Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

  She nods and takes the pad and pen and begins writing. When she’s done, my father hugs her tightly and assures her everything will be all right before he leaves to give it to the detective.

  “I thought we agreed to tell him the truth.”

  “We did,” she snaps. “But not right now. George is going through withdrawals. Let me get him through this and we’ll tell them.”

  The room falls silent for a moment. She sits stiff as a board, her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. “Are you all right, Charlotte?” I ask.

  She smiles faintly. “What if they hate me for keeping the secret this long?”

  “They won’t,” I promise. I know this without a doubt. They may be shocked at first, but they’ll believe her.

  “It’s been so long since anyone has cared about me. I don’t want to lose them, Ike. And I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” I assure her. “You may not be able to see me once I go, but Charlotte, I’ll always be in your heart.” I place my hand to my chest in emphasis. “My family won’t turn you away either. You’re a part of us now. They won’t turn their backs on you. I swear it.”

  Her tear-filled eyes meet mine and she stifles a sob. “And once they know, if they accept it and find peace, you’ll go. I feel like I’m going to lose no matter what I do, Ike. It’s suffocating me.”

  “Charlotte,” my voice cracks. Standing, I walk toward the mirror, fighting my own emotions. I hate seeing her cry, but I hate it even more that leaving her is going to tear me up inside just as much as it is her. But there’s a pull, something invisible that I can’t see, tugging at me, drawing me to another place. I’d be gone by now if not for George, but his hold, that weight he’s had on my shoulders is lessening. When George finds peace, I’ll have no choice but to go where that invisible tether leads me, and that will mean leaving this beautiful woman behind. I know on one hand it will be better for her, no matter how sad she’ll be. Eventually she’ll move on or her sadness will ebb and she will be happy. On the other hand, the selfish part of me needs her to need me.

  “What if you’re wrong? Then I’ll be all alone again, Ike. I’ll be exactly the way you found me. Alone and hopeless.”

  Flashing around the table, I lean over it so that her gaze meets mine. I won’t let her be that way again. The memory of her standing on that bridge railing twists my insides. Life is full of color and magic and ups and downs, but Charlotte is the best parts of life. She’s light and warmth and bliss. “You listen to me, Charlotte. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.” My fists clench as my anger seizes me and her eyes dart away. “Look at me, goddamn it!” I shout. When her gaze flicks back to mine, she’s holding her breath. “Never give up. Promise me,” I demand in a steady voice edged with fury. “I can’t find peace if I think for one second you’ll turn back into that girl I found on the bridge that night, Charlotte. Promise me,” I beg. My own eyes tear up as fear and anger seize me. She’s so important to me. I have to know she’ll be okay—that she’ll be strong. It will be an eternity of hell if I’m forced to go and have to carry the worry of her possibly ending her life with me. I need to know she’ll survive this; that she’ll be okay.

  Lowering my voice and staring deep into her eyes, I beg, “Please, baby girl. Promise me. I need . . . I need to know you’ll be okay.”

  Tears stream down her face, but she nods slightly. “I promise.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t take you in my arms right now and hold you. I’d sell my soul to the devil if I could, Charlotte.” My words cause a sob to break free from her trembling lips.

  “I know you would,” she whispers as she wipes at her face and nose with shaky fingers. She takes a few deep breaths and after a few moments, she seems to calm a bit. After another hour, the detective enters with her statement typed and has her sign it in the presence of my father.

  “You won’t be leaving town anytime soon, will you, Charlotte?” Andrews asks.

  “No, sir,” she answers.

  “Your vehicle was brought in for inspection. We’ll be fingerprinting it. If we find any matches for whoever broke into your truck, we’ll be in touch. We’ll contact you when you can pick up the vehicle.”

  “Thank you,” she says, and nods numbly before standing. My father leads her out of the interrogation room and down the corridor until they reach the lobby. George flies out of his chair and wraps his arms around her. “What in the hell took so long?” he growls. There are bags under his eyes and he’s pale. It’s not hard to see he’s hurting.

