The small statue was right there, sitting in front of him, within arm's reach. He knew that he could crack it open and greedily, hungrily, take the prize inside of it in a matter of milliseconds, and he found that in the recesses of his mind, he wanted to, needed to even. Despite the fact that he had worked so hard, so effortlessly, to free himself from the need to use the drug, he couldn't resist the power that it still held over him, even after what he had gone through on the island. He thought nothing of the last month: surely it was only a figment of his imagination that he had gone as long as he did without giving in to his secret desires.
But as he thought back to the brief moment with Claire, he realized his addiction was no joke. If in such a brief moment, the longing was able to overpower him with such ease, what kind of man was he? Was that the reason for which Claire got so angry at him?
Charlie picked up one of the rocks nearest where he sat and threw it lazily at the miniature version of the Virgin Mary. The stone skimmed right past the side of her head, clipping a part of the white painted plaster off the veil. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration at not even being able to hit a target, but his feelings were quickly discarded as a voice behind him saying his name brought him back to reality.
"Charlie?"
The Australian accent was anything but foreign to him. He spun around, twisting his back to catch sight of a petite woman in an oversized black shirt, her dark shorts just visible.
"Yeah?" he asked, the eager need to please her glowing through his words.
Claire paused for a moment, not wanting to ruin the civil moment between them. She looked around, trying to find something else that she could say, not wanting to confront him about his addiction. A display of anger, confusion, and hurt crossed her face when she saw the figurine.
"John is looking for you," she said scornfully, not dodging the subject. "He says that it's important."
"Locke?" Charlie reiterated, perplexity crossing his face. "Did he say why?"
But Claire had already turned and walked away, unwilling to look at the man she had once trusted, the man who had just recently lied to her, breaking all bonds of trust between the two. He twirled back to look at the statue, staring straight into the beady black eyes that should have been offering comfort, yet were only bringing him pain.
Without letting himself think for a moment, he grabbed a rock off the ground once more, whipping it at the woman's form. The glass pieces shattered with a sharp crack, bathing the ground with shards of multi-colored glass. The small bags of heroin flooded out, all unharmed. Charlie leaned forwards and grabbed one, tucking it into the heel of his shoe, longing for the sweet relief once again.