To cute. I just wish She'd get the courage to tell him about Rob and what he's been doing to her.
Buckets of Rain Completed as of 10/8/09
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 Maysam |
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Posts: 582 (02/05/2009 9:46 AM) |
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ItalianHB |
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Posts: 2989 (02/05/2009 7:34 PM) |
awww they seriously are cute together - but she really really really needs to consider telling justin about what rob's doing to her... Heckwe don't
even know what rob's doing to her. Ican see that this wasnt the right moment. But i do hope that she tells him soon or else their relationship isnt going
to go very far.
Glad to see the story is back - post again soon!!! |
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insomniachollie |
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Posts: 38854 (02/07/2009 7:30 AM) Best Fan Fic Writer '08 |
Deary me... Mystic Hollie sees shit hitting the fan in the near future
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4565 (03/04/2009 4:23 AM) |
You guys are so logical. And occasionally psychic.
Twenty The air is full of lights and music, animated conversation alongside standard business pleasantries, people so glamorous and pristine looking they might as well be in a Norman Rockwell painting. And Charly couldn't feel more out of place if she tried. An arm snakes around her waist, his breath hot and low in her ear, and as hard as she tries to keep the smile from pulling at her lips, she can't. "You having fun yet?" "Barrels. I'm two steps away from challenging that homicidal looking guy in the other corner to a Thriller dance-off." Justin's nose wrinkles in distaste as he presses a kiss to her temple. "Please don't." She leans back against him so that he can rest his chin on the top of her head, lacing his fingers through her own. "What, you don't think I could win?" "I'm going to stealthily evade that question and ask you to dance with me...the regular way." "I don't you know if you realize, but my version of regular is kind of a mix between the Robot and the ninja dance." "The ninja dance?" "You know...go ninja go ninja go!" She bobs her head up and down, swinging his arms around a little, both of them looking utterly ridiculous. "C'mon...one dance." She glances up at him, eyes closing involuntarily as his mouth covers hers. "I'll even let you lead," he murmurs against her lips. "Tempting, but it'd be in your best interest to avoid looking like you're having an epileptic fit in front of your colleagues on my behalf." Charly shakes her head, a little nauseous at the idea of immersing herself in the crowd in front of them. Justin laughs, tugging her forward by the hand as she drags her heels behind him, determined to fight him all the way. "Trust me baby, you could literally have that seizure and I'd still come out looking like Fred Astaire." "Did you just name-check Fred Astaire? I think I'm a little bit in love with you right now." As soon as the words come out she stumbles, literally tripping over herself as he holds her steady, the two of them now in the center of the dance floor. One of his arms goes around her back as the other takes her free hand to hold. "I didn't mean that, like that...I just meant that...well you said Fred Astaire, and actually used him in the right context...and it was...I'm just really fucking surprised you even know who he is, or have room to remember in between that giant ass ego of yours." "Charly?" "What?" "Shut up, and relax." "Hi, have you met me?" Justin grins, happy to have her here, happy that despite all her griping she seems like she's enjoying herself. Well, maybe enjoying herself is stretching it a bit. As it is she looks mostly terrified and the shy to a degree he never thought she could be. She opted to spend most of her night near the buffet with Rachel and Trace, who have relocated to the open bar in the least surprising occurrence of the night. But even so, Charly's here, less tempestuous than usual, and smiling. Baby steps, he has to keep reminding himself. Baby steps. The song changes to a more recognizable tune, a slower tempo, and he can see her eyes light up because it's one she recognizes. "Oh now who's happy to be dancing?" "It's Van Morrison. Besides, I've been secretly standing on your feet for the last three minutes, so it's less dancing and more letting you move me around like those mules you load up to carry shit to places." Charly smirks proudly as a flash of surprise passes over Justin's features when he stares down at his feet to find she's telling the truth. "My mistake, then." ><><<br /> "Drew...can you hear me?" Charly hisses into the phone, hovering in the bathroom stall. "What are you, robbing a bank? Yes, I can hear you." Drew laughs, struggling to pry a coloring book from Dylan's stubborn fingers. "Kid, don't make me fight ya for it. I'll win." "Daddy, I don't wanna go to bed!" Dylan pouts, throwing herself into his arms. His free hand curls under her legs to keep her steady. "Too bad, shithead, it's way past your bedtime." Drew pushes the phone to Dylan's ear, the child's expression brightening immediately. "But Momma I'm awake! Are you home?" Some guilt settles in the pit of Charly's stomach at the question. "Not yet. Tomorrow night, I'll be home, I promise." "I miss you, Momma." "I miss you too, sugar." One more time, she re-thinks this trip. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave Dylan with Drew for three days. Granted, Lauren checks in with them, but this is the longest the two of them have been separated since she was born and the paranoid mother in her thinks it might be the worst decision she ever made. That is, until Dylan's giggling comes crackling through the line. "Momma I have to go Daddy says I gotta sleep or you'll yell real loud at him." "Daddy's getting smarter," Charly quips. "Or just getting to be a tired old man," Drew supplies, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he carries Dylan into the bedroom. "You havin' a good time, kiddo?" "I think I'm at a Hollywood party." "What was the tip off?" "I'm pretty sure I saw a Rolling Stone snorting something off a bartender. Or at least someone who really fancies Keith Richards' lack of hygiene some sort of fashion statement." "Yeah, I'd say that classifies." "I'm so out of my element here, Drew." "You'll be fine, just go have fun with that popstar of yours. I gotta go, find some way to get this child of yours to sleep." Drew drops a kiss on Dylan's forehead, smiling to himself when he notices she's already half passed out on his shoulder. He forgets that this is what she's like--a rampant ball of energy that switches to more or less a hibernating bear just as quickly. "You guys sound like you're having a good time," Charly observes quietly, a little envious but mostly relieved. "We are. You should too, you've only got one more night." "Yeah...alright, I'll see you tomorrow." "Night." Charly ends the call, exiting the bathroom. As she turns the corner, she bumps into someone. Bracing herself against the wall she laughs awkwardly. "Sorry, ever graceful creature that I--" But the sentence dies on her lips as person comes into view. "Rob...hi." "Don't look so mortified, it's an industry party. If you're really trying to pick the thing that doesn't belong--" Rob smiles down at her, but it's more of a sneer than anything else. "Yeah yeah, I get it, I'm not exactly good at the whole blending portion of the evening. But I'm not on your clock right now, so if you'll excuse me..." she tries to sidestep him, but he blocks her. "You two make a very charming couple, you know." "That has nothing to do with you." "Doesn't it?" Rob raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by her sudden tenseness. But the more sympathetic part of him feels for her, the panic registering in her features, eyes darting wildly to figure out what damage is already done. "Don't worry, I haven't said anything." Charly sighs, raking a hand through her hair. "Can I go?" "You're not on my clock, you can do whatever you damn well please." He steps aside, allowing her to pass. "Thank you. Have a good night." She starts walking away, but stops when she hears him call out behind her. "I'm not the only one who saw the two of you. And somebody in here will take a picture. It'll get sold. You'll get recognized. Then photographed some more--probably with that kid of yours." Rob closes the distance between them, restraining himself from touching her because the truth of it is, he doesn't have any desire for Justin to know any more than she does. "I'm a reasonable man, Charly. And you're an employee, an easily replaced one at that. Somewhere down the line you'll have to make a decision...your job, or him. Telling him or hiding your...history, in general. The latter is your