Page 54 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

“I’m so sorry, Troy.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

23

Charlie

I can’t go and see Dad today. I just can’t face him after last week. Instead, I call Mr. Shore, give him a list of the usual stuff Dad gets—it’s practically the same thing every week—and pay for him to deliver it to Dad’s house.

“Everything all right, Charlie?” Mr. Shore asks after he’s confirmed the order.

“Sure,” I lie, my tone far too high to make it convincing. “Just super busy right now, Mr. Shore.”

When I hang up, I wrap the blanket around my body again and slump back into a funk. That’s what I’m “super busy” doing. Sitting here, slowly slipping into a depression, and feeling like my world has crashed down around my ears.

My emotions have my head turned upside down. It’s been a week since the big revelation, and apart from Troy coming around to speak to me, I haven’t seen him. Part of me is completely disappointed. Part of me is angry that he hasn’t tried to knock my door down and fight for what we had. But then, he never fought ten years ago. Why would he try now?

The other part of me, the angry part, doesn’t want to lay eyes on him. That part is glad he’s gotten the message. But as angry as I am, I still miss him. It feels like I’m empty. Like my whole purpose for living has just gone up in smoke.

Stupid, I know. I had a perfectly purposeful life before Troy returned, but like I said, my feelings are all over the place, and I feel like I’m going mad. Maybe I would go mad if I had the energy to make the effort. But I don’t.

I remember this devastation well. It feels exactly the same as it did ten years ago. The only difference is that I’m older. That should be a good thing. Maybe I should handle this better with my maturity. But apparently, it doesn’t work like that. Despair feels the same, no matter what age you are.

I’ve even canceled on my clients this week. It’s not just Dad I can’t face. Clearly, I can’t tolerate being around anyone. The façade I put on last week was too much effort, and besides, I’m worried I’ll break down in tears. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. It comes on so quickly that I hardly get a chance to catch my breath.

My appetite’s gone, my energy’s gone, my purpose is gone. Why does heartbreak wreck every single part of your life?

Because it’s heartbreak, Charlie.

It’s a mess, is what it is. I’m a mess. My life is a mess. Everything is just a great big mess.

Dad calls later, but I ignore his call. He’s phoned every day since I stormed out, but I’m in no mood to speak to him. Maybe he thought he’d see me today for sure like he has every Wednesday for the last four years. But I’m still mad at him.

Having long days of reflection has actually made me angrier with him. I was seventeen years old when he sent Troy away. Old enough to make my own darn life decisions. Actually, older than most seventeen-year-olds, after what I’d suffered. I didn’t just lose my mother, I became her replacement, and he let it happen. Forced to grow up pretty fast, I don’t remember having much of a childhood after that.

So, I was mature enough to get the groceries, make his meals, and clean the house, but not mature enough to choose who I wanted to be with? He had no right. He had no business talking to Troy behind my back. The more I’ve thought about that, the more I’ve realized he had an ulterior motive.

When I was with Troy, I finally began to realize I could have a life outside the family home. I’d spend less time with Dad and more time with Troy. Now, it makes sense. Dad was scared I was going to leave him for Troy. He was scared I was going to make a life of my own, and he would have to look after himself. In his selfishness, he sent Troy away so that I would be stuck there for as long as he could keep me. And that’s exactly what happened.

I must have dozed off because the thumping sound reverberating on my front door wakes me with a start. My heart is beating like a drum in a St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Partly to do with the fact I’ve just been shocked awake, partly to do with the fear I’m feeling about who might be at my door.

Huddled under my blanket on the couch, I stay as still as I can. Maybe if I don’t answer, whoever it is will go away.

What if it’s Troy?

What if it is Troy? Do I really care?

Yes, you do.

Yes, I know I do, but do I care enough to want to speak to him? Besides, I’m a mess. I haven’t showered in three days, my hair is greasy, and I’m in scruffy PJs. There’s no way I want to see him looking like this. It’s not just vanity. A part of me doesn’t want him to know that I’m hurting so bad.

Pride comes just before a fall.

Yes, well, I think I’ve fallen far enough already. There’s not much further for me to go.

“Charlie. Are you in there?” Milly’s voice seeps through my front door. “I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the driveway. Come on. Let me in.”

I nearly breathe a sigh of relief, until I remember that I don’t really want to see anyone. But Milly is as stubborn as her brother. Besides, she knows where I keep my spare key. If I don’t go and open the front door, she’ll just let herself in, anyway.

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