Disclaimer: I don't even own this computer.
"Trying their wings once more in hopeless flight:
Blind moths against the window screens
Anything. Anything for a fix of light."
(X. J. Kennedy, "Street Moths", The Lords of Misrule)
Charlie's fingers itched. Itching to grab the heroin and snort it up his nose; he threw the drugs in the fire. How could he have been so stupid? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, he could go back to being the person he was. But now, here in this hell-hole he had no drugs, he needed them. Needed them to stay himself.
His eyes wandered over to Claire, fingers easing their incessant strumming on his guitar, intent on watching the young blond woman. She was sitting with her back to him, facing the fire. Her hair looked all the more like spun gold in the firelight; she was hunched over, and Charlie believed that she was writing in her journal. Setting down his guitar he made his way over to her.
"Hey." Claire looked up, half-closing her journal,
"Hey, Charlie," His fingers tapped nervously against his knee. "So where'd you learn to play like that?" Claire's melodious voice broke through his thoughtful reverie. Pushing away the demons that hung over his shoulder, he tried to think of what to say. I was in a band, DriveShaft. You might have heard of us, yeah? I played bass. You know, 'you all everybody! You all everybody!'" Instead: "My dad taught me when I was younger. My brother, Liam, and I, we had one of those garage bands. Good, but not good enough to get a recording deal." Claire seemed to believe his lie, she trusted him too easily and a part of him wanted to punish her by showing his true self. The drug-addicted, bass playing bastard.
Claire nodded, "What happened?"
"The plane happened, the Island happened." He smiled, but it quickly faded at the thought of lying to Claire.
He felt something warm cover his hand, looking down he watched in utter fascination as Claire entwined his fingers in hers. "I'm glad you're here, Charlie. I'm glad I met you…and-and I would really like to be friends." He offered a small smile; this woman with the mega-watt smile and the flaxen hair and the swollen stomach made him want to be the man he once was, if only for a moment.
Charlie wanted to go back to the way things were, before he chose the easy way out: heroin. He wanted to go back to when he and Liam were actually brothers, before the recording deal and he wanted to be the Charlie Claire liked, not the one that he used as a front. He wanted to be the one to fight away all of the monsters that she might dream about, wanted to be the one who held her as she fell asleep each night. He wanted to be her truest friend. But a part of his mind whispered that he didn't just want to be her friend, he wanted to be the man that Claire loved.
"Are you all right, Charlie?" he felt Claire's hand on his forehead, "you're burning up."
"It's the heat," he replied, shrugging off her concern. For once he was glad of the small comfort that human lies gave, unlike the truth. Claire nodded, once again believing him. And the two fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the friendly chatter of the other castaways and the crackling of the fire.
"You look tired, luv. You should get some sleep. You need to think of the little one now, yeah?" he glanced at her stomach. Claire shook her head, "I'm alright," sighing, Charlie glanced at his guitar.
"I could sing you and the little bit a lullaby. He'd be able to hear me, right?" Giggling, Claire nodded,
"He can hear you Charlie. Sing us a lullaby, please." Grabbing his guitar, he took Claire over to her corner of the caves, helping her to lie down on the leafy fronds she used as a mattress.
He strummed a few chords, and then proceeded to play a soft melody, singing faintly along.
"Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day..."
A softer voice began to sing along with him, he looked up at Claire and was surprised to see a glimmer of tears in her eyes, holding her gaze as they sang together the next part of the song.
"For love may come and tap you on the shoulder,
Some starless night
Just incase you feel you wanna hold her
You'll have a pocket full of starlight"
Slowly, Claire's eyes began to drift close, and her breathing evened out. Charlie continued singing until the song was done. He watched her sleep, a soft smile on her red lips.
Sighing, he got up; the familiar feeling of emptiness filled him, left behind from the drugs. His eyes traveled once more to Claire's sleeping form, the feeling momentarily subsiding.
As he drifted off to sleep, Charlie realized that in all the hours he spent with Claire, the craving for the heroin had all but disappeared.
THE END