Author's Note: So, here's the second chapter for you guys. The last flashback definitely shows a different side of Chris you may not see for a while. Or maybe you will, it depends. Heh. Please read and review, because like I said, I thrive on criticism. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lost, however the characters of Christopher Darwin, Arlene, and Mandy belong to me, as well as minor flashback characters. Lost is owned by ABC.

One week on the island, and I was more than ready to be rescued. In fact, most people were, but there was the odd exception. Still, people were looking to build shelter, scour for food, and search for drinking water. Personally, I wanted no part of it, because there was no way they wouldn't be able to find us, the pilot must have given our location over the black box, although rumors said otherwise. I didn't let that get to me, though. This island was probably huge and for all we knew on the other side there was a small village or something and they could get us help.

But, I still had no part of it, because there was no point. I spent most of my time just sitting on the beach, trying to relax. I still had no word from Arlene, but Mandy did come over to try and talk to me, unfortunately.

"Hey, Chrissy." For some reason, I had acquired the nickname 'Chrissy' from the others. "How are ya?"

"The usual," I merely said, "really enjoying being on a deserted island."

That was usually the length of our conversations, because my sarcasm would get to her. I didn't mind, she was an annoying kid, and I didn't want to talk to her anyway. "Oh," she said, and paused for a few moments before continuing. "Why do you act like that?"

"Like what?" I responded, adjusting myself on the sand.

I heard faint footsteps and the sloshing of pants, before a quiet 'huff'. She was sitting next to me, I could feel the sleeve of her t-shirt rubbing against my bare arm. "Sarcastic. That, and antisocial. People are getting worried about you, they think you might have become depressed since the crash."

"I'm not depressed," I informed her, quickly becoming defensive.

She snickered at that. "Right," she said bluntly, "because there's nothing depressive about sitting on a beach all day without saying a word. Nobody knows who you are."

"I don't plan on living on this island all my life, and as soon as we're rescued, we all go our separate ways. Why should I make friends?" I asked her, beginning to sound bitter.

"Haven't you heard about--"

"—What, the black box? I don't believe it, there's no way we could have miraculously landed on an unchartered island."

She didn't say anything after that, I probably annoyed her too much with my bitterness, but everything I said was true. No point in making friends with people you'll never see again.

I sat in my apartment for about a week after the incident in the restaurant. I didn't answer the door (they were probably all Jehovah's, anyway), pick up the phone (no point in talking to bill collectors), and only ate the canned foods in my pantry, although I ran out of most of it halfway through the week, so I was starving.

It was just past 11 when there was a knock at my door. In usual fashion, I just remained on the couch, withering away. The knocking continued for a few seconds and it really started to try my patience, but I still remained in my seat. After the excessive knocking ended, I figured they had given up and gone away, realizing I don't want to be prepared for the apocalypse. I was already facing it.

My wishes, however, were not entirely fulfilled, when I heard my doorknob rattling. That brought the list of people down to it being my mother, my landlord, or a burglar with a hairpin. I rolled my eyes and closed them. Maybe pretending to sleep would give me a reason as to why I didn't answer the door. Of course, it didn't, and my mother walked in. "Where the hell have you been?" she shouted as the door swung open. Surprise, surprise: she was mad at me. That was truly unusual.

"Here," was all I managed to respond to her with. I hadn't spoken to anybody in about a week, and my voice was hoarse from that. Now I knew how mimes felt, at least.

"I figured that, but why are you here? You haven't answered the phone, the door, or gone in to work for a week. We're starting to get worried." She spoke as if she knew what was going on, but she forgot to mention I hadn't cleaned, bathed, shaved, changed my clothes, or brushed my teeth, either. But I'd let her have her moment. "How's Cassandra?" she asked.

"Could care less," I responded, towards the second question. I highly doubted they were worried about me; they were just worried I wasn't there to do their housework.

"So is she what this is all about?"

I made a noise, one I can't really describe, and rolled over on the couch, my face looking towards the coffee table next to it. The box was supposed to be there, but I wasn't entirely sure, since as soon as I came in, I had thrown it. It either hit a wall, or I had impeccable aim for a blind guy shooting at nothing in particular. "Look for yourself," I suggested after a moment or two.

