Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams and crew. I'm just borrowing for some non-profit fun. Charlie's first night without heroin isn't so lovely. This is probably too short, but I didn't want to drag it on too long either. Enjoy.
Lost – Withdrawal
By Mystic
August 29th 2005
It hits you like a rifle, only instead of bullets, it's moments. They weave around in time and confuse you, make you dizzy, make you fall down on the ground and hold your head. You tell them it's the flu. It's what Jack told you to say. A really bad case of the flu, but you know the truth. You need a hit. You want a hit. You want to feel the burn of the powder deep inside your nostrils and the sweet haze that falls over the world where you don't care which way is up.
Liam is calling you a prat and you're rushing at him. You're ten and in your back yard and you shove him to the ground and pummel his face with your fists, but he catches your hands on each swing and laughs at you, calling you a sissy. You hear your mum calling and she shouts something that sounds like your full name. Liam doesn't even pretend to cry, he admits he started it and your mother chastises you for letting him get to you.
"Can't help it mum, if he'd just leave me alone!" You don't even remember what you were fighting for.
He puts hand on your back and asks you how you are and it takes a minute for you to register he's even there. Jack raises his eyebrows at you and hands you aspirin, tells you it'll take some of the edge off. You want to laugh. You want to kick him in the face and run into the jungle. The dirt on the ground in front of you is starting to call out to you, but you sniff loudly and turn away. He asks you again how you're doing and you tell him to bugger off. You tell him to leave you the bloody hell alone and you'd be just fine.
"Alright, Charlie, but if you need me, I'm right up in the caves." You've already forgotten where you are.
The lights on the stage blind you and it's exhilarating. You can't remember the last time you've been without them. You find yourself never wanting to leave the stage, but after two hours it's over and you're in a dressing room watching Liam make out with two girls and you've got your nose over a line of brown that quickly disappears as your brain goes numb. One of the girls says something about a junkie and you want to shout that the guy she's snogging with is a bigger junkie than he is. But he's not. You've become a bigger junkie than he ever was.
"Leave the chap alone, he deserves the riches." You feel the counter hit your head as you smile in response.
She touches your hand and you flinch, smirking when you look up into Kate's face. You want to call her a sneaky devil, but something in your pants tells you not to. Your grin widens and you call her the name anyways and she breaks into a smile and shakes her head. She asks how you're doing and hands you a bottle of water, throwing a glance at Jack that lets you know it was his idea. Kate tells you a story about when she was little and she had the flu. It feels like a lie and you call her on it.
"Why would I lie… I was just trying to make you feel…" You watch her eyes avoid yours before she leaves you alone.
You strum your guitar in your bedroom with one hand and contemplate stroking yourself with the other as the night wastes away. No one's in the house and you know you shouldn't be thinking what you're thinking. It's just a girl, you tell yourself, no harm in thinking of a girl. But your Bible peeks out at you from under a stack of school books and you pull your hand off your belt and onto the handle of the guitar and begin picking out a tune. It makes you shrug and continue and before you know it, you're whispering out a chorus.
"You, all, everybody." You don't even know what it means, but the words excite you every time you sing them.
His presence is unmistakable and he makes it known. Locke sits down next to you and doesn't say a word. He watches the fire with you for hours, even after everyone else has gone to sleep. He doesn't try to comfort you. He doesn't try to soothe you. He doesn't even pat you on the back and tell you you did well. He just sits there and rubs his hands together occasionally, as if feeding off the warmth. You want to ask him why, you want to ask him how, you want to ask him a million questions, but your brain doesn't hold the words together long enough to get them out of your mouth.
"Take it easy, Charlie." It's all he says and somehow, it does you more than anything anyone else has said.
In the morning, you blink your eyes against the sunrise, you blink your eyes against the memories. You tell yourself that the worst of it is over and you make yourself believe it. Jack checks your pulse, he gives you more aspirin and a pained expression. Hurley tells you you look like shit and laughs. You laugh with him. Walt tells you it'll pass in a day or so and you believe him. Sun gives you herbs and you smell them and wonder if she knows the truth. Kate walks ten paces away from you and you wonder if she knows too.
You stand and fold up the blanket that's kept you hot enough to sweat, but not hot enough to stay warm. Putting it on the rocks you've been sitting on all night, you watch Claire walking away with a bottle of water and you wonder how long she's been there. You work your face muscles into a smile and you make your way to her, hoping the twitch in your right eye slows enough for her not to notice. She gives you that grin, the one that thinks you're up to something and you pout playfully, making her laugh.
"Heard you haven't been feelin' well," she tells you and it melts your heart when she winces in pain for you.
"No worries, I'll be good as new in no time," you manage. "Honestly though, could use some company and a good stretch."
She smiles. "Same here," she tells you as you jam your shaking hands into your pockets. You walk through the jungle with her and you listen to her talking. She's telling you about her plans for the baby. She speaks as if you'll all be rescued tomorrow. You want to frown, but you find you can't because in all honesty, you hope you'll be rescued tomorrow as well.
You start to wonder why that is exactly as she tells you about the colors she'd paint the baby's room and you realize heroin is in plain supply back home. All one has to do is ask. You lower yourself into the sand next to her as she finishes telling you about the changing table and the pastel green curtains and she touches your shoulder.
"Are you alright, Charlie?"
Your smile comes back as you nod. "Yeah, great."
"You don't look it," she tells him as her face contorts with worry.
You let yourself frown. "Don't really feel it either."
"Should we go back to Jack?" You want to scream at her. You want to tell her he can't help, but how do you admit it without admitting what's really wrong. "Charlie?"
"Just the flu," you lie to her again. You smile at her again and you let her talk to you until you've forgotten why you were feeling so rotten to begin with.
Finis