It was meant to be temporary. You had been a waitress but due to the decline in patrons, you had been let go and you were looking for work, putting up your resume on the community boards. He called. Offered you the job. It wasnât a lot of money, and he apologized for that. But âhe just wanted to keep you out of trouble.â
Charlie Swan, the townâs sheriff. The one with the serious face and the bristled moustache.
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But as time went on, you started to see warmth. The way that he would help you put away the groceries that you picked up, even though he had been on the way out. The way he pre-rinsed his dishes at night so it wouldnât be too much work for you in the mornings - but also leave you just enough work to justify having you actually be there.
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Things grew comfortable. Things grew - almost unbearably domestic.
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You started cooking for him, once you realized that some of the produce you bought kept going bad because he would forget about it, and grab dinner at the diner instead. Heâd come home to tupperware in the fridge, filled with simple meals, and instructions on top, written on a post-it-note.
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Eventually that evolved, as things often did. Heâd come home rather than to the diner, so that he could eat your cooking while it was still fresh. And heâd demolish every single bite of it as if he never had anything tastier.
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Spring came. With it, the storms. Loud, lightning, thunder rolling. Sometimes you would stay over, because Charlie didnât want you driving on the roads. Sometimes heâd even stay with you, unless he was called out for an emergency.
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Summer came. Youâd bring him lunch in a picnic basket and youâd sit on the tables outside of the station, enjoying deviled eggs and ham sandwiches.
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Autumn came. The two of you sat over the dining table and carved pumpkins for the front porch. He dressed up as - well, a sheriff. You, in turn, dressed up as a maid. You got knowing glances from the parents of trick-or-treaters.
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Winter came. You were there more nights than not. Charlie attempted to help you with Christmas dinner. The mashed potatoes came out runny - while also being lumpy. You ate every bite.
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Eventually, your title started to change. Eventually, he stopped paying you and invited you to move in. You picked up shifts at a restaurant in Port Angeles, despite the drive. The maid costume - well, that might be used again one day, for other purposes.
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A sharp pain exploding in his temple finally woke Charlie up from his unconscious sleep. He let out a cry, his hands flying to his head as he let out a small groan.
It took him a good half hour to stand up and move into the bathroom. His legs shook as he slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the bathtub, gently running the antiseptic wipe along his skin. The pain.was.exruciating. By the end of it all, Charlie was sobbing crying. He missed Teddy. He wanted Teddy to look after his wounds. He wanted him to cook him dinner, to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay.
He bit down hard onto his hand, trying to muffle the next sob. Get over it get over it get over it-
He fished out some rolls of bandage and carefully wrapped the soft cotton around his knees.
âI suggest you get the fuck out of this town- even country, Char Char, itâs not safe for you,âÂ
Those words echoed through Charlieâs head. At this point, he felt like he had no other choice but to leave. The menâs constant âvisitsâ pretty much showed Charlie how serious they were about it. But where the hell was he going to go? He had nobody who could take him in.Â
Just then, there was a loud bang on the apartment door. Charlie sighed before slowly standing up, wincing as he got to his feet. As he entered the hall, he saw a piece of paper which had been slid underneath the door. Charlieâs eyebrows furrowed before he bent down and picked it up, making his way to the kitchen as he slowly unfolded it. He instantly stopped in his tracks, his eyes skimming over the words;
Leave by midnight, before you join Teddy.
Dread dripped in Charlieâs stomach, a sharp pain exploding in his temple. His hand shot out to grip onto the countertop. What would Teddy do?
