Page 82 of Thirsty
Lorenzo just held him and stroked his arm, from his shoulder down to his elbow. “What was her name?”
“Ali,” he said quietly. “Alison.”
Lorenzo kept stroking Charlie’s arms, his back, steadily and firm, like he could knead comfort into his muscles and his bones. “What was she like?”
“She was...fun,” Charlie said. “She was so much fun.”
He took a deep breath. “Her room used to be filled with all these—like, trinkets, stuff from random shops, and prizes we’d won at fairs, and beads from Mardi Gras. She just liked having that stuff around, to remind her of the good times. And she loved telling stories, especially ones where she did something stupid or embarrassing.” He sighed a little, his body molding itself even closer to Lorenzo. “I know I can be a...a really prideful person,” he said, his voice small. “But I think I turned out okay because...she taught me to laugh at myself. She loved to laugh at herself.”
He paused again, for a while this time. “She helped you see the world for what it was—ridiculous and often disappointing and always fun. She was just so...happy,” he said. “She made you forget why life wasn’t like that all the time.” After a moment, he added, “My dad got—quieter, after she was gone.”
Lorenzo kissed his forehead.
“Y’know what’s so weird about it,” Charlie rambled on. “Once you’ve...been through something like that, it’s like you suddenly become a member of this...club. The—the nightmare scenario club. Because—people who aren’t in the club—people who haven’t had to go through that—I mean, they—” He scoffed a little. “They just don’t have a fucking clue. But once you’re in the club, you can—you can see other people who’re in the club. And you can help them,” he whispered. “You can be like—I’ve been there too, I know what it’s like when your...your whole world falls apart. Because mine did too.”
“Yeah?” Lorenzo asked, even though he knew it was true. He’d been a member of the club for two centuries.
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “And it’s...it’s the only good thing about it. Feeling useful like that. Feeling like you’re able to do that for someone else.”
Even as he said it, a frown twisted Lorenzo’s face. Charlie was talking about something horrible but lovely, a silver lining on the darkest cloud, but he didn’t sound sad in that way; he sounded twisted up and bitter. Like he was talking about something he’d lost, aside from his mother. “You’re a good person, Charlie,” Lorenzo whispered.
Charlie huffed a laugh and turned his face away. “I don’t know about that.”
Lorenzo hummed and rubbed Charlie’s back more. Speaking aloud as the thought came to him, he said, “Well, with your mother gone, and you living in this...squalid hole, maybe the time is right for you and your father to reconnect.”
Charlie sighed. “Lorenzo...”
He knew that Charlie had been working tirelessly on his thesis—that was what had brought them together, after all, andeven with all the time they’d been spending together lately, he’d seen Charlie hard at work on his laptop, and knew he toiled away during the sunlight hours as well. Perhaps all that hard work wasn’t enough; perhaps he struggled with self-doubt, and the situation with his father no doubt fed into that.
Maybe, if they could resolve things, Charlie would feel better.
“What if...you invited him to the party?” Lorenzo asked tentatively.
Charlie frowned. “The party?”
“Our party,” Lorenzo said. “The thing at my place, for the—all my supernatural, y’know. Contacts.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. He seemed odd suddenly—almost breathless. “Yeah—I—sure. That’s not a bad idea. Sure.”
It was tepid, but Lorenzo would take it; he’d pushed enough for tonight. So he just cuddled Charlie closer to him in the small, dark room, kissed the top of his head, and said, “Good.”
Chapter 25
Charlie dreamed he was back home, in his childhood bedroom. Everything was the same—posters on the wall, school papers on his desk, bed neatly made. It was dark outside, and the house was still.
Lorenzo was there with him, though he wasn’t sure where. He stood up from his desk chair, and he could feel Lorenzo emerging from the shadows behind him. He walked over to his childhood closet, pressing at the uneven paint on the door, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Lorenzo drew closer.
He felt a soft touch at his waist—Lorenzo’s hands, taking hold of him and pushing him gently forward. He kept going until Charlie was pressed against the wall, his hands splayed, with Lorenzo all along his back. He breathed heavily against the wallpaper, and felt Lorenzo’s hands wandering, still with that firm pressure keeping him in place. And all the while Lorenzo leaned closer, his lips drawing nearer and nearer to the pulse pounding in his throat.
“Tell me to stop,” Lorenzo said into his ear, whisper-soft.
Don’t stop, Charlie wanted to say. Did say? The dream was thick with his own hazy longing, and he couldn’t tell if he’d said the words or just thought them.
But Lorenzo heard. He fisted a hand in Charlie’s hair, tugged his head to the side, and leaned in, fangs bared.
Charlie woke up all at once, still panting. He glanced at his phone—it was barely past ten. He was at Lorenzo’s place, and he couldn’t believe he’d nodded off so early—it was the beginning of the day for Lorenzo.
He looked over at him, propped up in bed with a book open on his stomach, smiling at Charlie softly. “You woke up.”
