Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

  George stands and shakes the bottle in her face, the pills rattling, as he pushes past her. “You can either stay and watch or you can get your ass out of my house. Your choice.” He leers at her and she rolls her eyes. George crouches down, slowly paying mind to his injuries, in front of the coffee table and dumps a pill on the glass. He takes the picture of me in the frame from the day I graduated basic and begins crushing the pill with it.

  Charlotte’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “What the fuck is that?”

  George snorts. “Oxy.”

  “You’re going to snort oxycodone? Are you fucking kidding me?” she shrieks.

  George doesn’t answer her. Patting his pockets, he finds his wallet and pulls out his license and continues to break up the pill with the card. Charlotte stands, arms crossed, staring down at him in disbelief.

  “You want some?” George asks snidely, knowing she doesn’t, as he pulls out a dollar bill and begins rolling it up. She may not realize what he’s doing, but I do. He’s trying to scare her away; let her see the worst of him.

  “Don’t do it, George,” Charlotte warns, and even I’m surprised by her tone.

  “Or what, Mother Teresa?”

  “I’ll tell your mom,” she threatens.

  George laughs haughtily. “She’d never believe you.”

  Charlotte bites her lip as George bends down to snort his first line. In a rush, she throws herself on the table and the pill dust flies everywhere as the glass crushes and combusts into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “What the fuck?” George yells as she hops up, white residue and glass covering her black Ike and George’s shirt, her expression hard with anger. “Get the fuck out of my house!” George growls.

  Picking up the photo of me George used to crush the pill off the ground, she yells, “What would Ike say if he could see you now?” as she shoves the photo in his face.

  George freezes. “Really, Charlotte?” I mumble. “This has gone too far. You should go,” I encourage. George’s expression is unreadable, and as his twin that knows everything about him, that worries me. I’m not sure what he’s capable of right now.

  George slowly looks up at her and drops the dollar bill, yanking the picture frame from her hand and tossing it on the sofa behind him. With his injuries, it takes him a minute to fully stand and Charlotte waits, her jaw set.

  “Leave!” he roars. “Leave right this fucking minute!”

  The room falls silent as they both breathe heavily. Charlotte’s eyes move to the pill bottle that lays sideways amidst the table she just destroyed, and I can practically read her mind.

  “Don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late. She’s darted to the table, seized the bottle and bolts to the bathroom. George, even in his pain, manages to catch up to her rather quickly, cursing at her as he moves, but by the time he makes it to the hall bathroom, the toilet is already flushing. Her eyes are fixed on the toilet bowl as the water spins around and the pills swirl with it. George is in the doorway, shirtless, every muscle in his body coiled. His rage rolls off him like pulsing heat as he stares at her in disbelief. I’m a little thrown, too. She’s a very drastic woman. Not even I could have predicted she’d do something like that.

  When she raises her head, she twists the lid back on the pill bottle and approaches him in the doorway. She’s not smiling, but there’s definitely no apology in her eyes. Pressing the bottle to his chest, she looks him directly in the eye and without one ounce of fear, says, “Here. I’ll be leaving now. Thanks for having me over.” She releases the pill bottle, which George doesn’t attempt to catch, letting it fall to the floor. Pushing past him, she walks calmly to the living room, but before she reaches the entrance, George seizes her arm and jerks her around. Her eyes widen slightly before returning to their usual calmness. I’ve never seen George so angry, and I know he’d never hit a woman, but even I’m worried I could be wrong about that, judging by the look on his face.

  With his fists tightened at his sides, he steps toward her. “You roll into town and I give you a job. You come to my home and flush my booze and drugs. As pissed as I am, I might be able to forgive you for that shit, even though I’ll probably fire your ass tomorrow. But don’t you dare act like you know shit about my brother, and what I’m going through.” After everything she’s said and done tonight, I’m surprised that seems to be what he’s most pissed about; her use of my memory to influence him.

