"You lied to me, Charlie."
Her words echoed in his head as he stared down at the brown baggy in his hand. It was only one baggy out of God only knew how many more he had stashed around the jungle. For the first time in months, he had nothing holding him back. There was nothing left for him to return to. No reason for him to fight his craving, his need.
"Look, I can't have you around my baby, okay?"
He closed his eyes trying to block out the words that had shattered his fragile little world. His hand clenched into a fist around the baggy of heroin as he brought both hands up to cover his ears. But the words wouldn't go away. He had managed to screw things up without even realizing it.
"Charlie, I don't want you sleeping anywhere near us, okay?"
The statue was just a reminder. A reminder that he was clean and intended to stay as such. That is, he had intended to stay clean for Claire and Aaron's sake. But he didn't have them anymore. She didn't want anything to do with him.
"Just go."
When his eyes reopened and his hands dropped to his lap, darkness covered him. His torch had long since burned out leaving him in the pitch black and alone with his small stash of Virgin Mary statues and their contents. The baggy in his hand spilled its contents onto his palm, having been ruptured from his tight grip.
Sad, empty eyes stared at the powder. His salvation but at the same time his damnation. Why shouldn't he do it? What did he have left to live for? Being an outcast in the world was one thing but being an outcast on the island was another. He was sure that by now the news of what happened had spread to everybody. He was also sure that they'd all back Claire's choice. She had her baby to think of, after all.
"Can't have a junkie hanging around the tot." He thought, ruefully. "How did this happen?" He asked the darkness. "Why me?" He whispered not expecting an answer.
"Because they do not respect you nor will they ever." Came a voice from the darkness.
His eyes widened as he struggled to stand. He didn't recognize the voice. The baggy and the powder dropped to the ground in his haste, forgotten. "Who...who's there?" He struggled to calm his racing heart.
"You are nothing in their eyes." A different voice spoke, this time from directly in front of him. "They have more respect for the seaweed that washes up on the beach." The new voice had a vague Jamaican accent to it.
He swallowed hard, stumbling backward away from the voice but tripping over a downed tree. "How do you know that?" Sweat beaded upon his forehead and above his upper lip.
"We know all that goes on here." The first voice spoke again and something sparked. A man appeared out of the darkness holding a torch.
The second man stepped into the light of the torch. "We are soldiers of the island." He answered, simply.
He stared from his place on the ground. It was obvious that these two men weren't from camp so that could mean only one thing... "The others." He whispered. "You're them...apart of them, aren't you?"
"Others..." Both men shifted closer. "Yes." The first man answered and shifted his torch to the side to get a better look at Charlie. "We have been watching you."
"Watching me...why?" He was beginning to feel the onset of panic. This couldn't be good.
"Because...you are like us." The second man stated as crouched down and pulled out one of the hidden statues. He turned it over in his hands. "You are an outcast now. Your friends have abandoned you. We wish to help you." He passes the statue to the other man.
"The...They haven't abandoned me!" He shot towards the second man with the accent.
"Then why are you out here, all alone?" The second man asked as he tucked the statue into a bag that hung off his crude belt. "Why did the woman make you leave?"
"Charlie, I don't want you sleeping anywhere near us, okay?"
He gritted his teeth when the memory of her words assaulted him once again. "How did you know about that?" The panic was beginning to fade. These two didn't seem to be a threat. They didn't even have any weapons that he could see. Now he was just feeling wary.
"I am called Rio and this Jax." The accented man motioned towards the man holding the torch. He didn't bother answering the question.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. "Charlie." He heard himself saying without hesitation. "What do you want from me?"
"We want you to help us." Jax replied as shifted the torch towards the direction of the beach camp.
"The boy must not be found. The island will not allow it." Rio kept his eyes on Charlie.
"The boy?" He wracked his mind trying to figure out who he was speaking of. "Michael's kid? Walt?"
"We want you to observe the father and tell us of his actions. We will meet you here every three rotations of the sun." Jax turned his attention back to the conversation.
He just stared at them. "You want me to spy on them?" He whispered.. "Are you crazy? They're my friends!"
"They are not but you need proof of this. Tonight when you return, no one will invite you to share their fire nor will they share the days food with you. That will be your proof then you will help us." Rio stated as he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared into the inky blackness without a sound.
Jax placed his hand into his bag and pulled out a small metal object and handed it to Charlie when he passed. He stuck the torch into the ground beside the burnt one before turning towards the younger man. "You will need that tonight. The ocean air is turning cool." Then he was gone just like Rio.
He looked down at the object and held it up into the torch light. "A lighter..." He pulled the torch out of the ground and made his way back towards the camp.
He stopped at the edge of the jungle and eyed the flickering fires and laughing faces. He needed to prove them wrong. Fingers tightened around the torch as he moved between the fires, head held high. He reached the waters edge with not even a hello or where you been? His eyes clouded over with pain and truth. They were right.
Turning towards the people he had once considered friends, he let his eyes drift over each person. Finally he made his way to the farthest edge of their camp. He gathered some nearby dried pieces of driftwood into a pile. He plunged the torch into the sand and brought the lighter down, flicking it open. He snapped it twice before the wood caught and a small fire appeared. He placed the lighter into his pocket and wrapped his arms around himself. The wind was, indeed, cooler than it had been. His stomach grumbled but no one ventured near. His mind was made up and his eyes searched for Michael, spotting him sitting with Hurly and Locke. His eyes narrowed but never moved from the other man.
Somewhere in the back of his mind the rational part of him was warring to get out. It was trying to tell him that these were his friends and the others couldn't be trusted. But he ignored it. He had his proof just like Rio had said.
Authors Note
Ok, this is my first Lost story so go easy on me. I know that it prolly isn't the best in the world but blame my muse. It's his fault for mating with the plot bunny running around in my head since Wednesday. This story is a result of their union. Muse + Plot Bunny This story!