Page 74 of Thirsty
And he wasn’t sure how helpful he was even when they did. More than once he’d made the tension between Rachel and Isolde worse; if he tried again now, he didn’t like to think what nightmarish horrors he might unleash.
And this was supposed to be what he was good at. His calling, or whatever.
But these were real people he knew, unlike the people who wrote into his column. Oh, the letters the Crone got were real (at least, he hoped)—but Charlie never met the people whowrote them. Nor did he really think about them after he hit publish. Not until Ava texted him to tell him how well the column was doing.
Maybe he’d never really cared about helping people. Maybe it had all always been about helping himself.
He swallowed a twist of shame in his throat and jogged back up the stairs to Lorenzo’s room.
Lorenzo was awake when he got there, and the smile on his face when he saw Charlie washed away most of his lingering unease. “Hi,” Charlie said, sitting on the bed to give him a kiss.
“Mm,” Lorenzo said, still shaking off sleep. “Where were you?”
“Getting a snack,” Charlie said. Lorenzo glanced at his empty hands and smirked.
“I got distracted,” Charlie said, climbing into the bed so he could tuck himself against Lorenzo. “Rachel was...I don’t even know. Manifesting horrors that I wish were beyond my comprehension.”
“What did she do?” Lorenzo asked idly, carding his fingers through Charlie’s hair. He sighed and slumped further against him.
“I think she was haunting Isolde,” he said slowly.
“Really.”
“Mm.”
“You think they’re fighting again?” Lorenzo asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”
“Charlie?” Lorenzo said, sounding suspicious.
“What was it like when Isolde first moved in?” Charlie asked him.
“What do you mean?”
“Was Rachel annoyed with her from the start, or was...” He trailed off as he felt Lorenzo stiffen beneath him, and pulled back. “What?”
“Why are you asking me about this?” Lorenzo asked, his expression stormy.
“I’m curious,” Charlie said.
Lorenzo glared at him.
“Oookay,” Charlie said, and went back to snuggling Lorenzo’s chest. “We don’t have to talk.”
“You mean gossip,” Lorenzo said flatly.
“What’s wrong with a little gossip?”
“Hm,” Lorenzo said. “What about a little meddling?”
“Who’s meddling?” Charlie shot back.
Lorenzo grumbled but said nothing, and Charlie’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Y’know,” Lorenzo said, “we wouldn’t have any problems with Rachel or Isolde if we stayed at your place.”
His eyes flew open. The reason they never stayed at his place was that he was paranoid Lorenzo would see the grimy apartment he was subletting and somehow discover all of his secrets. He liked it here, with Maggie and Rachel and Isolde; his place was small and dark and cramped, and reminded him of what his life really was.