  “And why is that?” Charlotte shouts angrily as she pushes his chest, rage brimming in her eyes. Holy shit! Why is she so pissed all of a sudden? She was the definition of calm a few moments ago. “Because you’re the only one that’s ever lost someone?” She shoves his chest with more force and he winces. “Because you’re the only one that’s ever wished it would all end?” Again, she shoves him, this time making contact with his arm, hard, and George stumbles back, surprised by her aggression. “The drugs. The booze. You’re fucking hiding, George, and Ike would be destroyed if he could see you right now!”

  She swings her arm to slap him, but in a flash, George grabs her by the arms and corners her against the wall. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know shit about Ike, so fuck you, Charlotte! Where the fuck do you get off saying this shit to me?”

  “Because I know you!” she yells as she struggles to get free from his grip as tears stream down her face. “I know you wish it had been you that died and he had stayed. You think he was the better one, the one that always knew what to do, or say, and now that he’s gone, you feel like no one will ever know you like he did!” She takes a deep breath as her body stills for a moment, leaning heavily to the wall he’s pressed her against, her lips trembling.

  George’s grip stays firm on her arms, but his expression softens slightly as his chest heaves with each ragged breath he takes. He’s hurt from the beating Roger and his brother gave him and his exhaustion is evident. Swallowing hard, he asks, “And how do you know this, Charlotte?”

  “Because . . .” She shakes her head and jerks, trying to free herself from his grip.

  “Stop!” he orders, pressing her back against the wall.

  “Fuck you,” she sobs and knees him in the groin. When he lurches forward in pain, Charlotte moves to escape, but George grabs her and they tumble to the ground together, both of them grunting. She claws and twists, but George crawls up her body and straddles her, pinning her arms to her sides. “Tell me how you know this,” he pants. Charlotte stops fighting him, realizing he’s much stronger than her. Her chest heaves up and down as she tries to catch her breath.

  “Tell me,” George repeats.

  “Because I see myself in you,” she growls through clenched teeth as if she hates him for making her admit it. “Every time I look into your sad, brown eyes, I see my own despair staring back at me. You think because I didn’t grow up in this tiny-ass town that I can’t know you? Well, you’re wrong. I know you better than anyone here does. Maybe better than your brother did.”

  “Charlotte,” I whisper. “Where is this coming from? What are you doing?” She ignores me as her gaze locks with George’s. It’s like they’re seeing something I don’t, or can’t, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m dead or because I’m not privy to it.

  George sighs. “Who was it?”

  “My brother, Axel,” she says, quietly. “Six years ago.”

  How have I not heard about her brother? I should’ve asked. I should’ve asked about her life, but I was too caught up in saving George’s. How could I be so stupid to think a job and a place to sleep were all the answers to her problems? They’re both in leaking boats, and I’ve asked Charlotte to get in George’s and help him bucket out the water while her boat steadily sinks.

  “How’d it happen?”

  Charlotte swallows hard, the thought causing tears to trickle down her face. “Motorcycle accident. We were both riding. He died. I didn’t,” she answers mechanically.

  George’s eyes clench closed as realization dawns on him. “The panic attack the
other day . . .” he whispers. It all makes sense now. “Shit,” he says, under his breath. “I’m so sorry.” George releases her arms and rolls off of her. They lie back side by side staring up at the ceiling, both of them still breathing heavily. “Ike was in Afghanistan. IED.”

  “Anna told me,” Charlotte replies as she wipes at her face. “I’m so sorry,” she adds as her gaze moves to me briefly. And I believe her. She is genuinely upset over my passing. As our eyes lock for that brief moment, I finally see what she described to George. I see her despair, her hurt, and I hate myself for not seeing it before. I found her at a pivotal moment, a time when she was choosing the unknown to escape this world. I knew there was pain, but not like this. How could I have been so senseless?

  After a few moments, George stands up, reaching a hand down to help Charlotte up. When she’s on her feet, she wipes at her face once more, running her fingers under her eyes to clear any smeared mascara. “After a brawl like that I could use a drink,” he laughs. “Too bad some Billy Badass came in here and dumped it all out.” He’s trying to joke with her; lighten the mood.