business, but let me assure you the former won't be if anything you do or say impacts my professional relationship with Justin." Rob leans in, his lips hovering over her ear. "Because I doubt he'd be so charmed by someone who's basically just a high class hooker." He straightens, adjusting his tie before walking away, oblivious to the tears pooling in her eyes. "Have a good night." Charly leans against the wall, hot tears stinging at her cheeks, stupid and unheeding. And while she knows that she shouldn't let what Rob says get under her skin, she's disgusted that there isn't a lie to be found in any of it. ><><<br /> "Are you sure you're okay?" Justin asks softly as they step into the bedroom. She barely said a word during the car ride home, vacantly responding in one word answers to almost all the drunk questions Trace and Rachel threw out from the back seat. He isn't stupid; he can tell she's upset about something, but whatever it is, she's not talking and her anger isn't directed towards him. That itself should be sufficient enough for him to let it go, but he can't. "I'm fine," she murmurs, fumbling with the zipper of her skirt. "Can you help me out of this?" "Sure," he nods, unhooking the clasp and sliding the zipper down gently. The material lands in a pile on the floor, lost and forgotten alongside the top she hurriedly throws off. Charly reaches up, her arms going around his neck, lips brushing against his. It's forceful and desperate, almost begging for something he doesn't understand how to decipher. Justin's hands settle on her bare hips as her tongue slips into his mouth, her body pressed against his so tightly she's making it difficult for him to breathe. He doesn't know what's going on, but he knows something's wrong. Charly pulls back a little, her lips trailing down the column of his throat, leaving small, gentle kisses as she reaches for his shirt. "Tell me." "What?" he mumbles, trying to focus amidst the distraction, his excitement getting the better of him. Her eyes focus in on his, almost black in the darkness. "Tell me." He reaches out, his thumb trailing across her cheek, frowning at the moisture he feels there. "I love y--" But before he can finish, her mouth is on his again. ><><<br /> In the middle of the night, Charly's phone rings, shrill and uninviting. By this point they've both exhausted themselves, but Justin is still vaguely awake. He gropes blindly for it, nudging her awake with his arm. "Charly, babe, your phone..." "Not today." He blinks, staring at the glowing screen. "It's Drew." Her head snaps up almost immediately as she grabs the phone from his hands. "Drew? Calm down I don't know what you're...what is...she's WHAT? Okay, okay, I'm on my way...I'm on my fucking way, alright? I cannot believe you." Charly nearly leaps out of the bed, scrambling to find her clothes, hardly acknowledging Justin's voiced concern behind her. "What happened?" "Dylan's in the hospital, I gotta go." |
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vikkikirky |
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Posts: 2536 (03/04/2009 9:10 AM) |
you and your damn cliffhangers! omg my god woman! now I'm gonna beat you!
but first....  @ Van Morrison! 
and  I died when Justin name-checked Fred Astaire too! and then Charly... omg! you know she meant it even if it did came out the way it did!
and ROB! UGH! I HATE HIM! I want Justin to beat his ass! Please! then Ryan!  .... I mean Drew, right Drew. Drew seemed to have pretty much everything under control but damnyourcliffhanger now I'm all kinds of worried
here! He fucked up... what the hell happened?!
and OF COURSE you choose the day I have to move the website to update! ... your damn lucky I found this!
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bittersweet |
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Posts: 3 (03/04/2009 10:01 PM) |
Ahhhhh. Firstly (is that a word? lol), Rob needs to DIAF. Secondly, Dylan better be okay.
 Thirdly, she better tell Justin about Rob before he finds out
another way, along with everybody else in the world.
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Maysam |
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Posts: 628 (03/06/2009 12:39 AM) |
I agree with the girls...can't wait to read more. You need stop with the suspense. When does Charly tell Justin or does Justin find out
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ItalianHB |
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Posts: 3005 (03/06/2009 3:45 PM) |
HOLY CRAP ... i hate cliffhangers! they kill me! but i have to agree the shit is going to hit the fan soon with Charly and rob ...
and holy crap again i can't wait to findout what happened to dylan ... please post the next chapter sooon |
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4568 (03/08/2009 10:21 PM) |
Haha I'm so glad you guys haven't come found me to murder me yet.
I was worried for a sec, not gonna lie.
Twenty-One Charly storms through the doors of the hospital, heading straight to the reception desk. Her hands clamp down on the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white as she waits impatiently for the girl in front of her to get off the phone. She's exercising every ounce of self-control she has not to break the finger that's being held up in front of her face patronizingly. "Yeah, hi, I need to know what room Dylan Benson is in please and thank you and as fast as humanly possible." "Ma'am, I'm sorry, you're going to have to--" The girl twirls a strand of hair around her finger, flipping idly through a magazine, her head shooting up, irritated at the interruption. "Lady, I swear to God if you tell me I have to wait or call me Ma'am again and don't let me back there right now I'm gonna scream." "Well, if you scream, I'll have to call security--" "Okay, listen, my kid's back there somewhere and you have very shiny hair which you seem to be really fucking fond of given how much you can't seem to stop touching it so if you wanna keep all those pretty little strands--" She doesn't finish the threat as a hand gently cups her elbow, pulling her back and to his side. Struggling against Justin, she tries to get out of his hold, despite the fact that he's much stronger than her. The girl's eyes go wide as the shock of who exactly is standing in front of her registers and she clamps a hand over her mouth, stifling the squeal she wants to let surface. "I'm sorry, we're just a little worried about her daughter and if you could let us know what room we could get to, we'd really appreciate it." "Oh my god...yes of course, oh my god, I can't believe you're...she's in room 248, it's right around the corner." She smiles, a schoolgirl giggle inadvertently leaving her lips. Justin flashes her his most charming smile, at which Charly rolls her eyes. "Thanks so much, honey." He leads Charly around the corner, out of earshot before she starts slapping at him until he releases her. "I had it under control." "I know you did, I just figured it'd be easier for everyone involved if we got out of here without a body count," he offers calmly. "And remember, we talked to him on the way from the airport, she's okay." "Whatever, that's not the point." she mutters, stopping in her tracks to face him. He has been nothing but helpful, using his pull to get them on the first flight out from LA to here and everything in between. Taking it out on him is entirely unfair. "I'm sorry, I just--" "I know." Justin quiets her with a shake of his head, taking her hand and leading them the rest of the way. They find the assigned room, letting themselves inside. Dylan is perched on a bed, coloring wildly in a book as a doctor runs some routine exams beside her. Her face is splotchy with the remnants of hives but she more or less looks okay, if a little exhausted. Charly rushes over, scooping the child up in her arms before she has a chance to protest. Drew and Lauren stand from their seats in the corner to greet Justin. "You okay?" Charly asks, releasing her just enough so that she can see her face properly, her hands running across her face to examine her. Dylan nods, grinning. "You're home!" "I am," she laughs. "Just had to get your way, didn't you, shithead?" Charly turns around, trying to keep the anger from her tone. "Guys, can I get a minute with her?" Drew shoves his hands in his pockets, expression guilty. "Charly I didn't--" "Not now." ><><<br /> "I didn't know, man." Drew says, cracking his knuckles worriedly. The two men sit side across from each other in the waiting area, neither entirely sure of what to say to each other under the circumstances. "Kids and allergies, it happens. Not your fault." Drew lets out a dry laugh, not remotely convinced. "Right." His absence has proven to be too long, and he can't help but kick himself over something as stupid as not knowing his own child is allergic to strawberries. "Just give her some time to calm