Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Chapter 8: The Crux of Human Existence
There was a pleasant sensation at his hand, like a soft caress. He smiled, almost imperceptibly, feeling at peace. It had been a while since he'd been feeling so well, it occurred to him, because –
He opened his eyes and a moment later shrank back from the ball of fur in front of his face. By now he'd realized that the peace had only been a single wave swashing over from the realm of dreams that was so much more pleasant than reality. It still took him a moment though to regain his orientation, but now that he was sitting up, there could be no denying that he was on the beach, and now he remembered having come here last night in an attempt to find calm and clarity. Neither one had worked out very well, but at least this way he had managed not to run into anyone that would try to engage him in conversation. The prospect of having to return to his house and finding Amita there waiting for him, or Don, or, worst of all, both of them together, had simply been beyond what he'd considered bearable. And so, after having driven rather aimlessly for a while, he'd found this deserted spot, where he'd sat down in the sand by the rustling waves and waited for sleep to overcome him.
"Angus!" he heard someone call out then, and the ball of fur that had woken him up turned around and ran back to its mistress, jumping around her with its tail wagging like crazy.
The woman, who had to be a few years older than Charlie himself, gave him a tight-lipped smile that might have been meant as an apology for her dog's harassing. There was something like friendliness in that look, but then Charlie realized that it was a mere show of politeness, that her smile didn't reach her eyes, that there was contempt in them, as though the incident had been Charlie's own fault, since he belonged to a class that had less right than her to find themselves on the beach in the first place, almost like he had less value than herself on an overall scale. It took Charlie a moment to understand why a woman he had never met in his life was looking at him in such a manner, but then he realized that he didn't exactly look his most respectable self at this point. Judging from his current appearance, she had to assume he was a homeless man, and assume further that this fact gave her a certain superiority towards him. Probably one of those snobs with a house that was always speckless and with the opinion that the mere fact you so much as owned a pair of jogging pants meant that you had lost control over your life.
He paused. Had he lost control over his life?
He was shaking his head. What was he doing? Why was he letting a perfect stranger take so much control over his state of mind? And as though that hadn't been enough, he was now doing it himself, judging a person he didn't even know. What was wrong with him? Why was he giving so much importance to what other people thought of him, why was he suddenly so insecure? There were enough problems on his mind as it was, he didn't need to worry about some strange woman or what she thought about him, but trust him to just be unable to feel happy about the fact that his first thoughts this morning hadn't been about his situation with Amita, he just had to let this woman ruin his day, which was quite an achievement given that he'd woken up to the beautiful sight of the sunlight glittering on the rippling sea.
He emitted a deep sigh and looked out on the ocean in an attempt to figure out what to do. His plan had only worked out half-way so far. True, he hadn't run into anyone since yesterday afternoon, but his mind was hardly any clearer than it had been then. He knew that he loved Amita, but that was pretty much everything that he was clear about. He didn't know whether a relationship was still possible between them, and even if she still wanted him, he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to trust her again. And with respect to his brother, things were even less clear than with Amita, he just didn't know where they were standing anymore.
He sighed again, figuring that this whole beach thing hadn't really brought the solution he'd been hoping for. At least, however, it had calmed him down a little, so that he was now ready to return to the real world. True, today was Saturday, and after having terminated his job with the FBI, he didn't have any obligations today, but that still didn't mean he could hide out here forever.
He was relieved when there were no cars in the driveway save for his dad's, which meant he wouldn't have to talk about his love life, assuming he still had one.
"Charlie!" his dad greeted him as soon as he'd opened the door. He was coming out of the kitchen and was still drying his hands with a towel. "I've been trying to reach you, I was getting worried!"
A pang of guilt was rolling over him. He hadn't meant to do this to his dad. "I'm sorry, my phone must have been turned off," he said evasively.
"By accident?"
For a moment, Charlie was staring at his father, trying to read his mind. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you were probably trying to avoid talking to Don or Amita."
Charlie was shaking his head, his mouth slightly open. "Why would you think that?" he asked with caution, almost mistrust.
"Don told me about what happened."
Charlie's jaw dropped. "He did?!" Then it clenched. Hadn't Don had enough? Wasn't Charlie sufficiently humiliated, did Don really have to waltz around now and brag about his conquests? "What did he say?"
Alan shrugged, but showed signs of thinking carefully about his answer. "That he's sorry."
Charlie huffed. "Yeah, right."
"He may not have used these exact words," his dad conceded, "but he's definitely sorry for what he did."
"So what?" it broke out of Charlie. "It still happened, didn't it? Just because he's sorry doesn't make it un-happen! And anyway, if he didn't tell you, you can't know what he thinks about this!"
"Well, I know that when it happened, he was inebriated, and that now that he's sober again, he feels really bad for what he's done."
Charlie was shaking his head. "Why do people always seem to think that alcohol is a good excuse for whatever it is you do wrong?"
"Because it lowers your inhibitions –"
"But it doesn't turn off your mind, not while you can still keep your eyes open!" Charlie gave back rather heatedly. "And anyway, it's still your own choice whether or not you drink too much!"