She did. Slowly, her heels sounded towards me, I could hear her breathing heavily, as if she had just walked up twenty flights of stairs (which was odd, since I live on the first floor), and she looked at the table, just as I was. "Oh…" she merely said at first and reached towards the box. "Did she say no?" My mother didn't exactly sound surprised or upset for me. Figures.

"No," I said slowly. "She left without telling me. Up and left."

When my mother didn't say anything in response, I really lost my trust in women. I waited for her, but when nothing came I figured she had left, too.

To my (pleasant) surprise, Mandy had left me alone for a few hours and had yet to return. And to my other surprise, it made the day pass by a whole lot slower than I would have liked. As much of an annoying brat as she was, she had a knack to make the day go by. Of course, there's not much to do when you're stuck on a stupid island. And there's even less to do when you're stuck on a stupid island and can't see a thing on it. One my fears had become whether somebody would find out about my blindness or not. I had been blind for ten years by this point and the one thing I hated was when people thought I couldn't care for myself, like I was a baby.

If somebody had found out, I'd probably be stuck at camp all day, listening to the long, pointless speeches made by the doctor guy, who smelled like gin most of the time. Not exactly my kind of way to spend a day, but neither was sitting on the beach, feeling the water against my toes while I pondered of ways to get off the island.

My train of thought came to a screeching halt when I heard a voice that was slowly coming closer. "Come on, Paolo, let's go."

I turned my head, trying to acknowledge the person who was coming near me. "Yeah, I'm coming," came another voice, a guy's this time. "Why don't you ask this guy?" he continued.

The voices hushed, but not enough so I couldn't hear them, making these two complete idiots along with the whining Australian and the alcoholic doctor. I decided to call these two dumb and dumber.

"Why would I?" the girl responded with a quiet chuckle. "According to Sawyer, this guy doesn't talk. No point in trying."

I nearly burst out in laughter when she said that. I didn't talk? No, I spoke, but I didn't waste my breath with morons, unless they were Mandy, but even that was debatable.

"Hey, dude," the guy said—oh, how I loathed that word—despite the girl's decision not to, "have you seen any luggage around here?"

"Paolo!"

I snickered, not sure whether or not they could hear it, and answered, "nope, haven't seen much of anything."

"Told you, Nikki," the guy—Paolo—said with a laugh. "The guy can talk."

I didn't reply, I just pretended I couldn't hear them. Wouldn't want them to know their whispering skills were god-awful.

"Chris! Where've you been?"

I couldn't possibly count the number of times I was asked that the day I went back to work. Of course, they probably thought I was on a deserted island or something, considering I still smelled like I hadn't showered in a week (which I hadn't), I had yet to shave, and my clothes weren't exactly as fancy as they usually were. The only reason I had even bothered to go was because my mother came back and told me that she had received a call from my boss, wondering where I was.

To my surprise and regret, my mother told her everything. Like most people, I hated my boss, and the less she knew about my personal life, the better.

"Darwin," she said to me in the most formal voice she could. I stumbled into her office and felt around for a chair. I don't know why they still kept me around here, after I became blind I was promoted—or demoted, not sure yet—to 'research advisor'. Yeah, I don't know what the job entails, but sat at a desk and waited for people to ask me questions about what was going on. "Everything really slowed down when you went A.W.O.L."

I nodded slowly and looked down at the ground. Even though I couldn't see her, I didn't want to face her. "Yeah."

"Although, we are glad to have you back, you do have to know that what you did was extremely immature. And over a woman?" She snickered quietly at that. "Not like you at all."

I didn't want to hear this anymore. She had no right to reprimand me on my personal life. "Not at all, Ms. Widmore." God, I couldn't even stand up to her.

"It's Libby."

"Yeah…" I muttered, wishing she would just let me out of my misery and either fire me or let me get back to work.

"Go back to work," she instructed me, and of course, being the blob of jello I was when I was around her, I obeyed and left the room without another word.

God, I was an idiot.