down, Drew." Lauren steps back into the waiting room, precariously balancing three coffee cups in her hand. "Thanks," Justin smiles politely at her, taking one of them from her. "When have Charly and calm ever gone hand in hand, Laur? This is gonna be a fuckin' mess." "She's calm enough," Justin snipes, all of a sudden feeling overprotective. "Relax, Wonderbread, he didn't mean it like that." Lauren pats his leg, not having nearly enough energy to deal with the two of them right now. "It's been a long night, and morning. Everybody's kinda tweaked. Important thing is Dylan's alright." Like clockwork, Charly steps out of the examination room, her stance rigid. Raking a hand through her hair, she sighs. "She'll be fine, he just wants to run some more tests and make sure." "You mean you threatened to neuter him unless he ran every single test under the sun." Lauren supplies knowingly. "The language may have been more colorful, but yeah. Can you go sit with her for a few while I...handle this?" "Sure." Lauren disappears back into the room. Justin moves to stand, not really wanting to leave but realizing it isn't exactly his place to stay and watch this. "I'll just um...go grab our coats from the car." ><><<br /> "Explain to me...how the fuck this happened." Charly breathes out, her voice low and controlled. "We were out, getting ice cream...she wanted strawberry and I didn't--Charly I didn't know, you know I would never have fucking...I'm sorry," Drew sighs, unable to come up with anything else to say that could possibly rectify this. "You could have killed her, you know that?" "I know." Justin turns the corner, two jackets slung over his arm and he slows his steps, careful not to interrupt. He hangs back, still vaguely within earshot but far enough that he's not intruding. "Again." "Fuck, Charly this is NOT the same shit. I wasn't on anything, I didn't forget--I didn't fuckin' KNOW and I made a mistake. I'm sorry, I said I'm sorry--" "I don't care, Drew. I don't care, do you get that? This isn't trial by error parenting, either you know how to take care of her or you don't, and clearly you can't." Maybe she isn't being completely rational, but his phone call is quickly shaping up to be the single-most terrifying moment in her life. It's a fear greater than the last time something close to this happened, because that she can at least chalk up to him not being in the proper state of mind. This is different. This is Drew, sober, and still fucking things up, this many years later. It might not be completely accurate, or fair, but it's in her head, one way or another. "That's not fair," Drew protests, trying to make her see reason because he knows where this conversation is going. A sense of dread fills his stomach when she laughs, the same one he heard five and a half years ago when she shut him out. And now his own anger starts to get the better of him. "We're not even close to letting you decide what's in the general vicinity of fair versus unfair, honey. Cause guess what, my kid and therefore I get all the extra fun bonus points of making the decisions for her til' she's old enough to make them for herself." "And if when she turns eighteen she decides that anaphylactic shock sounds like a great way to party it up, fine, but I'm done pretending like I trust you to be alone with her." "Meaning what, exactly? Stalin's reign begins again, three times a day visits from Lauren any time you bring her over?" Drew snaps, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. "Fucking perfect." "Once a week, supervised visits. Not with Lauren, I'll find some way to set something up with CPS--" "A goddamn court appointed chaperone? Cause I didn't know she can't have strawberries, are you kidding--" He starts towards her. Justin takes his moment to step in, the situation escalating a little too quickly for his liking. "Watch what you're--" "Back the fuck off, this has nothing to do with you." Drew growls out. "He's a hell of a lot more responsible with her than you, Drew." Charly bites back, taking her coat from Justin. "Let's go, we're done." "Oh you wanna talk irresponsible, Charly? You really wanna talk irresponsible?" "Listen man, now'd be a seriously good time to shut the fuck up." Justin warns, setting a hand to Drew's chest to stop him from coming closer. "Oh right, you've gotta be all knight and white horse and make sure you've got the perfect girl covered, right? You have any idea what she used to do, huh? What she's probably still doing? I'd ask before you start booking the wedding band." Charly freezes. Boom goes the dynamite. There is absolutely no coming back from this now and she knows it. Looking up at Justin, his features muddied with confusion as he glances back and forth between her and Drew, trying to figure out what he missed along the way. It's too much to fill in. Too much to explain to be forgivable. "What?" he asks with a nervous laugh. "Drew, go home." "Still didn't tell him, huh? How's the view looking from the soapbox now, Charlie Brown?" "What the hell is he talking about?" "Drew, go the fuck home. Now." "She was a fuckin' call girl, man. All up until she got pregnant with Dylan, then she started waitressing and bartending. You tell me though, how's a girl get a job in PR when all she knows how to do is charge to get people off howev--" Drew can't finish the sentence before Justin's fist cracks against his jaw, knocking him backwards. And it's only now that Drew realizes the gravity of the situation, all the stupid, horrible things he just said and can't even begin to take back or atone for. Justin approaches Charly, setting his hands on her shoulders, gentle. "Charly?" His voice is soft, questioning. She's scared to look up, scared to see that innocence in his gaze gone. But when she does, all she sees is a certain hopefulness that it isn't true, that Drew is a liar and everything can go back to normal. "I left home when I was fourteen...I had to...it was just a job. It's just a job." "But that was before, right?" He falters, the way she refers to it as something present not going lost on him. "Because...you work for Rob, so it was...it was before." Thinking back, he remembers her bruises, her hurried explanations, the way she constantly bristles at the mention of Rob, even now. "It's just...a job. Can we talk about this tomo--" "Are you fucking him?" "Justin--" "Simple question, simple answer Charly, it's not that hard." She looks down at the floor, everything coming undone all at once. The tiles on the ground begin to blur along with her vision until her head is jerked up, his blue eyes narrowed and glaring at her. It's all the answer he needs; even without an admission the guilt mars her features. He can feel his blood boil, temper flaring, all his feelings, all their moments, everything negated by this one single fact. "Guess I should've left a bigger tip the night at the bar, huh?" He says flatly, a hint of a sneer curling his upper lip. And as low and filthy as she has been made to feel, made herself feel, this stings the most. Justin slips his jacket on, bypassing Drew without acknowledging him at all. He turns the corner, out of sight. "Charly--" "Shut the fuck up. Don't. Don't call me, don't call Dylan, you stay the hell away from me Drew, I'm serious. I'm done. You and me, we're done. Hope you got your kicks in." Drew hangs back as she disappears back inside Dylan's room, wondering how exactly it's possible to have screwed up this royally. |
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4569 (03/09/2009 3:34 PM) |
Two in two days...I'm on some serious sleep deprivation. There's something wrong with me
