him."
She'd lost another part of Charlie.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
Patrick rubbed Sam's back as she puked her way into oblivion. He stared at his step-sister, dying in front of his eyes.
Sam thought about Patrick's question. She thought long and hard. But she couldn't find the words she was looking for. She was still pondering the question when she had stopped puking. She was still pondering the question when Patrick picked her up and brought her to her bed. She was still pondering the question when her brother tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and left the room.
The next morning she was still pondering the question when she awoke with a terribly hurting headache. Patrick bought her prescript medicine plus some pain killers. She swallowed the two Tylenols with some water as she tossed her real medicine into the waste bin.
After Patrick had left for work and she'd curled up into that little ball she found the answer to her question.
"We accept the love we think we deserve," Sam whispered.
"Samantha, you have to take your medicine if you want to get better," the balding man across from her said sternly.
I can't, she thought, I'm scared.
What are you scared of? She asked herself.
She wondered, because even she didn't know the answer.
Her doctor in front of her made a hurry up gesture.
She smiled and lied.
"I've been taking the medicine, Doctor Leroy. Honest, I have."
You're scared you won't see him again, Sam had finally answered herself.
"Are you sure?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Of course," her voice was shrilly.
He sighed in that tired way of his.
Good, Sam thought, get tired of me. Tell me you never want to see me again.
But luck wouldn't have had it. "Your next appointment is Thursday."
After Sam's appointment on Thursday she went home.
The apartment was empty (Patrick was gone. So was Mary Elizabeth and Alice. Nobody stayed around for her anymore). She felt a flash of inspiration as Charlie's face whipped through her head. She had a sudden craving for brownies and milkshakes.
Sam was a mad woman. Her salty tears mixed in with the brownie batter as she stirred it and beat it and cracked the eggs. She laughed when she laced them with weed and popped them into the oven. Finally when they came out of the oven, she left them on a pan to cool.
On the counter she shoved ingredients messily into the blender. When she was done the kitchen was a mess. She was splattered with drops of batter and milkshake, but she didn't really care.
Sam got high off the brownies and nursed her slowly turning to room temperature milkshake. Imagine Patrick's surprise when he came home to find Sam drowning in tears. She sat on the floor, baked like a cake still drinking that damned milkshake.
Or was it the second one?
"It's better than the first," she held up the milkshake in her shaky hand and offered Patrick a watery smile.
Sam was awakened by an angry phone call. She lay in her bed as she listened to Patrick's pacing. He was talking on the phone, both of them rather heated.
"I can't just… You don't understand!" Patrick said. The next words shocked Sam. "I love you, too, Leo. But she's my sister! I can't just kick her out… Yes I love you. I do."
Sam got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing an ear against it.
"She's a mess," he whispered, obviously not for her ears.
Sam laughed shakily. She knew she was a mess. So what? It was all Charlie's fault. That fucking blue eyed boy was a curse. He was the one who did all this to her, ruined her life.
She opened the door. Patrick stopped talking and looked at her. He hung up on the phone.
"Sammie, you weren't supposed to hear that," his guilt filled voice muttered.
"I'll move out if you want," Sam cocked her head to the side.
"No. I'd never ask that of you," Patrick shook his head.
"I'm going for a run," Sam changed the subject.
Patrick shot a look out the apartment window. Rain fell heavily in sheets against the glass, but they could barely hear it through the tension in the room.
"Are you sure? It's mad out there," Patrick said.
Sam laughed, her first real laugh in ages. She pointed at her head, "It's mad up here, too."
Sam soon moved out of the apartment to let Patrick's lover Leonardo move in. She didn't mind. Her brother needed space from her. Sam knew she was a mess.
She ended up in random beds of guys she barely knew. None of them had been Charlie.
Sam still saw Charlie though. She'd wake in the morning and he'd be at the foot of whoever's bed, shaking his head at her in that fatherly fashion he had.
Then Sam would scream and shout and throw things at Charlie. He'd merely laugh at her before disappearing. By then her lover would have awakened and thought she was crazy.
Sam was mad, but she knew she wasn't seeing things. She saw Charlie. She knew he was out there.
One morning the pressure had been too much. She saw multiple Charlie's in the motel room she was currently staying at. Some scowling, shaking their heads at her, some looking at her with sadness and pity. Sam didn't want these Charlie's. She wanted the real boy with the black hair and the blue eyes. The one with the shy smile and the understanding way he looked at her. Like he knew what she'd gone through.
"Why did you leave?" she whimpered as she pulled the sheets up over her face.
And now the visions were coming back, the ones she'd tried so desperately to forget were coming out to her.
Charlie. Rivers of blood flowing from his head, matting his black hairs together and trickling into those blue eyes. Sam had been the one to find him. Sam had been the one who had raced to his side to stop him. Sam had been the first one to see him lying in a bath tub full of blood, with a gun in his hand.
"Stop," she cried out as her heart beat painfully in her chest.
Her heart was throbbing. It was swelling. It hurt.
And she knew it was time.
Sam didn't even think. All she did was get up. Her legs moved on their own and she staggered to the motel closet. She looped a belt around her neck and tied it to the rack.
She held her breath.
Charlie.
She took a deep gulp of air.
Charlie.
She dropped to her knees, her neck twisting, the air cut off.
And now they were truly together.