  Charlotte smiles faintly. “I won’t interfere again, George.” With that, she grabs her keys off the table by the sofa and opens the front door.

  “Wait!” George practically shouts. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going back to my motel room to sleep. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “What?” George and I ask in unison.

  “I hope you get it figured out, George.” With that, she shuts the door, leaving me and George feeling lost.

  Turning, George runs a hand through his hair, his eyes clenched closed. He has to know he’s really FUBARRED big time when it comes to Charlotte. After a moment, he opens his eyes and picks up my picture from the couch. “What do I do, Ike?”

  “Go after her, you ass!” I yell, but of course, he can’t hear me.

  As I drive back to the motel, the tears fall freely. Revealing my pain to George and Ike was like peeling back my skin and exposing my insides. It’s been so long since I let the memory of my brother, and his untimely death, wreck me like that. I never intended to tell George or Ike about Axel, at least not how destroyed his passing left me.

  Pulling into the motel’s parking lot, I put the truck in park and rush inside, hoping Ginger won’t see me in this state. It’s dark out, so it’s unlikely, plus it’s two in the morning, but I hurry anyway, just in case. Once inside, I flip the light on and nearly jump out of my skin when the first thing I see is Ike. I know he’s disappointed in me. I left his brother. I’m leaving tomorrow without helping him resolve his unfinished business.

  “I’m sorry, Ike,” I say, hoarsely. His brown eyes soften and he runs a hand over his hair, like he does a lot, and sighs.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it’s hard to tell,” I answer honestly.

  “I’d like you to tell me now. Please.” His gaze meets mine and he reaches a hand up as if he wants to wipe the tears from my cheek, but his hand stops midair and he pulls it back slowly, realizing he can’t. I quickly wipe at my face and let my gaze fall to the floor. I hate he can’t touch me right now. A hug, a touch from him, would be amazing. It’s been so long since someone, anyone, held me, gave me some kind of physical comforting. Maybe I’m partly to blame for that; I haven’t exactly been making myself available. But right now, I’d give anything to feel Ike’s touch. And as fucked up as it sounds, I’d love to feel George’s, too. The brothers are so different, polar opposites in fact, that I find myself drawn to each one for different reasons. One is so strong and responsible; so much so, not even death can keep him from taking care of those he loves. The other, broken and lost, wishing time could rewind on one hand, but using any method necessary to forget time on the other. In George, I recognize myself and my desire to save him has a lot to do with wanting to save myself; as if by yanking him out of the black hole he’s sinking in, maybe I’d have a chance of surviving this hell I’ve lived in for six years. In Ike, I see hope. I see that maybe with enough love, being saved is possible.

  Before I can respond to Ike, there’s a knock at the door and I have a feeling I know who it is. I open it and see George, his swollen eye and busted lip painfully on display, his forearm leaned against the doorframe. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in; he just pushes past me, forcing me back and shuts the door behind him. We stand facing each other, our gazes locked. I loathe the weak and pathetic girl I am right now. All I want to do is breakdown and sob. There’s a saying that misery loves company, and it’s true. At least for me it is. George is a reflection of every horrible feeling I have, and even though the moments we’ve shared together have, for the most part, been anything but pleasant, being with him feels like being with someone who understands.

  He stares at me with his good eye and his mouth curves at the corner. Before I know it, he’s wiping my tears away. And when I press my cheek into his hand, his other arm snakes around me and pulls me to him. My thin arms wrap around his torso, causing him to hiss slightly, so I immediately loosen my arms, realizing his ribs hurt, but he presses me to him.

  “Don’t stop,” he orders, so I strengthen my hold and press my forehead to his chest. Minutes, hours, I don’t know—time passes and we hold each other. It isn’t intimate or sexual; it’s the comfort in finding someone who finally understands. When we finally pull away from each other, I scan the room and don’t see Ike anywhere. My heart breaks a little. He wanted to comfort me this way and couldn’t.