Twenty-Two TWO DAYS LATER "And what did we learn about strawberries?" Charly raises an eyebrow as she brushes Dylan's hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. "That just because I like them doesn't mean they like me. And they make my face go all red. And they hurt." Dylan recites back, waiting impatiently for her mother to finish so she can leave and find more exciting things to do. "Alright, get your stuff together, the bus'll be here in a few minutes." She pushes Dylan off her lap, dropping a kiss on her head. "I'll pick you up after and we'll do something crazy fun and possibly illegal, alright? No clowns allowed though." "Okay!" "Alright, out with you or I'm gonna decorate your room full of strawberries including that creepy little Strawberry Shortcake thing I know you love so much." Dylan's eyes go wide, horrified. "Momma, don't DO that!" "Well then you'd better hurry and catch that bus, huh?" "I'm goin', I'm goin'!" She runs towards the door, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders. "Love you!" "Love you too!" Charly calls out with a small smile, her face falling as soon as the door closes. She crosses over to the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for herself as Lauren emerges from the bathroom, hair still wet from a shower. "How you doing?" "Hmm? Oh she's fine, if nothing else she's a resilient--" "You, Charly, not D. I asked how you were doing." "Fine, I'm fine." "Very convincing," Lauren drawls, sliding onto one of the counter stools. This is what the past two days have been like; Charly fakes normalcy around Dylan and the second she's gone she mopes around the house, quiet and distant. "What? I am." "Cut the bullshit. I'm not your mother or your boss, sweets. You're allowed to be upset." "Listen, I'm not running out with my pom poms and cheer face on but I'm not about to start reading Sylvia Plath and stick my head in an oven either, so relax. He found out, he left, it's over. End of story." Charly finishes, leaning against the counter to face Lauren. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the IV drip Justin gave her, a muffled groan working its way out of her throat. "Can we please get rid of that?" Lauren turns to look at it, frowning. "It was a present. A nice one, at that." "I don't care. Throw it out, I don't want to look at it anymore. Just...throw it out and put it somewhere I don't have to deal with it." "Charly..." She blinks, fighting back tears. "I'm an idiot for thinking there was any way it could've worked out, aren't I?" "You're not." Lauren shakes her head, reaching across to cover her hand with her own. "You should've told me...about the shit with your boss. It might've helped...made it easier to tell him." "Not exactly the high point of my work week, Laur." "I get that." Charly wipes at her eyes, sniffling. "Doesn't matter. Dylan's okay, that's all I need to worry about right now. And looking for a new job," she adds with a bitter laugh. Lauren hesitates before she asks her next question, the one that in all likelihood might piss Charly off more. "Have you talked to Drew?" "No," comes the curt reply. "It really wasn't his fault, Charly." "I don't want to talk about this." "The other shit, that's all on him, but if you're thinking about what's best for Dylan--" "Goddamnit, Lauren, I don't wanna fucking TALK about this, or are you all of a sudden Helen Keller?" she snaps, slamming down the cup of coffee. Her expression softens as the other woman recoils slightly. "I'm sorry." "It's okay." Lauren stands, getting her things together for work. "I know you're right. I just need a few days before I can...deal with him, alright?" It's more of a plea than anything else, and Lauren can't help but oblige. "Fair enough." ><><<br /> At two o'clock in the afternoon a knock sounds on Charly's door. She's curled up on the couch, half asleep, the television blaring listlessly in the background. A shower is out of the question at this point; she doesn't have it in her. The knocking gets more persistent until finally, she drags herself off the couch, draping a blanket around her shoulders and stumbling towards the offensive noise. She opens the door, completely awake when the person on the other side greets her. "Justin...what are you doing here?" He shifts uncomfortably, a small duffel bag she recognizes as hers in his grasp. "Hi...I didn't think you'd be here." "Who did you--" "I don't know, I guess I didn't really think it through. Shouldn't you be at work?" There's an edge to his voice, and they both know he's trying like hell not to snap at her. "I quit." Some surprise registers in his features before his face goes blank again. "That right?" "It's this neat little trick where quitting tends to look better than a firing." She tries to humor him, but he doesn't budge. He hands the duffel to her, anxious to get away from her as fast as he can. Because the longer he looks at her, the more he notices that her eyes are bleary with the remnants of tears. A part of him wants to pull her close, forget everything and try and make this work, make it better, make it SOMETHING other than this. But the bigger part of him is repulsed by her, by the giant lie this has all become but more importantly, by the fact that she didn't trust him enough to be honest about it. "I gotta go, this is yours, you left it in the car." "Can we talk?" "I really need to--" "Five minutes. Please, that's it and I swear I'll do it Barbara Stanwyck style, eighty words a minute." He relents, just this once. "Fine, five minutes." Stepping inside the apartment, he drops the bag on the ground and makes his way to the couch, awkwardly taking a seat across from her. Charly sets the blanket on the armrest, not entirely sure of what to say now that she has his attention. "I wanted to tell you." "Well, you didn't." "It was...it was hard, Justin. We...happened and you just look--looked at me this way that nobody fucking does and the longer it went on I couldn't. And I can't apologize enough, and I can't make excuses for it but you and me...it isn't, at all, and never was the shit I've done for Rob." Justin digests this, slightly more sympathetic than when he first walked in the door. He doesn't know if he's okay with it, or ever will be, but she's at least trying and he has to give her credit for that. Another question lingers in the back of his mind and he can't help but bring it up, even if it feels out of line. "All the bruises...those from him or you really that damn clumsy?" Charly picks at imaginary lint on the couch, her silence enough to make him fume. "You let him fucking put his hands on you like that?" She shrugs helplessly, unable to explain that Rob isn't the first to get off on this kind of thing. That she's desensitized enough to it by this point that it's just par for the course. "There are certain things that he wants to...and he pays me. Or did, anyway. I knew what I was getting into when I signed the contract so it's not like--" "Wait, wait back up. You've been doing this shit since day one there?" Justin stands, pacing the room, grinding his teeth to keep from screaming at her. "The first fucking day I met you and before we--you could've said SOMETHING, Charly, it's been seven months!" "I didn't KNOW you, what was I supposed to say? Oh hey, by the way I get paid extra on the side to let your boss get all his sadistic fantasies out on me so he doesn't get too familiar with the Stanley Kowalski way of thinking when it comes to his wife?" "This is what I do, Justin. It's the only fucking thing I've ever done that paid enough to...trust me, I tried other jobs. But it doesn't make this, you and me, any less legit." "Yes it does." "How?" she demands, crossing over and yanking him back by the arm. "I didn't bullshit you about how I felt--" "Because, Charly, I spent three years with a girl who pretty much epitomized the lying whore thing, I don't need to spend any more with one who actually lives up to all of it." As soon as the words leave his lips he feels her hand connect with his cheek, the slap so loud he has to blink a few times to regain focus. "Fuck you. I make no apologies for what I did to take care of myself or my kid." She says, her voice shaking. "Then what are you still trying to explain to me, exactly?" he retorts, heading for the door. It slams shut with a loud thud and Charly jumps at the sound, the quiet filling in for all the things she can't say. ><><<br /> Justin pushes through the door to Rob's office, needing some way to rid himself of all the resentment he's harboring. He wishes he hadn't accepted her invitation, had stopped himself before it got as out of hand as it did. But it's a lost cause now, and he can at least allow himself to direct his anger where it's most warranted. Rob looks up from his papers, a confused smile breaking his features that's completely wiped off as Justin hauls him up by the collar of his shirt. "If you so much as fucking touch her again, I swear to God I'll put you in the goddamn ground myself." "Let go of me, Justin. It's bad form to threaten the guy in charge of your reputation, or haven't you heard?" Rob pries the younger man's fingers off himself. "Are we clear on this or what?" "All this for a girl you could probably pay to keep around?" And in what's becoming an increasingly bad habit these past few days, Justin throws another reckless punch, attracting the attention of a few stray people outside. Some of them have their cellphones held up, taking pictures but he's oblivious, every part of his infuriation being taken out on Rob's face until someone yanks him back roughly. Rob wipes at his mouth, grimacing at the blood staining his hands. "You're fired," Justin spits out, shoving off the man holding him back. He leaves the office, flipping out his phone and dialing a number frantically. "Rach, get me on the next flight out of this goddamn city now." |
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Maysam |
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Posts: 637 (03/09/2009 10:27 PM) |
OMFG!!!! Words can't describe...I mean wow. Damn Damn Damn. Def want more. I can't believe the way Justin found out. OMG I want more more more lol.
