Fuckn' Teenage Tragedy

@chris-wolfe-blog

I'm sorry but I'd rather be getting high than watching my family die

3 posts

thecharlottereed-deactivated201

Charlotte was brimming with emotion, which didn’t happen often. She didn’t like it. Emotional outbursts only projected weakness and instability, which was why she usually channeled her aggression into getting what she wanted instead. But at this point—with the way things now were—what was the point? She’d never have her old life back. She had no life; she was dead. All any of them were left with were the broken shards of a mirror world. One where anything and everything that happened from then on out would be inconsequential. With nothing left to strive for, it didn’t matter if anyone was there to watch her explode. It had been one of the first decent things she’d done in god knows how long and her only reward was an eternal residence in purgatory. Nothing about this was fair, and she planned on making damned sure he knew it.

If not Chris, she wouldn’t have anyone left to blame save herself, but that wasn’t an idea she was willing to entertain anytime soon. Perhaps subconsciously, she knew it had been unintentional. That maybe he hadn’t even seen her fall after him. But something about that version of the story left her even more dissatisfied. Without anyone to blame, she had no way of seeking justice; her death would be excusable and go and unavenged. And where would that leave her? Perpetually alone and stuck in high school? This place might not have been hell, but it couldn’t be too far from it.

She wasn’t sure if it was his calm demeanor or his complete denial of having and knowledge on the topic, but it only set her off even more. Of course there wasn’t much to expect. Nothing he could do now would restore things to their rightful order or even begin to make up for what he did to her, but the least he could have done was apologize or admit that it was his fault. This bullshit with pretending to have no idea of what she was even talking about reeked of cowardice. Her scowl deepened as he motioned for her to settle down. If she had been closer, she’d have undoubtedly smacked his hand away, but as it was, her fists remained balled up at her sides. “Don’t play dumb with me. We were both there that night, and unless you somehow went blind and deaf both at once, you can’t just pretend you had no part in any of it.” Clearly, he was too ashamed of his own actions to own up to them without some prompting. As he should have been. If not for Chris, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.

"No." His words had her shaking her head furiously, already beginning to talk over him for lack of interest in any argument he could give her. "No, don’t try turning this around on me or trying to act like I give a shit about calling you a terrible son." That was beginning to delve further into emotional affairs than Charlotte wanted to get. A long time ago she’d known the little boy he once was along with his parents. She’d done a lot of nasty things, but going that far below the belt wasn’t what she had intended. He had to have known that, just as he was feigning his innocence. If he thought trying to guilt her for her accusation would make her back off, he was wrong. "This has nothing to do with your mom and everything to do with you and me. You’re selfish because you knew I was there on the bridge too that night! I called out for you and you still ignored me. If you wouldn’t have jumped after I tried pulling you back, we’d both still be alive, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you’d kill us both, because it’s all about you!”

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Chris was absolutely baffled by Charlotte. He was stunned beyond comprehension. All the adjectives and none of the understanding of why. Who knew that someone who used to be so sweet and innocent could be saying the things she was saying, and worse, really meaning them. "I'm the one playing dumb?" He scoffed. "Then you must really be daft because, Sweetie," He lingered on the pet name, making sure it was patronizing enough for her. "When you're about to commit suicide, you're really not thinking all that much about anything around you. Why? Because none of that fucking matters once you've kicked the bucket." Chris' hands settled on his hips, but for no more than a couple of seconds as they were animated not a short while after, waving them around incoherently as he spoke. "Even if I did believe you, that I had something to do with you winding up here, you don't think I would have confronted you? Possibly to gloat in your face, torment you, or even apologize?" The truth was that it wold have been the latter. He was a complete jerk, contrary to the tone that he spoke to her currently with. He would never wish upon the early and undeserved death of another person, not in a million years.

"No?" His face scrunched up in distaste to show the shock and disbelief in her denial. "You know what? I don't actually think you do give a shit about calling me a terrible son, and that's what makes you—well, kind of a bitch."

"Whoah," Chris' eyes widened, and then he was taking a few slow steps backwards. His hands were raised in mock surrender. "Looks like we've found our winner. Miss Charlotte Reed, the Head cheerleader truly is that selfish." He really couldn't believe it, there she was again, making it out to be like everything was about her.

And then she was saying more, revealing more about her side of the story. The longer he let her go on without interrupting the more he was able to fit together. "You have got to be kidding me." He finally said, mouth agape.

