"What do you think about this, Helmert?" Charlie paced the room, carefully avoiding thinking about what made him pacing in the first place. Helmert didn't answer. This mostly was because Helmert was a fountain pen.
Charlie circled his room about fifteen more times. The news distressed him, more than he was willing to admit. "Olga, what should I do?" Being a cell phone charger, Olga could not do much, but she flashed a silent response. "You're right. I should grovel."
He sighed, and let his shoulders down. Crouched, he sat down on his bed, only to jump right up again. "We can't mope around waiting for someone else to make our decisions, Kurt." The bed just bounced a bit, and went back to its regular posture at the side of the room.
"That's what we did the last time, and look where that led us!" Jenny, the poster, just looked at him with one eyebrow raised. That would be, if posters could raise their eyebrows. Now it was just hanging on the wall as usual. "Don't look at me in that manner. I'm sorry, okay?"
Charlie paced, and paced. Then he paced a little bit more. "Am I hurting you? I'm sorry Paul." Contrary to his statement he continued pacing, as if the pain of the rug didn't move him at all. It probably did not, since the rug bore signs of heavy usage. He had been distracted, caught in his own thoughts for almost two days now.
Suddenly Charlie stopped, and pumped his fist. "I can do this, Miriam. You guys," he said, surveying all his furniture. "I'm going back to Switzerland. Jeanne won't get rid of me that easily. I'm hers, if she still wants me."
Someone knocked at the door. Charlie didn't hear a thing. Two days without eating and sleeping finally overwhelmed him.