Im hoping and praying that Charly and Justin get back together. |
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4571 (03/15/2009 4:26 PM) |
Well...here's more nuttiness.
Twenty-Three ONE MONTH LATER Trace and Rachel let themselves inside the house, quietly whispering amongst themselves. "It's your turn," she hisses, elbowing him forward in the darkness. His hand fumble along the wall until he reaches the light switch, flipping it on. The hallway now lit, they can hear the faint sound of a radio in the kitchen. "I fuckin' did it last time, I don't wanna poke the bear! You do it!" he snaps back at her, the two of them slowly inching towards the noise, hesitant because neither of them particularly wants to have to deal with him right now. The last month has been a hazy blur of temper tantrums and general moodiness. This, compiled with the media backlash over a leaked video of Justin in Rob's office has essentially made him insufferable. "He's your best friend!" "He's your cousin!" "You choose to associate with him voluntarily, I'm obligated by bullshit family bias, so I still say it's your turn." "Well, I'm pretty sure this is what women are like when they get all menopausal and shit, so that's your department." Trace shrugs his jacket off, tossing it on the coat rack. Rachel sighs, setting her purse on the ground. "Can't we just sedate him and put him on the plane?" "Hey!" They both jump a little, startled as he suddenly appears in front of them, a large knife in his hand. "The house isn't fucking soundproof, I can hear you assholes," he mutters, retreating to the kitchen. "What's with the knife, Norman Bates?" Rachel quips, following him with Trace a few steps behind. "For fuck's sake, Rach, could you cool it with that shit? I'm cooking." Justin moves the cutting board in front of him, a massacre of vegetables sprawled across it. He slams the knife down over a potato, chopping at a feverish pace. Trace and Rachel look on, mildly horrified. Trace shoots a sideways glance at Rachel, shaking his head, panic in his eyes. She bypasses the island, gently prying the knife out of Justin's hand. "Honey, sit down a sec and lemme get this, okay?" Justin stares blankly at his shaking fingers. "Fine." He crosses around, sliding into the chair next to Trace, his gaze fixed on the marble counter. Rachel looks him over as she works, noting the circles under his eyes, almost black with sleep deprivation. He hasn't shaved in weeks, if the bird's nest covering his face is anything to go by. And she gets the distinct impression he hasn't bothered to shower either, holding her breath to keep from inhaling in the stench coming her way. She doesn't know what exactly happened, at least the specifics of it. The general idea both she and Trace understand, and the protective part of her is livid at Charly for doing something that put him in this kind of state. But the more rational part of her is unsure and skeptical, because something about the entire scenario doesn't add up. What it is, she doesn't know, and he isn't talking. "We have to go back to New York tomorrow," Trace blurts out. Rachel nearly drops the knife, glaring at him. It's times like this she wants to slap Trace for his penchant for sticking his foot in his mouth, speaking when he should clearly shut the hell up. "Were you born this big a dumbass?" "I'm not going," Justin snarls, hopping off the chair and storming towards the staircase. "Fuck that." "Too bad, you shit. There are only two reps under the goddamn sun that you even bothered to look at before shooting down, and they're both based out of New York. Not to mention we've got meetings with the buyers there." Trace finishes, his tone indicating there isn't any room for argument on this topic. "Whatever, you meet with the buyers," he jerks his head towards Rachel. "You meet with the rep, leave me out of it." "Justin, how long are you gonna lock yourself in this house acting like the unibomber? It's been a month, and you've got some serious damage control to do." Rachel calls out as she hears him stomp up the stairs. "You're acting like a six year old!" "Go fuck yourself!" The door slams shut as Rachel re-focuses her attention on Trace. "Very smooth, dipshit." ><><<br /> TWO DAYS LATER One month. One month of endless interviews, polite smiles and sympathetic eyes. One month of bills piling up, unpaid, overdue, too much for Charly to be able to handle alone and jobless. All factors which have brought her here, the last place she wants to be, practically begging for something that fills her gut with the worst kind of dread. The door swings open and he greets her, as surprised as he is gleeful. "Come in," Rob says, stepping aside to allow her into the lavish penthouse apartment. "Thanks," she mumbles, suppressing the urge to hit him. "Would you like a drink?" he asks, retrieving the glass of scotch he abandoned on the coffee table. "It's four o'clock in the afternoon." "Doesn't make a drink any less necessary." "Good, you should lead with that at the local AA meeting." "Did you come here to trade insults or was there an actual point to your visit, Miss Benson?" Rob crosses over, circling her, his eyes flitting appreciatively down her body. "I have...I'm here because I need a job." Charly rakes a hand through her hair, wanting to be anywhere but here. This is the last resort, she has to remind herself. It isn't about her, or what she does or doesn't want to do. But she can't take the break in Dylan's voice when she can't afford to take her to a movie, or a museum, or order take-out dinners for lazy Sunday nights. "You quit your job. Lost me my highest profile client, thanks for that, by the way, who then proceeded to take all his juvenile fits out on me," Rob finishes with a dry laugh. "And now you want me to what, wave, bygones and all that and re-hire you?" "Not that job." His eyes narrow, intrigued. He almost suspects he knows where this is going, but doesn't want to presume. The last thing he needs right now is to be slapped with a lawsuit, though he knows it's unlikely coming from Charly. She's desperate, that much he can tell, else she wouldn't be here right now. And as morbid as it is, her desperation excites him on some basic, primal level. "Go on," he urges. "I have a proposition for you. You know what it is so really, no need for me to get all specific about it. You pay me in cash, I do what you want, or you do whatever you want. Three nights a week." "And I'm getting what out of this bargain, exactly?" Charly raises an eyebrow, not amused by the fact that he's clearly getting so much pleasure from this. "Other than the obvious? You get the extra special luxury of me not running and telling your wife how you get your rocks off." Rob's face pales at the threat, his confidence slipping. "You signed a contract, I could have you sued." "Yeah I have a copy of said contract and I'm pretty sure it's all kinds of illegal. So yes or no, Rob?" He contemplates her offer, too good to pass up at this point. He's a little disgusted with himself that this is what it's come to, that this is the who he is and can't change about himself. But whatever guilt he has dissipates at the notion that this is Charly's idea, not his. He isn't forcing her hand, she isn't obligated to him, and the decision is one she made herself. It's her choice, and somehow that makes it easier to rationalize his own impulses. "Fine, but you start now." "Alright," Charly nods, swallowing the lump in her throat as she shrugs her jacket off. ><><<br /> Two hours later, she walks out the building door, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and wiping absently at her mouth. "Charly?" A vaguely familiar voice questions and her head shoots up, that same dread filling her stomach again but this time for a different reason entirely. "Trace...hi. What are you doing here?" Trace looks at her, his confusion turning to irritation. "I had to pick up some papers from Rob so the fucker doesn't file a suit against Justin. Don't need to guess why the hell your ass is hangin' round like a goddamn leech." "I gotta go," she tries rushing past him but he grabs her by the arm, hauling her back. "You got any fucking clue what you did to him? Do