  “George, it’s been a long day. Let’s just get her home,” my father encourages. He senses George’s agitation, but doesn’t realize it’s in part due to his withdrawals.

  “I’ll drive them,” Sniper volunteers.

  Sniper drops George and me off at his house, insisting he can handle things at the restaurant. George held me in the backseat the entire way to his house despite his own problems. His breathing was labored, and I know he’s ill. I told him about finding Casey’s body; of course, I left out the part about Casey’s soul showing me where it was. He hugged me tighter and told me how strong I was after experiencing something like that. My insides twisted, knowing I was lying to him yet again.

  Once we’re inside, he leads me to the bathroom in the master bedroom and starts the faucet. “You take a warm bath and try to relax. I’ll order a pizza.”

  “George, you aren’t feeling well. You should take a hot shower and let me handle dinner.”

  “You’ve had a really shitty day. I’m going to feel like ass no matter what I do. At least one of us should feel a little better.”

  He gives me a T-shirt and some boxers and leaves me to bathe. I soak for a long time until I hear his doorbell ding and know it must be the pizza. I haven’t eaten anything all day so I hurry out of the tub and dress.

  By the time I reach the kitchen, George is in only a pair of basketball shorts, his skin coated in sweat. Shit. He doesn’t look so well.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, Charlotte, but I need to lie down. Please help yourself to anything.”

  “Okay.” I nod as he walks back to his bedroom. I switch on the television while I eat, trying to keep quiet so George can sleep. After a while I decide to go and check on him and find him curled up in the fetal position on his bed; sweat covering him. His body feels like it’s on fire. I find a washcloth and a dry towel and attempt to wipe him off while applying the cool cloth to his forehead.

  “You should go home, Charlotte,” he moans in pain. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  Taking his hand in mine, I kiss it. “I’m not going anywhere. The good, the bad, and the ugly . . . remember?”

  And ugly it is. For the next few days I stay with George as his body punishes him for denying it the cocaine, pills, and booze it has become accustomed to. My heart aches for him; I’d do anything to take his pain away. At night, I’ve slept with him in case he’s needed me, and by day, I try in vain to get him to eat something. Ike assures me as long as he keeps drinking water, he’ll be okay; the body can survive days without food, but can’t go longer than three days before dehydration sets in. The only times I’ve left is when Sniper comes between shifts and stays with George while I clean rooms for Ginger. At least I was able to use Georges’ washing machine and clean my clothes.

  The first twenty-four hours are the worst, but as time passes he starts coming to a bit more. Now, he’s just really tired and wants to sleep. While he’s been incapacitated, I’ve done some research trying to find him a therapist, or a facility that can help him keep clean. I hope he’ll be open to it.

  “He’ll need rehab,” Ike says, as I Google all of the information I can about drug addiction.

  “He won’t go,” I answer. “Not at first, anyway.”

  “Who are you talking to?” George asks in a hoarse voice as he enters the living room. I nearly jump out of my skin. He’s shirtless and I can’t help staring at him for a moment, admiring h
is defined abs and bare, broad shoulders.

  “Just talking to myself,” I reply as I place George’s laptop beside me and stand.

  “You do that a lot?” he asks. “Misty said she saw you talking to yourself when you first started working at the bar.”

  I have to fight like hell not to scowl at the mention of her name. “Did she?” I ask, my tone not hiding my annoyance. “I’m sure she had all kinds of things to say about me.”

  “Easy, Charlotte,” Ike interjects, and I roll my eyes.

  Pushing past George, I enter the kitchen and start pulling out lunch meat and cheese to make sandwiches. “You hungry?”

  I’m tossing the items on the counter to the right of the fridge while searching for the mayonnaise when I feel hands grab my hips and pull me back. George spins me around, shutting the fridge right after, before lifting me and sitting me on the kitchen island. My legs open to allow him to stand close to me without thought. In nothing but a pair of George’s boxers and an old T-shirt, this position feels extremely . . . intimate. Running his hand up my thigh, he reaches the fabric of his boxers I’m wearing before he stops.

