Quiet Desperation
A/N: Well, this was intended to be a one shot, but then I found that I liked the idea of Charlie and Sawyer living together 'for some odd kind of comfort' so much that I started thinking maybe I could carry on. I have one more chapter after this, but I must warn you, this isn't a happy story and most likely, wont have a happy ending.
Oh, and there's one swear word in this chapter. Also, my spell check isn't working, so, although I have tried my best to weed out all the spelling errors, I may have let some slip through. If so, please tell me and I'll correct it.
Part TwoCharlie's throwing up in the bathroom when Sawyer arrives home, which is his first clue that Charlie's on another one of his getting clean kicks.
Every couple of months, Charlie stops cold turkey. Sawyer used to wonder why he bothered, seeing as he only ever lasts a few days, but it didn't take long for him to figure out that Charlie wasn't actually trying to quit. He'd just found a new way to torture himself, to punish himself for leaving her behind.
Charlie once told Sawyer that quitting is dangerous. It can make your body go into shock and then everything shuts down. Charlie also told him that quitting really does feel like dying, and Sawyer figures that Charlie would know.
So Sawyer's not surprised when Charlie stumbles out of the bathroom, pale and shaking, eyes bloodshot, glistening with a feverish film of sweat, looking as though he's suffering from some kind of terminal illness.
"Giving up, huh?" Sawyer asks vaguely, popping the cap off of a beer.
"Shut up," Charlie mumbles as he collapses down on the couch, curling his knees up to rest his head on.
Sawyer shuts up.
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Sawyer wakes up with a girl in his bed and he can't remember her name. She looks like Kate though. Not as much as the last girl, but her hair is almost the exact same shade, and, with her face turned away from him like it is, he can imagine. Only for a moment though, before he remembers how dangerous this kind of thinking can be.
Sawyer gets up, feeling the vague thumping of a hangover, and goes to search for another drink. He doesn't look at the girl when she leaves.
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Days go by and Charlie's back on the heroin. Good. Sawyer's sick of the bathroom stinking of vomit.
Charlie plays his guitar for hours without ever playing a full song. He doesn't write down lyrics or chords, he just lets his fingers move over the strings and loses himself in whatever music comes out. Sometimes he plays songs that Sawyer recognises, other times Sawyer figures it's songs that Charlie's written himself. Once Charlie played Strawberry Fields Forever over and over for almost an hour until Sawyer told him to shut it.
Every now and then, Sawyer has to remind Charlie to eat something or have a shower. Sometimes Sawyer thinks living with Charlie is like living with a child, but then there are the nights when Charlie drags Sawyer up the stairs and puts him to bed so that he doesn't stay passed out on the sidewalk, or, on the odd occasion that Charlie actually leaves the appartment and accompanies Sawyer to a bar, talks his way out of fights that Sawyer picks with men twice his size.
The two of them are in this together. They look after each other, because neither of them is looking after themselves.
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Sawyer and Charlie watch informercials all night, the only light coming from the flickering television set.
Sometimes Charlie rings up and orders things that they both know they'll never use. Normally Sawyer lets him because who gives a damn anyway? But tonight Sawyer stops him from ordering the set of knives that can cut through tin, and then changes the channel.
"What d'you need them for anyway?" Sawyer asks.
Charlie just shrugs.
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Hurley visits but it's stilted and awkward. He doesn't know what to say, how to talk to these people who were once his friends, how to reach through the layers of heroin and glaze of alcohol.
Sawyer watches him pause in the doorway upon entering, gazing uncertainly around the trashed apartment before setting his eyes on Charlie. Sawyer knows that Hurley's scared because he can see his own fear in Hurley's eyes. They both think that Charlie's going to die, but neither of them knows what to do.
When the silence reaches breaking point, Hurley extends his hand as if to touch Charlie's arm as a way of comfort, but recoils at the mess of track marks.
Hurley bites his lip.
"Claire wouldn't want this," he says softly, pleadingly.
Suddenly the room is frozen, as if the air has become solid ice, as if Hurley has broken a spell. He said the magic word that both Sawyer and Charlie have vowed never to say. Even Hurley notices the change and has time to back up before Charlie explodes.
The coffee table flies halfway across the room, spraying cigarette butts everywhere, and Charlie's screaming and ranting in unintelligible words, throwing empty bottles at the walls, at Hurley, until Sawyer tackles him and they both crash to the floor with a crunch of broken glass, then Charlie's sobbing and throwing punches, fighting to get away, while Sawyer struggles to pin his arms and hold him down.
"Damnit Hugo!" Sawyer yells over the ruckus, "Just fuck off!"
Hurley looks momentarily taken aback by Sawyer's harsh words, but his horror at Charlie's breakdown quickly overshadows it. He hesitates, obviously wanting to help.
"Just go," Sawyer growls, valiantly trying to keep his hold on Charlie, "I can handle it."
Hurley turns and flees, and Sawyer sits on the floor for another two hours, holding Charlie tight so that he can't hurt himself, until he calms down enough to take a hit and sink down on the couch in a drug-induced stupor.
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Hurley doesn't come back and Sawyer prefers it this way. He lets alcohol's tuneless lullabies sing him into a black trance, while Charlie mindlessly strums a D chord over and over. This is how Sawyer likes it. Just him and Charlie, living out their existance as if the rest of the world barely exists.