"Shit."

Chris was too shocked, surprised, and in disbelief to try to explain to her that he hadn't intended to pull her over the rail that day. He let her continue to yell at him, because at this point, the weight of it all was crashing way to heavily upon him. Her voice was beginning to sound like like it was being funneled through a tube, under a blanket, and away from him.

Go figure, Charlotte was his fucking angel.

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thecharlottereed-deactivated201

Everything about this new world was remarkably familiar—same places, same weekly routine—yet there was only one thought running though Charlotte’s head as she doodled throughout the dull history lecture. I shouldn’t be here. But that much was obvious. The sole reason they were all there was because they had passed before their time was up. At least, that was the primary concept of purgatory. For her, however, it felt as if a great injustice had been done. She’d had everything going for her, a life one could only hope to have from the outside, and one good act stole it all away from her. For as long as she could remember, she had only ever looked out for number one, and was now left with a bitter reminder of why. Life—death, too, apparently—wasn’t fair. Give someone an inch and they’d walk all over you. Charlotte had been on both sides and knew it was far better to hurt others than to sit on your hands and wait for them to do the same. If she had stuck to her usual method of operation, she wouldn’t have been here, encircled by a horde of brain-dead simpletons, waiting through a lecture she was sure to hear many times over during her stay. If any of this were real or pertained to her future in the least, she would have stuck around without complaint, but she didn’t have a future now, did she? Besides, she could only think of one thing at the moment, and it certainly wasn’t this class.

Chris. Christopher? Whatever he was going by these days, he was the one to blame for her demise. She’d called after him multiple times that fateful night, had a fistful of his jacket and attempted to pull him out of harm’s way. He’d known she was there, that someone was trying to help, but selfishly wasted her efforts and killed them both. And what for? How could any of this possibly be better than whatever he had been trying to escape? For weeks now, Charlotte had been stewing, observing him from afar and imagining confronting him many times over. Even now, she was unsure of what she would say once she finally met with him face to face, but halfway through the class an all-too-familiar face passed by the hall window, and she was already rising from her seat without a second thought. “Just going to the bathroom.” She waved the teacher off with a hand before he was able to say anything. If the fact that she brought her bag along with her struck him as odd, he didn’t show it. Once she made it out into the hallway, she had to start power walking. With Chris no longer in sight, sprinting might have been a better alternative, but accomplishing that in four-inch heels would be something of a miracle. It took her longer than she’d have liked to get back on his trail, but at this point she wasn’t relenting until she got the chance to talk to—or yell at—him.

By the time he seemed to be slowing down, Charlotte was steaming. Ten blocks. She had counted ten blocks, which, if she were alive would have likely left her feeling as if her legs were going to fall off. Instead, it only fueled her irritation. She was working her way over to his spot on the bench when he began to sit back up unexpectedly, making her jump back. The element of surprise had been in her favor before, buying her time to consider her words before approaching him. But he saw her first—and remembered her? No. Everyone knew who she was, that shouldn’t have been that surprising.

She stood there wordlessly for a moment before her fury returned tenfold. “Don’t pretend to be so surprised. You’re the reason I’m here!” Childishly, she stomped one foot down, twisting her heel in the grass to accentuate her words. “This is all your fault! I get that you never had a life, but if you hadn’t been so fucking selfish, I’d still have mine.”

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The way that she spewed the words at him would have made one think it might have been easier to swallow considering the rapid ease at which she did so; however, the opposite was much more the reality. It was easy to latch onto the words but the trick was the process of understanding them, because at the first verbal assault she hurled at him none of it was making any sense. Now his initial reaction was not bothered by what she was saying to him but it was much rather the shock of her presence, standing there in plain sight staring at him; that was bothering him. First reactions went as far as considering he had passed through to hell and the Queen Bee of his former high school was there to taunt him for another eternity. Though the ridiculousness and idiocy of that theory passed as a fleeting thought and was soon replaced with the sickly feeling that could have only been the product of the reality of his situation; the reality of why he was here, why anyone was here, and why she had to be here.

When her words had finally processed they hit with the backing force of a thousand slaps to the face. He felt his cheeks burn in both anger and some strange form of embarrassment, or perhaps guilt? But what could he be guilty for? He was an innocent in some weird universe, he was someone who didn’t deserve another life of suffering, or maybe he did. After all he was the one who had wound up in the hospital bed hooked up to tubes and needles, it was him not his dad, it wasn't the way it should have been.

