Instead he said, “Let’s go,” and licked the pads of his fingers, extinguishing the smoldering edge of the blunt between them. She watched, dark eyes solemnly following his motions, as he slid what remained into the breast pocket of his jacket, tucking it securely against his chest.
“Let’s,” she agreed, and slid her arm through his, leading him back to the house.
* * *
YOU’RE AN ADULT, CHARLOTTE, ACT LIKE ONE.
Is it for attention? Haven’t we given you enough of that by now?
Look at your sister, Charlotte, look at Madeline. She has a life, a family, a good job. You can’t be irresponsible like this forever. What are you trying to prove? This man, whoever he is, did you bring him here to upset me? To upset us, is that it? He’s rude, he’s here in our home and hardly giving us the time of day, and where’s Marc? Did you break up already? I keep telling you, Charlotte, you have to act like an adult if you want to be in an adult relationship. Not everything is about you, what you want, what you feel. That’s what it means to grow up and realize there are other people in the world besides yourself.
Of course we don’t like him. Why would we? He’s weird, Charlotte, look how strange he is. Is he hanging around you for money? I hope you haven’t promised him anything. No, don’t get upset, don’t get hysterical again, we’re just trying to protect you. Which we’ve always done, haven’t we? But you’ve kept this up long enough, Charlotte. Are you taking your medications, seeing your doctor like we asked?
I know you’re not stupid. That’s the worst part, Charlotte, I know how smart you are. I know what you could be, but you waste it, don’t you? You waste your potential with tantrums like this, rebelling for no reason. Him? He’s nothing, Charlotte! You want to settle down with someone with no goals, no nothing? I know you don’t. I know you, and I know this game, and I’m tired of it.
He’s your friend, yes, you said that. Okay fine, choose better friends then. Marc may not be our favorite person in the world but at least he takes care of you, he can support you and yet here you are, jeopardizing that as if it’s nothing. Does he know you’ve brought some other man to this party? Does he even know this man? This … I don’t care what his name is, he barely looks at us, Charlotte! It’s as if we’re not even here, and now you’re making a scene— You are, Charlotte. You are. You’ve always done this. You insist that you’ve changed and yet here you are, making the same mistakes. What was the name of that artist? Him, yes, another of your terrible ideas. This is what happens when you throw your life away for men who are lost, no ambition, no drive. At least Marc has a job, a real job. You can build a life with someone like him, Charlotte. I can see you’re going to do something stupid now, aren’t you, something reckless? Of course you are, see how well I know you? Fine. Ruin your life then, Charlotte, let your father throw money at your problems and see if it does anything for you. See how well I know you; how I know, even now, what you’re thinking?
I know you, Charlotte. I know you so well that I can ring in your head even when I’m gone, even when you’re smoking with your weird little mathematician in the backyard of this enormous fucking house, I know you can hear me. I know you can feel me, feel my disappointment in you, feel it all unfurling in your bones while you touch the blessed shape of his irreverent mouth and wonder if this voice in your head is crueler for being yours or mine. He doesn’t behave like he should, Charlotte, you’re doing yourself no favors, you’re doing him no favors, fuck, don’t even get me started on Marc. You’re making a mess, you’re flailing around like usual, did you take your pills? Did you hold them in your hands, cradle them between the lines of your palms and let them remind you how ill you are, how sick, how desperate?
Not even the weed can possibly dull it, me, everything from your senses. You still hear me like the blood rushing in your ears, feel me like the buzzing of your fingers. Feel the sparseness of everything his lips have brushed, the vastness of everywhere his touch has never been. Oh, maybe I’m wrong about him, maybe you can comfort yourself with that, but I’m never wrong about you. You want him to want you, don’t you? You want to feel him like an anchor, like a weight. You want all of him dragging you down, binding you to something. You want him to pull you close like this, like this dance which is not a dance but is more of a dance than anything you’ve ever done with anyone, but you don’t even know the steps, do you, Charlotte? His hands are on your waist, and how many other hands have been there, or there, or there? Try to hide it, you can’t, he’ll see through you. Everyone sees through you. Everyone sees through you and on the other side of you is the way life looks without you, and inevitably they will run straight for it with relief.