Page 44 of Shadowing Charlotte
"She's the one who told you—"
"No… I mean your mother," she corrected. Her gaze was burning into the side of my face as she waited for an answer.
"No, she doesn't." My jaw flexed as I tried to maintain focus on the road. No one knew, save for my father, Dr. Stonebrook, and Charlotte. It wasn't something I was proud of, nor that I offered freely. "I can't imagine she'd take it very well."
"Well, you made me go to therapy. I'm making you tell your mom," Charlotte insisted.
"Charlie…" I warned her she was pushing further than I wanted to go. "My mother is already in an institution. No good will come from it."
"Isn't that for her to decide?" Charlie countered.
"No, it's fucking not!" I snapped, regretting my temper the moment her expression wilted. "Listen to me, Charlie, and I'm only going to say it once, my mother is not well. She doesn't need any added stress in her life. And if you tell her, we're over. This is not fucking negotiable."
"Okay…" she replied, the agreement coming out a tiny, strained whisper as she shrank in her seat.
"Okay." I echoed, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead at the road. I hated seeing her retreat from me, but I needed her to understand the seriousness of the conversation.
When I pulled into her driveway, Charlie flung the car open and hurried inside, not bothering to wait for me. As I stepped into the house, I heard the bathroom door slam, and the water turn on in the shower.
"Charlie?" I followed her and turned the knob. My fingers stilled and I cursed under by breath as I realized she'd locked the door. "You realize I'm still going to be here when you get out?" I called through the door.
Instead of answering, Charlotte switched on music and cranked the volume up, drowning out the sound of my voice. "Charlotte!" I called again. She started to sing, the sound of the water quieting as she climbed into the shower. I waited there by the door, fuming.
Did she truly think locking me out was some kind of solution? When she finally opened the door, steam spilling from the bathroom, I was still standing there, arms crossed, glaring at her. "Are you done?" I demanded.
"That depends… are you going to yell at me again?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering slightly.
"No," I sighed.
"Then I'm done," she whispered, tightening her towel around her chest. She stepped around me padding into the bedroom and rifling through her dresser.
"I'm going to shower."
Charlotte shrugged. "Help yourself," she replied, her voice still sharp, edged with defensiveness. I stripped and left my clothes on the floor, stepping beneath the spray. The hot water almost immediately eased the tension from my shoulders.
Didn't she understand that I wasn't trying to be an asshole? I was just trying to protect my already fragile mother.
When I'd finished, I wrapped a towel around my waist and made my way to the bedroom, searching through my duffel bag for a clean pair of underwear. I threw the bag, groaning in annoyance when I couldn't find a single pair. "There's some in the dryer!" Charlotte called from the living room.
"You washed?" I asked when I joined her on the couch, tucking myself between her legs and resting my chin on her stomach.
"Someone told me that I was messy," she replied absentmindedly, scrolling through her phone.
"Still pissed?"
Charlotte sighed and set the phone on the back of the couch. "No," she replied, "but I don't like being yelled at."
"Good. I don't like yelling at you." I pressed a kiss to her belly as I realized she was wearing one of my t-shirts.
"I was just trying to help," she whispered sadly.
"Charlotte, I don't need your help, baby. Not when it comes to her," I insisted.
"Alright… I won't bring her up again," she replied bitterly, reaching for her phone.
"Charlie—"
"Why are you allowed to help me, forcing me to go to therapy, but I'm not allowed to have a say in your life?" Charlotte asked, a wounded look in her eyes as she met my gaze. A sour lump formed in my throat, unable to formulate a decent answer.