His dad sighed. "You're being pretty hard on them."
"I'm being hard?!" Charlie burst out, his voice cracking. "Which side are you on, exactly? They betrayed me! Both of them! They went behind my back and betrayed my trust! Am I the only one here who thinks this is wrong?!"
"I realize they made a mistake," his dad said calmly, apparently completely unperturbed by his son's agitation. "I'm just asking you which part makes you so upset, that they did it behind your back, or that they did it at all."
Charlie gaped at him, then quickly closed his mouth. His throat, too, was closing up as his father's words were bringing the fear that so far had only been simmering within him closer to home, too close for comfort. His dad was right. Of course, he was upset that they would hurt him like that, and then act as though nothing had happened, especially Don. For all Charlie knew, Don would have kept lying to him forever, just taking that secret with him that he once again had shown his superiority to his geeky little brother, maybe every once in a while making out with her again, when she felt lonely or assailed by a hunger only Don could still –
Charlie stood abruptly, willing his thoughts to stop. He was pacing the side of the table like a lion in a cage, desperate to get out of this situation, yet finding that there was no way out. His dad was right, that was the fear that had been rooted deeply inside him ever since he'd started discovering his feelings for Amita, that one day, someone else would come along and take her away from him, someone better, and in his mind, that ominous someone had somehow always looked like Don. Yes, Charlie had always feared that one day, Don might appear out of nowhere and take her from him, just like he had with their mutual friend Val Eng back in the day.
The problem was that ever since her confession two days ago, he could actually see Amita choose Don over him, especially seeing how he'd been treating her these last couple of weeks. In contrast to him, Don had always been good with women, he was charming and handsome, and he exuded that feeling of calm and safety, and in general possessed all those qualities that women seemed to like in men. And if she chose him, what was he going to do then? What was he going to do if her love for him had died and been exchanged for the love of his brother? How could he do anything about that? He couldn't force Amita's feelings, either way, but it was even worse than that. It wasn't just that he couldn't will her to love him, or to stop loving Don, for if it had only been that, he still wouldn't have been without options, for he could still have tried to sabotage their budding relationship, he could have done his best to end it before it could even begin. True, hoping that Amita would come back to him after that would have been more than a little optimistic, but at least he wouldn't have had to watch the two of them dangling their love in front of him. And yet, he knew he couldn't do that. The problem wasn't just that Amita might have stopped loving him, the problem was that he still loved Amita, for better or worse, so even if the mere thought was breaking his heart, if she was happy with Don… then how could Charlie do anything to stand in their way?
"You need to talk to them, son," his dad said, as though he'd been reading his mind. "You need to figure out what this is between the three of you, and while you're doing that, it won't help you to throw around accusations and reproaches. No matter how much they hurt you, in order to find a solution, you need to stay sober and be prepared to talk this out like equals."
Charlie stopped his pacing and just stood there. All the emotions that had been filling his mind and confusing him were gone, as though the pressure had made everything implode and left nothing behind, or nothing that was still working. And so, he was standing there beside the table as though he was standing beside himself, not even finding the energy to sit down again.
"Are you done?" he asked his dad, even though he knew all to well that there had been some truth in his words.
"Almost," his dad said, still serious, still stern, but still gentle. "There is one thing, Charlie, that people tend to forget. As a matter of fact, I forgot it as well when I was talking about this to your brother, so I'd like to remind you of that so you don't make the same mistake I did, because that's the thing: people make mistakes. That might be hurtful, it might even be shocking at times, but it happens, even to the best of us, and it doesn't make them bad people. None of us is without fault, neither you, nor Amita, nor Don, nor myself, and once we find that we've made a mistake, we don't always find a way to make things right again. And in that case, the only course of action is to ask for forgiveness and hope to find it, there's nothing more one can do."
Charlie gave a little huff, then nodded. "Right." For a moment, he wallowed in self-pity, in that feeling of hurt pride and righteousness that was lamenting against his dad's idea that he should be the one to take a step towards them and just throw around his forgiveness, and not let them come to him. All the while, he was fruitlessly trying to push the memory of his talk with Amita out of his mind, of how badly he'd needed her to forgive him for not having treated her the way she deserved. And in the end, wasn't he the one who needed them? As long as he couldn't be sure how things were looking the other way round, his dad was right, he was the one who needed to reach out, for he was the one who needed closure, who needed a final answer.
Or did he? What if he just stayed in this state of not-knowing? As long as he didn't know, there was still hope that Amita would come back to him, right?
He ran his hands across his face. Over the last couple of weeks, he'd spent too much of his time on his Cognitive Emergence Theory, on examining the workings of the human mind, as though he could have believed that feigning lack of interest was a course of action that was likely to succeed on the long run. Besides, both of them had been trying to reach him since yesterday, so that was a form of reaching out, too, wasn't it? And after he'd rebuffed them, he couldn't really expect them to come running after him forever, could he? No, he needed to man up now, to become active and figure out where he stood with both his girlfriend and his brother.