you even give a shit?" "I can't talk to you--" "You better start talkin'. Cause I can't figure out what the hell you found so appealing about Rob that you needed to go blow him behind Justin's back. Or is that just fun for you?" "Trace, please don't do this," she pleads softly, her body aching as he jerks her closer. "You got yourself in this mess, honey, and I wanna know why my best friend's such a miserable son of a bitch cause some cheap ass girl shit all over him again." The envelope in her hand drops to the floor and he stares down at the pile of bills peeking out and back to her, examining her face more closely this time. "Your lip's bleeding." Charly pulls her lower lip between her teeth, cringing at the taste of her own blood. Trace realizes that her cheek is bruising, the sunglasses probably hiding a black eye. He looks back down at the money and bends to pick it up, handing it to her. Something clicks in his brain all of a sudden and he lets go of her arm. "What the..." "Please don't tell him. Please. Not because of me, but he'll--what happened last time, when he found out--" "He pays you," Trace breathes out, everything making sense now. "You didn't just...he pays you, that's why." "Please don't--" "Charly, this shit isn't...you don't have to--" "I do. Trace, I need your word on this. Please." Trace nods, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Alright, alright I won't tell him but Charly--" "Just...don't say anything, to anybody. Just...you didn't see me, okay? Okay?" She struggles to catch her breath, to keep the panic out of her tone but she knows she's failing. "Yeah, you got my word." "Thank you." ><><<br /> Hours later, Charly eases herself out of the bathtub, wrapping a robe around herself. She heads into the living room, where Dylan is sprawled on the floor, immersed in Ratatouille. The doorbell rings and she jumps up, her eyes wide with hopefulness. "Is that Daddy?" Charly sighs, more guilt gnawing at her and it breaks her heart to see the child like this. Drew hasn't called, but then again neither has she. It's unfair to Dylan, and she makes a mental note to put her own issues aside and get into contact with him at some point today. "Don't think so Dylan, but I'll make sure we figure out what he's up to later, huh?" "Promise? Cause he said he was gonna take me ice skating before I ate the strawberry ice cream. I don't want him to be mad, Momma, tell him I won't eat it anymore, I swear!" "He's not mad at you, baby. I promise, we'll call him and you'll see, okay?" "Kay." Charly smiles, opening the door to face an unfamiliar woman. "Uh, hi, can I help you?" "I'm looking for Charly Benson?" she asks, a stack of folders clutched tightly under her arm. "Yeah that's me. What's up?" "Sorry for the intrusion. My name is Alexis Jacobs, I'm with Child Protection Services, I just need to come in and ask you a few questions if you don't mind." |
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insomniachollie |
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Posts: 39242 (03/15/2009 6:06 PM) Best Fan Fic Writer '08 |
Oh Lord... I wonder who called them. I know who I think's obvious, but I'm not sure you do obvious!
Anyway, between Stanley Kowalski and Norman Bates references, this was all full of win. Why do I never notice when you update? It's weird |
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Maysam |
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Posts: 642 (03/15/2009 8:32 PM) |
Oh shit...who called child services??? Was it Drew, effing Rob or Justin...
Damn girl u need to update ASAP like NOW |
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ItalianHB |
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Posts: 3026 (03/16/2009 3:21 AM) |
ohh shit is right - damn her for going back to him - she's worth better than that... and who the fuck would call CPS ... that aint right - i can't wait
for more nuttiness!!!
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4583 (03/25/2009 1:01 AM) |
Sometimes I do obvious.
Twenty-Four ONE MONTH LATER Lauren pokes her head into Charly's bedroom, sucking in a breath at the smell emanating from inside. "Charly...honey, you planning on getting up any time today?" She pauses, waiting for a response, but the only sign of life in the room is quiet, staccato breathing that makes her worry. "I really think you should...we should get you checked out, at the hospital. I know you don't want to but--" "No." "It's been three days, Charly." Charly buries herself further underneath the blankets, wincing as a sharp pain cuts into her side. She closes her eyes, wishes for somewhere else and lets out a small sigh of relief as she hears the door shut, signaling Lauren's exit. January 31, 2003 "Do you have any family members with you? Your mother?" The nurse asks as she slides some paperwork in front of Charly. "It might be faster for her to fill it out so we can--" "Listen, Nurse Ratched, I appreciate the concern and all but does it look like I've got the Von Trapp family backing me up?" Charly snaps, looking down, frowning. "It's been like, at least six months since I've seen my feet so could we please get the alien out of my stomach and some sedatives in me, not in that order like...five minutes ago? Thanks." "There's no one with you?" "Unless I've made some invisible friends, flying solo here." "And no one you can call?" "I called my boyfriend but he's not so much with the reliable and holy fucking OW." Charly bends forward, clutching at her stomach. "Now, meds NOW, would be awesome." The nurse barely flinches at the language; she's seen it from expectant mothers a thousand times before, and enough from girls Charly's age, given that it's New York City. Generally though, the younger ones tend to look more petrified and less irritated. She stands, ushering an intern with a wheelchair over. Charly eases herself into the chair, gripping onto the arms as another contraction hits her, a little stronger this time. Glancing up at the intern, a young guy who's clearly nervous as hell, she flashes him a bright, eager smile. "Hey buddy, so on a scale of one to ten, how tight are you with the guy that dishes out the vicodin?" "Uh, you mean epidural?" "Whatever, really not picky here." ><><<br /> "Trace, you are driving me fucking crazy with the pacing!" Rachel chucks a pen at him, grinning with satisfaction when it catches the side of his head. "Damnit, Rach!" he grumbles, rubbing his ear absently before he resumes pacing. "Seriously, sit down." He crosses over and slides into the chair opposite her, cracking his knuckles. "He'll be okay here, right? Like, for sure?" "It's been two months, Trace, I think he's gotten the New York hate out of his system. Or at least under control," she mumbles, scribbling on the paper in front of her as she makes adjustments to Justin's schedule for the trip. "Like, how under control, do you think?" She looks up, her eyebrows knit together in interested confusion. "Why?" "Y'know, just curious, I don't want him going all Rambo on some unassuming dude on the street or some shit." Trace shrugs, chewing on a fingernail. The past month has been torturous for him, trying to keep his mouth shut about his run-in with Charly. A large part of him feels guilty, wanting to tell Justin because he's sure it's the only way to get her out of a potentially dangerous situation. The problem is, it's a double-edged sword. He knows Charly was right; there's no trusting what Justin's reaction to it would be, but of all the scenarios that have played out in his head, not one of them ends in puppies and sunshine. "What's up, Trace?" Rachel asks, snapping the planner closed. "Nothing. Nothing up or down of any kind." "Uh huh," she nods, disbelieving. "Spill." "I can't." "Because you signed an oath in blood?" "Don't make fun, this is serious shit, dude." He shakes his head, standing again. "Okay no, no more pacing. Stop it. What's going on?" "You can't tell J." "What is this, third grade?" Rachel laughs, her expression sobering when she sees that there isn't a hint of humor in his eyes. "Okay, fine." "I think I got the whole...last time, we were here, remember I went to have Rob sign off on that agreement so he wouldn't