Page 97 of Thirsty
Ava sat back in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because it’s not—because it’s bullshit,” Charlie snapped. He felt like everything inside him was tying itself into knots, the pressure building and building. “Like, what do I—I’m just using people’s lives and drama for my own benefit.”
“Well, you’re getting paid,” Ava said doubtfully, “but I don’t think you’re—”
“Taking a huge deal, that you arranged?” he spat. “Just to, what, like—hurt people? Is that what you want me to do?”
Calmly, Ava said, “Why are you yelling at me right now.”
Charlie took a breath. “I wasn’t—”
“Charlie,” she said, and it pierced the last of his pride and defensiveness. He sighed again, his eyes burning, and didn’t try to talk anymore.
“What’s going on?” Ava asked quietly. “Because you’re acting like I did something wrong by trying to get you paid for your work.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Hm?” she prompted.
Louder, and properly, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Ava waited.
“I’m not mad at you,” Charlie said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m...I’m mad at myself.”
Ava sat forward. “What is going on?”
Half an hour later, he’d crawled into bed, taking Avawith him under the covers. She’d slumped over at her desk, in absorbed listening mode—all he could see was an ear. He sniffed, hating how congested he got when he cried.
“Oh man,” Ava said softly. “So—what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “I want to fix it. But I can’t.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“I want to fix it more than that,” Charlie said, forcefully. “I want to...”
“Take it back?” Ava asked.
Quietly, Charlie said, “No.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Ava said nothing, just sitting with him while the sounds from her apartment filtered out into the cocoon Charlie had made.
“I just want...” He took a shaky breath before the tears started again. “...to do right by him.”
“What would you say if this was you writing in to the column?”
Miserably, Charlie choked out, “I’d tell him to dump me.” He squeezed his eyes shut against a fresh sob fighting its way up his throat.
“Not if it was him writing in,” Ava was saying. “What would you tellyouto do?”
Charlie took a deep breath and thought, and Ava waited with him.
Chapter 31
Two weeks later, Charlie texted him.
By then, Lorenzo had finally gotten around to reading all of Charlie’s columns, or at least the ones he’d written since they’d started hanging out. To his relief, there weren’t any other horrifying details about his private life—aside from the one about him crying, which he still couldn’t read—but some of the jokes or little turns of phrase were hauntingly familiar. It was clear that Charlie had been inspired by their time together—by the places and people Lorenzo had shown him.