Chris couldn’t believe what Charlotte was accusing him of because she was, in all her raging glory, blaming him for being here, which therefore meant she blamed him for her death. Which he could only conclude for himself that she was crazy and must have went through some psychotic break before offing herself, that or someone was forced to act upon what was necessary in her streak of absolute insanity. Whatever it was he knew he couldn’t be the reason. Chris raised his hands and started making a motion of patting the air in her direction. “Firstly, could you slow down?” His voice was at the moment calm. He didn’t know for how long he would be able to keep an even temper but he wasn’t about to bet any money on it. “So what you’re saying right now—what you’re implying is that I in some way had a part in your death? I’m going to go right out and reject that now because I didn’t know you were here and so couldn’t have had anything to do with well, you being here. So explain to me how one commits homicide without any knowledge neither before the supposed act is committed nor after.” He said, his brows raising in a challenging manner.

Just when he felt that their confrontation wasn’t about to go above the hostile marker she went out and threw even more tasteful accusations his way. At her word ‘Selfish’ every part of him that was holding back his possibly catastrophic emotions let go and he lost it. “Selfish?! Are you really going to call me selfish? Don’t you dare pull that on me when you’re the girl who used and abused anything and anyone that could get you higher up that stupid social ladder. If you want to talk about selfish we can talk about you because I’m sure you’d love that.” His tone was crude but he was hurt and when he was hurt the worst came out of him. “Don’t think for a second that a boy who loved his mother to the point where he’d do anything for her was so selfish that he killed himself and leave her alone.” Chris could feel his words breaking at his throat, he didn't mean to say that out loud, so he choked them down and stopped there. He only glared at her with his teeth clenched and jaw tightened.

Depression was not selfishness.

It was only ten minutes into third period and Chris couldn't take it. The sound of chalk on the blackboard tap tap tapping after each finished letter combined with the droning voice of the teacher was almost enough to put him into a coma. A coma in purgatory, he wondered silently to himself about what that would be like. Certainly better than his current state of rest—or should he say lack there off. Apparently even death wasn't an escape from the torture he and many others called school. Without much hesitation Chris grabbed his board from beneath his desk and slung his backpack over his right shoulder. "Class isn't finished, Mr Wolfe." Said the teacher at the front, monotone and detached. Her tone betrayed any intent of caring about the matter and yet still she made the effort to disrupt the lesson. Chris paused a moment to turn to her, shrug, and then promptly leave through the door. He would neither be missed or penalized for leaving. Most of the students hadn't even batted an eye; which made him wonder why they didn't leave more often, and then he wondered why he even bothered to show up at all.

Outside the sky loomed grey overhead just as it had the other day, and the day before that, and so on. In fact, Chris wasn't yet set on the idea that days even passed, for what was defined as a day in purgatory? If this was eternity what was the point of counting? On his way out Chris grabbed for the cigarette that he had earlier tucked in his back pocket before coming to school. It was slightly bent and out of shape but it wasn't something to concern himself with, especially when it wasn't really a cigarette. Chris lit it and watched the white burn to a blunt black before inhaling, exhaling, and then letting it hang gingerly between his lips. It certainly looked like the ones he'd gotten addicted to not many living years ago, but it lacked every defining feature a real cigarette possessed, all but the physical features. When he inhaled and exhaled smoke billowed as any normal cigarette would but what he felt inside was nothingness, something very similar to the perpetual state he was currently in. It—like everything else here—was empty and full of deceiving promises. In this damned world what you saw was likely not what you would get. Everything here was eerily familiar but devoid of the authenticity of life. It was a drab and lackluster world of one once known.

After walking for a solid ten blocks with his board under his arm, Chris found an isolated spot separate from the dead panned townspeople out for their daily walks. He continued off the path and onto the field, past the trees, and to the far corner where a bench nestled between two bushes. He dropped his board on the ground and plopped his bag next to it. Instead of sitting down he stubbed out his cigarette before laying down on the bench with his knees bent upwards. As he was about to close his eyes he heard a noise, which was unmistakably the sound of feet on grass, so he sat back up. "You know, despite this calm demeanor I don't take lightly to those who follow me." He was in the process of turning around when he spoke.

Chris' eyes grew wide at what he found standing not more than five feet away from him. If he hadn't been awake earlier he sure as hell was now. "...Charlotte?"

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