push a suit?" He sits again, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the hotel dining table. "Yeah." "I ran into Charly, leaving his building." "Real fucking class act she turned out to be." "She was...she was kind of beat up." Rachel leans forward, something about all of Charly's hesitance beginning to make the tiniest bit of sense. "Beat up how?" "And she had some cash, in an envelope. Big bills." Trace finishes, hoping this is enough information for Rachel to put the two together because he has no desire to completely re-hash the day. She lets out a breath, wishing she'd seen it before. At least enough to be able to offer up some kind of advice or help to Charly. All they've done is completely shut her out, taken Justin's side as blindly as they always have because he's family and that's what you're supposed to do. But now she wishes she would have pushed him for answers, for an actual explanation because it never added up for her. Until now. And now is too late, as none of them knows how deep the mess Charly's gotten herself into is. Rob is a man with a lot of power, but more than that, what she's doing is highly illegal. And Rachel knows well enough that if anyone were to find out, family courts don't tend to favor the mother in cases like these. "Well...okay. Okay," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah." "And you've been sitting on this a month?" "She asked me to keep my mouth shut--I didn't know what else to do. Tellin' him ain't gonna do any fucking good, you know that." "No, I know." "So now what?" he asks, his nerves giving way into relief, if only slightly. "I'll...give her a call at some point while we're here. Check up, maybe see if she wants to--" Rachel stops as the door swings open and Justin slips inside, tossing his keycard onto the bedside table and his luggage alongside it. "I'm starved, you guys hungry?" Justin glances back and forth between the two of them, their faces frozen. "What?" "Nothing, let's grab some dinner before you get yourself obliterated tonight," Rachel rolls her eyes, grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair as she stands. ><><<br /> January 31, 2003 Charly looks down, wide-eyed at the infant in her arms. She watches as tiny hands wrap around her index finger. As big brown eyes hidden beneath large eyelashes blink at her sleepily. As a smile full of mischief appears on the baby's face, greeting her mother and the world an exhausted hello. "She's real pretty. Looks like you, Charlie Brown." Drew whispers quietly, pushing her dampened hair out of her face. He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then one to his daughter's. "She's perfect," Charly laughs, her thumb running across the baby's hand. "What do you wanna name her?" "Dylan. As in Bob, but for a girl, cause she's way better looking." "Sounds good to me." Charly clears her throat, her gaze meeting Drew's. This man who she loves, the father of her child, who doesn't have an ounce of his shit together. Not that she has everything sorted out but she's been working on it, getting better, knowing as far as nine months ago that it's not just about her anymore. She loves Drew, but she isn't sure he realizes the last part. "What?" he asks, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "Drew, you've gotta get it together. Seriously, it's not just you and me anymore." "I know." "I'm not kidding." "I know, I will. Can we just focus on our really incredible genes right now?" he teases, lending a brief kiss to her mouth. "I won't argue with that." ><><<br /> Charly sets a hand against her ribcage, feeling two bones that are oddly out of place. She's fairly sure they're broken; it hurts every time she cries or coughs or breathes too hard, but she can't tell anymore what the source is. She stares down at the scrap of paper in her hand, at least one of the causes. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm like this. And the first signs of guilt have effectively killed the only income she had. But right now, that's the least of her concerns. She hears the bedroom door open and the sound of footsteps padding quietly across the carpet. "Charly, you need to go to a hospital and get checked, Laur's pretty sure--" "Fuck off, Drew." "Look, I'm sorry about the way everything--I didn't think--" he starts, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. When he made the initial phone call he was so full of anger and rage he wasn't being even the least bit rational. He didn't assume they would take Dylan away from her, and he didn't assume that he was the only other option for full-time custody for the time being, short of foster homes. He's thankful that his track record for the past year has proven sufficient enough that it didn't come to that, though it doesn't dissuade the guilt he's feeling at the way he's handled the whole situation. "I am sorry. And I will fix it. And it's not like you won't get to see her--" "Once a week, chaperoned visits, right?" she laughs, wincing as another sharp pain shoots through her side. "Charly..." She struggles to turn her head to face him, her eyes full of tears. "That kid is my fucking life, Drew. She's all I've got." Drew nods, running a hand over his face. "I know. I'll figure it out, you just have to--" "She likes watching Ratatouille with the lights off. And a bowl of popcorn topped with Oreos--it's weird, but she likes it. Sometimes she can't sleep and she'll crawl into bed with you, but the only way to get her to fall asleep without talking for hours is if you read her Where The Wild Things Are. And she likes blaring the radio and singing to Jimi Hendrix first thing in the morning." "And she always needs options, for breakfast, because she can never make up her mind. Oh, and occasionally, she'll ask you to sing her Moon River but then get pissed off that you're not doing it right and ask you to put on the movie version so she can hear it straight from Hepburn. I have a copy of it on the shelf by the TV so you can grab it on your way out. And don't forget, she's allergic to strawberries." He's silent, not knowing what to say or how to fix this, at least in the immediate future. For the time being, they both have to follow the process, and he hates himself more than a little for what he's done. Standing, he exits the bedroom, shaking his head at Lauren's hopeful face as he leaves. ><><<br /> "Maybe if yoooou hadn't dropped the basket in the lake...er, the ball not the basket, we woulda made the final...whoops, hold up!" Rachel slurs, digging into her purse. "J, I can't tell which is yours and which is mine." Trace laughs, downing another shot of whiskey with Justin. "She's blitzed!" Justin grins, his eyes bleary, welcoming the drunken, dreamless sleep he's going to get later tonight. It might be unhealthy, but these days, it's the only thing that keeps his thoughts away from her. "Hel--oh did I answer? Hello?" Rachel asks, covering a giggle with her mouth. "Who's this? Oh yeah...hold..one minute, please. S'for you." She hands it to Justin who looks confused as he takes it from her grasp. It's nearing one in the morning; he doesn't know anyone who would be calling him at this hour unless he'd made previous plans with them. To his knowledge, he hasn't done that. "'Lo?" "Hey Justin, it's Lauren...Charly's roommate." Lauren tugs at her hair, hoping he won't hang up. "Yeah I can't really--" "I know you don't wanna deal with her but I wouldn't...she's in really bad shape, and I just didn't know who else to call." |
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ItalianHB |
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Posts: 3030 (03/29/2009 12:05 PM) |
well damn !!!! what in the world has happened to her?? she all bruised up and they took dylan away??? wow!!!!!! can't 'wait for more!
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Maysam |
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Posts: 652 (03/29/2009 9:44 PM) |
Wow....don't know what else to say but WOW and want more
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glowbug narking tony |
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Posts: 4606 (03/30/2009 3:15 AM) |
This is what happens when I have insomnia.