  “Thank you, Charlotte,” he says. “For taking care of me. I’m sorry you had to.” His coffee eyes peer into mine and I reach up, threading my fingers through his shaggy hair.

  “Thank you for letting me take care of you, George,” I reply, letting my gaze fall to his lips.

  When our mouths meet in a passionate, toe-curling kiss, I snake my arms around him and push my body forward so I’m as close to him as I can be. Before I know it, he’s lifting me, my legs wrapped around his waist, our lips never leaving the other’s as he carries me back to his bedroom. We’re a tangle of madness and want as we fall to the bed and he presses his full weight on me. My body is riddled with a delicious ache and when his hand slides underneath my top and cups my breast, I nearly explode. He trails kisses down my neck to my chest and lifts the shirt so his beautiful mouth can suck on my pert nipple. A deep throaty moan escapes me, and I buck my hips up to meet his body, begging for anything and everything he’ll give me.

  “Charlotte,” he whispers in between panting breaths, and my core clenches.

  His hand leaves my breast and slides down my body, his fingers digging into my flesh as they tease at the waist of the boxer shorts. The fog of my lust begins to taper off as so many brutal truths bombard me all at once. For one, where is Ike? I completely forgot he was here when this all started. And having sex with George while Ike watched would be so wrong on so many levels, but even with that aside—I’m a virgin. And this has moved super-fast. And George is barely recovering from an addiction problem.

  “George,” I moan in an attempt to slow him, but it only seems to encourage him more as he tugs at the waist of the boxers and begins slipping them down my hips.

  “God, Charlotte, you’re so beautiful,” he purrs as he slips the boxer shorts down my thighs. “I want you so fucking bad.”

  I want him just as badly. I’m the worst person in the world, but I do. How could I do this to Ike?

  “George, we have to stop,” I finally squeak out, and he freezes just as he pulls the boxer shorts down to my ankles. His eyes are wide with regret and embarrassment.

  Pulling away as if I’m on fire, he apologizes, “I’m sorry, I thought you . . . never mind. I’m an asshole. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not that, George, I do want you. Badly,” I emphasize as I reach down and pull the shorts back up. Rolling over and moving to my knees in front of him, I let my gaze flicker to his rather sizable erection under his boxers. I want so badly to touch it; to run my hand down his hard length and feel what I do to him. “It’s just, this is moving really fast and . . .”

  “I know. I’m an addict loser,” he says, morosely, and moves to climb off the bed.

  “No!” I yell, and he stalls. “I’m a virgin, George,” I admit before swallowing past the lump in my throat. His brows rise to his hairline.

  “Really?” he questions in disbelief. I’m not sure if he doesn’t believe me, or if he’s just shocked.

  “Really,” I reply, waiting to read him further before deciding how to proceed. Silence hangs between us and heat begins to crawl up my neck and to my cheeks. Does he think I’m some kind of leper because I haven’t lost it yet? With a sideways smirk, I add, “I just thought maybe you should know.”

  “How . . . just, how? You’re so . . . everything,” he mumbles, I think more to himself than to me. My heart expands five times its size, making my chest feel tight. Everything. He thinks I’m everything.

  “I think you’re amazing, too,” I tell him, my gut twisting as I once again remember this man is falling in love with me and knows nothing real about me. At least not the most relevant truths.

  His dark gaze meets mine just before he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have no idea why you have such a high opinion of me, but I swear I want to be worthy of that opinion, and I want to be worthy of you, Charlotte.” Swallowing hard, his gaze drops. “The man you met and have known, that’s not me. Honestly, I know this is going to make me sound even more like an addict, but I don’t want the drugs. I was just so lost, and I just wanted to be numb for a long time; not feel anything. But now, I want to feel . . . at least the good stuff. I want to feel things with you.”

  Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I open my mouth to respond when there’s a knock at the door. “You expecting someone?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies and stands and searches for a T-shirt to pull on, but I climb off the bed and stop him.

  “I’ll get it. I like you shirtless.” I wink as I pass by him.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He smirks as he pulls me back and kisses me tenderly. My body curves to his as his fingers gently thread through my hair. When he pulls away, he peers into my eyes and says, “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I want to be with you. I know I have to prove myself to you first, but I will. I promise.” Then he kisses me again as knocks hammer the front door, beckoning us.

  As I make my way to the door, I commit to telling George the truth tonight. I have to. I can’t keep this inside anymore. I only pray he doesn’t hate me after he finds out the truth. But even I know, deep down, initially he won’t take it well, and I need to be prepared for that. Maybe I should ask Sniper to be present.

  The person at the door pounds harder this time and my brows furrow. “Hold your damn horses. I’m coming!” I shout just before whipping the door open. Only moments before, I had been walking on cloud nine, albeit a cloud riddled with doubt and uncertainty, but I was still swimming in the after effects of George’s proclamation that he wants to be with me. I want to be with him, too. Now my heart has dropped into the deepest, darkest part of my stomach as a pair of familiar gray eyes stare back at me.

  “Charlotte Anne,” he says, with an obvious tone of frustration.

  Licking my dry lips and knotting my hands together in front of me to hide my nerves, I reply, “Daddy.”

  The moment George pulled her away from the fridge and placed her on the counter, I morphed outside. This is the purest form of torture; to watch the woman I love with another man. It’s not either of their faults, which makes it all the worse. I’m pushing her to George and because of that, she’s fallen for both of us. This isn’t fair to any of us; not her, not me, and not George, even though he has no idea this fucked up love triangle exists.

  That invisible pull, that force, pulling me to what lies just beyond this world is strengthening as the weight of my worry for George lightens. I know he’s still fragile, and not quite out of the water just yet, but I think it’s time to tell him the truth. There will no doubt be some backlash on his part, and it may take him a few days to come to terms with all of this. But he needs to know the truth, and accept it. Speaking only for myself, this situation is tearing me apart. I want so badly for George to be better, to be happy, but his happiness involves him having something I would sell my soul to have. I’m an
asshole for thinking this way. They’re the two people I love most in the world, and I want them to have each other when I’m gone, but watching it happen is hard.

  I’m pacing the driveway when a blue Sedan pulls up and an older man in slacks and a green dress shirt steps out. His face is hard, like he’s pissed, and my body tenses. Who the hell is this guy, and why is he here? He pounds George’s front door repeatedly until Charlotte whips the door open, and her face falls, all the blood draining from it.

  “Charlotte Anne,” the man grumbles, and I’m on high alert. Who is he, and how does he know her?

  I morph inside the house and behind her when she says, “Daddy.”

  My mouth drops open. So this is the asshole that treated her like a nut job and sent her away? I’d give my left nut to take a swing at this guy. Anyone who knows Charlotte, really knows her and her secrets, knows she’s not crazy. She’s beautiful and selfless. Look at what she’s done to help me, and what about the others before me?

  “How did you find me?” she manages.

  “The police called me and informed me my truck was in their possession in an investigation for murder and a break-in. The sheriff gave me the address of your motel, but when you weren’t there, they gave me this address.” Charlotte remains frozen, staring at him.

  “May I come in?” her father asks after a long pause, although he’s not really asking. I can tell he’s using his fatherly tone with her. His eyes dart over her, taking in her attire. She’s wearing a shirt and George’s boxers, rolled up so many times her ass is kind of hanging out. I think it looks hot, but I guess from a father’s point of view, it wouldn’t.

  “Actually, now’s not a good time,” she finally answers. “Where are you staying? I’ll come meet you there.” The panic she’s feeling is evident in her tone, at least it is to me. She’s scared her father will expose her to George. She steps out and closes the door slightly, forcing her father to step back. There’s enough of a crack that I can remain inside and still see both of them.