He needed to get out of here, and fast. Charlie checked his watch, he had less than ten hours, better make it last. He looked around the apartment, tears filling his eyes;
âI donât want to go to school! The other kids are meannn!â
Teddy chuckled, lifting Charlie up so he sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, âWell then you just got to be mean back to them, hm? Don't you remember what I told you?â
âJab, jab, righthook, swingkick repeat!â Charlie giggled. Teddy beamed and ruffled the kidâs hair, âExactly! You do that and I promise those punks will leave you alone.â
The kidâs eyes sparkled as he looked up at his older brother, âAndâŚwh-what if they don't?â Teddy leant over and cupped his brotherâs cheek, smiling brightly brushing his thumb along his cheekbone, âThen you come to me and Iâll sort them out.â
The kid smiled brightly, clapping his hands before sighing, âI wish I was as cool like you, someday I will be!!!â Teddyâs smile quivered slightly, âNo kid, you don't want this lifeâŚâ His smile instantly came back as he clapped, distracting Charlie, âNow, let's make some cookies!!!â
Teddy was right, Charlie didnât want this life, not in the slightest. He quickly wiped a tear with his sleeve, taking a shallow breath, âNo use dwelling on the past,â He muttered, quickly pushing down any memories of this place. For now, he was in a shell. An empty cracked shell. A shell of himself-
---
He had only managed to step ten steps outside of his apartment before he was quickly knocked to the ground with a right hook. He groaned, curling in on himself before slowly opening his his, âWh-what the fuck?â
âGrab his backpack, Carlos ordered, Marco complying immediately. Charlie clutched onto his backpack tightly, wrapping the straps tight around his hands, âHe-hey no! You canât just do that!â Marco yanked on the bag as hard as he could but Charlie kept his tight grip. That was until the heavy weight of a gun was pressed to the side of Charlieâs head. He froze.
A warm breath cascaded along his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. âLet go of the bag, Char Char.â Charlie was trembling. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came. His eyes darted to meet Carlosâ cold face. His eyebrow raised and instantly Charlie let go.
Carlos smirked, not moving the gun just yet as he ruffled Charlieâs hair, âGood boy! See what happens when you just comply?â If Charlie wasnât trembling for dear life right now, he wouldâve given him the biggest eyeroll.
âClothes, snacks, sketchpad, matchsticks, switchblade-â Marco sighed, tossing Charlieâs belongings onto the pavement. Charlie scrambled to sit up but his attempts were soon cut off as Carlos slammed the gun hard across Charlieâs face, âAh, ah, ah, not so fast darlinâ,â Carlos smirked, dragging the cold muzzle of the gun along Charlieâs face, making the other cringe back, âWhatâs a pretty boy like you doing with a switchblade, hm?âÂ
Charlie whimpered, his voice completely lost. His eyes raised to the gun, his head pounding before he spoke, eyes meeting Carlos, âYouâŚYou said I ha-ad till midnight. âm t-two hours earlyâŚâ
Carlos chuckled, âOh yes yes, but you see, we weren't just going to let you off and running without us saying our farewells!!!â Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, âPle-pleaseâŚYouâve done enough.â Carlos let out a laugh before leaning in nice and close, âOh baby⌠weâve only just startedâŚâ
---
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Sir Charles and Maria strolled through the Chalet Gardens. Â She was charmed by the beautiful spring day and found her companion to be an excellent conversationalist. He was charming and well-read in politics and philosophy.
He told Maria a funny fraternity story from his days at the University of Britechester, and when her laughter finally subsided, she sighed happily.Â
âI must admit, Sir Charles, I am surprised by you. I didnât expect such thoughtfulness from someone so... well, rich.â
âSuch judgement.â Charles joked. âI am surprised by you.â
âOh, you know what I mean. Everything in your life has been so easy.â
âYou say that like its a bad thing.â
âWell, maybe it is.â Maria explained. âIâve worked hard my entire life, ever since I could walk. Itâs made me who I am.â
âHave my experiences not made me?â Sir Charles countered. âBesides, Maria, you must consider what motivations kept you working.â
He continued, âWhy does anyone work toward anything? To get rich, of course. To provide a life for their family that they never had. You donât want your daughters to struggle like you had to, right?â
Maria had never considered the lives of her children before -- she had only ever envisioned her life on singular terms. It was a good point though, to which she had no immediate counter.
Playfully, she changed the subject and walked on.
âDid you learn to trim your silly little mustache at university, as well?â