Twenty-Five You been down to the bottom with a bad man, babe But you're back where you belong Go get me my pistol, babe Honey, I can't tell right from wrong Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying You know, I know, the sun will always shine So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind Lauren opens the door to find Justin, Rachel, and Trace on the other side, the latter two barely standing. "You're drunk." Justin brushes past her, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it onto the counter. "It's two in the goddamn morning, what'd you expect?" "Water. Need water," Rachel groans, clutching at her stomach as she stumbles towards the couch. Trace follows behind her, both of them collapsing into an exhausted heap. "What happened?" Justin asks. "Drew called CPS, he's got custody of Dylan. The other...I don't know, I came home a few days ago and she was--I think her boss was here." Lauren shakes her head. He nods, scratching absently at his beard, all the while trying to clear his foggy brain. This is the last place he should probably be right now, but the panic in Lauren's voice over the phone didn't leave him with much of an option. "She's in her room?" "Hasn't left it." "Okay." Justin sidesteps her, heading towards Charly's bedroom. "Grab those fuckers some water or somethin' before they vomit all over your floor." His footsteps slow, a little heavier with hesitance as he reaches her door, turning the knob until it creaks open. The room reeks of piss and blood and he holds his breath, trying not to gag. "Charly?" he calls out quietly. "You awake?" Without a response, he flicks the light switch on, blinking against the harsh glare. She's on her side, eyes open and bloodshot. Some flicker of surprise passes over her features but it's gone just as quickly, the same vacancy replacing it. Justin kneels at the edge of the bed, the stench worse the closer he gets to her. From the looks of it, she hasn't so much as moved in days. He reaches forward, pushing the blanket off her body. The sight that greets him makes him nauseous for different reasons entirely. Her stomach is largely discolored, purple and red, bones protruding where they shouldn't be. Remnants of blood are caked on her skin, the bruises trailing all the way down her legs. He looks back at her face, her jaw boasting its own souvenir. "Fucking hell..." His hands skim across her face, calloused fingers making the contact sting a little and when she winces, he pulls back. "Why are you here?" Charly croaks out, her voice hoarse from sleep deprivation and lack of use. "Lauren called." "She shouldn't have." Go down to the river, babe, Honey, I will meet you there. Go down to the river, babe, Honey, I will pay your fare. Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying. You know, I know, the sun will always shine So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind. "What'd you do, Charly?" he asks softly, pushing the hair out of her face. Of all the things he expected to find when he came here, he didn't assume it would be this bad. She looks tired, and in pain. Broken to a degree he's never seen her. He's used to seeing her put on a front, find all the excuses and quips in the world to cover up the fact that she's scared or insecure or upset. He's used to her picking fights when she's uncomfortable or doesn't want to talk about something. But none of that's evident now. She just looks completely resigned, and he has no idea how to fix it. "I thought..." she starts, closing her eyes against a fresh onslaught of tears. "He--they took Dylan, and I thought if I could...if I could get a big chunk of cash quick then..then maybe it would--" "Shh, okay, I know..." Justin leans his forehead against hers with a sigh. "We've gotta get you cleaned up and looked at, baby." "I can't." "Please. Please let me help," he pleads, and something in his tone begs her to reconsider. "Okay." Charly complies. He stands slightly, hooking an arm underneath her as hers go around his neck, his other curling beneath her knees as he lifts her up, careful not to move too much. Carrying her out of the bedroom, he jerks his head at Lauren, motioning her towards them. "Start the bathtub." "What? No, we have to get her to--" "I seriously doubt she's wanting to go to the hospital covered in her own piss and since YOU called ME, I'd quit fucking questioning what I'm doing and just run a fucking bath for her first, alright?" he hisses at her. Lauren bites her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. She knows his intentions are good and for now, that's all she needs. "Okay." ><>< If you're looking for assistance, babe, Or if you just want some company Or if you just want a friend you can talk to, Honey, come and see about me. Justin eases Charly into the bathtub, situating himself on the edge behind her. He spreads his legs so that she can lean back against his thighs, tilting her head up to give him what she approximates is something resembling a smile. Retrieving the rubber band Lauren gave him from his wrist, he throws her hair up into a loose bun to keep it from getting wet. "Your jeans are soaked," she notes, wrapping her fingers around his calves. "I've got more. You gonna be okay if I...?" he asks, clearing his throat awkwardly as his hands reach the clasp of her bra. "Yeah." He unclasps it, sliding the straps off her shoulders as quickly as he can, his eyes looking anywhere but down at her as she discards her underwear on the mat. Tossing the bra along with it, he grabs the soap and a washcloth from the side. "Okay I need to...if you're uncomfortable just let me know, and I'll get Lauren to--" "It's fine, Justin," Charly assures, figuring she's already been reduced to this. It doesn't much make a difference anymore what he sees or what he doesn't; he already knows all the ugliness she can't hide, despite her best efforts. This is, somehow, less naked, less humiliating than her last encounter with him. Justin works diligently, as fast as he can but still slow enough to where he can ensure he isn't hurting her. He slides the washcloth down, past the slope of her neck and down. "I'm sorry," she says as his hands move lower, working hurriedly past the space between her breasts and almost freezing when he gets to her ribcage. "For what?" "Not telling you, before." "Don't do that now," he hushes her. The idea of Rob anywhere near her, his mementos already marked all over her body is something he can't bring himself to think about right now. It'd be too easy to find himself in the same mess he did two months ago, and that kind of tabloid attention won't do him or Charly the slightest bit of good at this point. Justin bends down, his mouth hovering near her neck as he drags the washcloth across her stomach at an excruciating pace, his eyes flitting to hers every few seconds to gauge her reaction. He watches the tears streaming down her face, wincing at the pain but she doesn't make a fuss, her gaze focused on the water or his jeans, anywhere that isn't directly on him. "You can't see him again, Charly," he whispers, setting a hand behind her back to keep her still. "But Dylan--" "He'll kill you. All it's gonna take, is once, and he'll fucking kill you. I--Dylan can't deal with that. She needs you." Anymore, he can't differentiate whether he's speaking for the child or for himself. Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying. You know, I know, the sun will always shine So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind. You've been hurt so many times And I know what you're thinking of. "I don't...I don't know how to do anything else." Charly admits feebly, whimpering a little as he finds a spot that's sorer than the rest. "We'll figure something out." It's the first thing in three days that offers her an optimistic thought. ><>< Early the next afternoon, Justin and Lauren lead Charly back inside the apartment, Lauren dropping her keys on the counter where Trace and Rachel are perched, heads hung low over cups of coffee. "Hey Charly, how you doing?" Rachel asks with a forced smile. "I'm fine, really. You guys want some breakfast or--" "You've got two broken ribs, you're not fine, get your ass in your freshly made bed now, please. I'll take care of breakfast." Lauren orders, pointing down the hall. "Now." Charly nods, too tired to argue. She disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. "She okay?" Trace pipes up, taking a sip from his cup. "I don't know," Justin mutters, grabbing Rachel's cup and swigging from it before he sets it back in front of her. "You guys okay to get back to the hotel from here? You can take the car." "Yeah, we're fine." Rachel nods. "Cool. I should be back by three, but just re-schedule my meetings til' tomorrow in case." "We're s'posed to fly out tonight." Trace sinks at the look Rachel shoots him, realizing too late that now might not be the best time to bring this up. "Well, we're not." Justin ends the conversation, using the moment as an exit strategy. "I'll see you guys later." He finds his way to Charly's bedroom, letting himself inside. "Hi," she murmurs sleepily as she adjusts her pillows. "You need anything?" "I'm really okay." "I really don't believe you." "Why'd you come here, Justin? Last I checked we weren't exactly the Bosom Buddies." That small flicker of the Charly he's used to comes back, and for the first time in the past eight hours he feels a sense of relief, however brief it might be. Still, he's been around her long enough to recognize what she's trying to do. "Do you want me to stay?" He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, half hoping she'll say yes, half hoping she won't. But it seems that all she's been doing is exercising what little self-control she has left because out of nowhere, she starts sobbing, a muffled "yes" working its way out of her throat. Justin quickly kicks his shoes off and climbs into the bed beside her, his arms going around her waist as she buries her head in his chest. The past four days finally catch up to her, the fact that Dylan's gone, that her house and her heart feel emptier than they ever have, and that he's the closest thing to comfort she can find in this moment. He breathes a kiss into her hair, letting her cry herself into a restless sleep before he follows suit. Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying Baby, please stop crying. You know, I know, the sun will always shine So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind. Song "Baby Stop Crying" by Bob Dylan
Edited By: glowbug narking tony
03/30/2009 3:17 AM.
Edited 1 times.
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Maysam |
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Posts: 653 (03/30/2009 4:10 AM) |
Aww. I hope Justin and Charly can work things out. Hope Rob dies for what he did. And hopefully as Drew said in the last chapter, he'll fix the mess he
made
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