  “Don’t go, Charlotte.” George breaks the silence. “I know I’ve been an asshole. I’m just really fucked up, but I think you should stay.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and sighs. “I think if you do, we could be good friends, and to tell you the truth, I really need one.”

  I lick my dry lips. “I’ll stay, if you promise me something.”

  He snorts. “What’s that?”

  “No more drugs. I mean it, George. None.”

  He swallows hard and nods once. “Okay.”

  I was given the day off, perks of being friends with your boss, I guess, so I sleep in. Shortly after I awake, I dress and head over to the main office to seek instructions from Ginger. No one other than me was checked into the motel last night, but I volunteer to do a thorough cleaning of the rooms, agreeing to get three done today. Hopefully by next week when things get busy, all of the rooms will be in tip-top shape. Ginger seems tickled pink, and after she shows me where to find the cart with the cleaning supplies, she sends me on my way. Truthfully, I’m grateful for anything to keep me busy and my mind off the events of last night.

  George left shortly after our agreement. We’re both venturing into unchartered waters. Neither of us really knows how this friendship is supposed to work, but we’ve both agreed to try. Ike never returned last night and I’m worried. I imagine he’s still pissed at me for leaving the letter for Roger. I understand why he feels that way; his brother got the shit beat out of him. Of course, he’s angry with me.

  After I finish cleaning, I return to my room and prepare to shower. Just as I’ve undressed, a knock sounds at my door. Wrapping a towel around myself and opening the door, I find George, swollen eye and smile on his face. He’s holding a brown paper bag with grease stains.

  His one good eye goes wide at the sight of me in my towel. “Hi,” he finally manages after swallowing hard.

  “Hello,” I say, as heat crawls up my neck and blankets my face. Pulling my towel a little tighter around me, I clear my throat.

  “Do you always answer the door without asking who it is in nothing but a towel?” he scolds me.

  “Nice to see you, too, George,” I grumble. “What can I do for you?”

  “I brought lunch for milady,” George finally manages. “Thought I owed my new friend a thank you.”

  My heart feels heavy in my chest. I would’ve never expected such a sweet gesture from him. “That’s awesome. I’m starving.” I open the door to let him in, but h
e steps back. “I’ll wait out here while you get dressed. Maybe we could make it a picnic. I know an awesome place.”

  “Okay. I’ll be just a few minutes,” I tell him as I close the door. Slipping on my last pair of clean underwear, I quickly dress in dirty jeans and a T-shirt before grabbing my jacket off the chair near the door. Taking in his jeans and tight, gray sweater, I realize I haven’t bathed today. I don’t bother checking myself in the mirror. I know I look like hell. “I haven’t taken a shower today so I apologize if I’m stinky.”

  “I was wondering what that foul odor was,” he teases as I shut the door and we head toward his Bronco. It’s jacked up, worn, and painted bright red.

  “You’re hilarious,” I retort. “Nice ride. What does this thing get, like negative five miles per gallon?”

  He laughs and my tummy clenches. What an amazing laugh he has. His laugh is like the pop of a fired gun; it’s surprising and leaves me stunned and a little wired. He opens the passenger side door and helps me climb in, his hands grasping my hips gently and lifting me. I can’t ignore the zing that travels through me when he touches me. I wish I could control the reaction my body has whenever he touches me, but I can’t. I can only hope it’s not obvious to him. “It was me and Ike’s first car. Took our joint life savings, but we were sixteen with the baddest ride in school.”

  Grinning at the thought, I glance around for Ike, but he’s still nowhere to be seen. I frown slightly at that realization. I hate not feeling him near. George drives us up the mountain and pulls into a wooded area about ten minutes away. The entire time he points out houses and tells me who lives there and how he knows them. Apparently, he knows every freaking person in this town because we don’t pass one house or farm where he doesn’t identify the family living there. The roads are steep, and if I look to my right, it’s almost a direct drop down the mountain. One bad turn or swerve and we crash to our deaths. As his Bronco lurches over the rough terrain, I question, “You bringing me out here to kill me?”