The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Charlie's Reminder~

With his hand tucked beneath his chin and a familiar leather-bound notebook sprawled across his lap, Charlie Barber watches on as an unfamiliar theater trope takes the stage at UCLA. Despite his dark eyes being glued to the raised platform of wood and marley, his mind is anywhere else but the performance.

He had been invited to watch them rehearse just a few short hours ago and he had accepted the invite somewhat begrudgingly in hopes of finding an escape from the misery that had become his life. Every time he tried to delve into the story, observe cues, or take notes of lighting shifts, he would just find himself back in his kitchen with his phone against his ear and the sound of your voice breaking with sorrow. Why had he just blurted out his move to Los Angeles without any remorse? Why, when he knew the exact effect it would have on you?

Not even he had the answer to that.

Perhaps, or so he'd tried to convince himself, he just wanted to give you that last little push away from him. After all, the only thing he had been doing was hurting you. Why take the risk of hurting you again if you came back to him? Or maybe he had been so bitter by your sudden departure that he just wanted a taste of immature revenge. No. That couldn't be it.

Even now, as the actors and actresses up on stage commence their scripted dialogue, Charlie can't help but replay your brief conversation over and over again, like a broken record. 'Are you upset with me,' he had asked you. Charlie scoffs to himself, rolling his eyes at just how ridiculous he had sounded. Of fucking course you were upset with him--great observation, Charlie--why wouldn't you be upset to find out he had slept with another woman.

Then he had only gone ahead and made it worse by saying she meant nothing to him. That part certainly was baffling. Why had you gotten angrier? Shouldn't you have been reassured that his 'fling' with Mary Ann was nothing more than a drunken stupor? After all, it had occurred when you weren't even official. Well, as official as you could be.

None of it made sense anymore. His life didn't even make sense anymore.

As of at least ten years ago, he was convinced that his entire life would revolve around his beautiful wife and the incredible careers they had built together. Then he became enamored with an entirely new creation of a different kind; his son. His Henry. This perfect little boy who had arrived at just the right moment.

Charlie could recall the very minute Nicole's water had broken. Despite being heavily pregnant, she had insisted on coming to the theater anyway just to see how her husband was holding up with his new business. Then came the gasps of joy and fear, the panicked rush to the nearest hospital, and several excruciating hours. So much pacing, so many meals eaten behind Nicole's back so she wouldn't be upset from the sight of food, and so many hairs he must have torn clean out of his head. It got so bad that he'd had to yank a beanie over his head so he would stop the worrisome habit. All worth it the moment he heard his son crying in his wife's arms for the first time.

The nurses had offered up a pair of scissors so that he could cut the umbilical cord if he wanted, but Charlie was too squeamish for that at the time. Instead, he had waited with tears in his eyes for his son to be swaddled so that he could hold him. The wailing had stopped after a few minutes, leaving behind a sleeping child so small and fragile, Charlie was much too cautious with him.

Now that child wouldn't even be there every day anymore. No more morning messes at the table and afternoon artistic masterpieces offered up. No more daily walks and nightly bedtime stories. The memories made would be scarce, ones he would have to fight to acquire. What if he was too busy during one of his visits? What if he had to leave Henry with Nicole and wait even longer? Worst of all, what if something happened to Henry while he was under his care that would push the courts to reduce his custody even more?