𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, charlie conway

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | fulfilling an obligation

FOR A GIRL OF her age, Crystal had a very limited selection of tapes to listen to. It wasn't that she didn't like music, but that she didn't see a need to grow beyond the music she already had. With a collection consisting of Debbie Gibson's albums, Kylie Minogue's Enjoy Yourself, Madonna's Like A Virgin (though she hardly knew what that meant), and Martika's self-titled album, her taste was pretty clear. She still liked music that pre-teen girls did.

Music was a good anchor in her life — it helped trigger memories from before the surgery that she had forgotten, or brought up vague familiarities of the times since. She could hear a song and know she had heard it before, know she associated it with a certain person, but with no reason she could recall.

It was around 2:30 when Crystal decided to expel some energy by getting up and dancing around to one of these albums. She decided on Martika's album, because that was her "new favorite," and popped the tape into her pink boombox.

Though she didn't remember, she once had Charlie over, listening to the same album with him as they talked about school, his fledgling hockey team, and their plans to go look for Atlantis someday. Crystal wanted to tell him how she felt that day, that he was her "valentine every month of the year," but she just couldn't. And though Charlie hated the genre that has come to be known as "teeny-bopper music," he would tolerate it for her. But not without telling her that all the singers sounded like they were seven years old.

Charlie arrives to the Nelson apartment at 2:30, expecting people to be home. Somehow no one is, which makes sense considering Carrie was at cheer practice and Chris at football. Still, after knocking, he opens the unlocked door and comes inside.

It's been about six days since the fight, so Charlie had waited out the bruises' runtime on his skin before coming to fulfill his obligation to see Crystal. He had thought a lot about this visit — too much, in fact — and didn't end up anywhere besides the emotionally distraught state he was already in from the time he left the dean's office. His guilt had consumed him, and though he knew he'd walk in there and she wouldn't know, he was afraid she'd somehow smell it on him; figure it out despite the blanks, and resent him for it openly.

He made his way down the hall, following the music that grew from faint to audible at the room he presumed was still hers. He kept his back to the wall, stretching his neck around the corner so he could see the room. Charlie genuinely wasn't trying to stalk her or snoop around, he just wanted to know what he was walking into before he did.

Astonishingly, the room looked identical to the last time he had seen it, the childish pink wallpaper having faded slightly — her dollhouse still sitting in the corner, frozen in time, and her desk covered in "Atlantis research." He caught a flash of her dancing around in the corner of his eye, wearing a short-sleeved baseball t-shirt, overalls that were just a tad too big, and slouch socks. She looked dorky, but only because she was wearing the juniors version of kids clothes, whatever they could find that was similar enough to what she knew and would fit her.

Charlie had to take a moment to process just how young they had been, and just how little Crystal must still be. It wasn't right to him that he thought she was pretty when she was this way, but something inside him couldn't help it. He always thought she was beautiful as long as he could remember, so at least it wasn't something that happened on the way.

You've got the balls dude, he tries to tell himself, just talk to her, scope it out, make a plan to rid yourself of the guilt later. Just because he said it didn't mean he believed it.

He turned the corner, knocking on the door frame and making her jump and turn abruptly, looking scared as she made eye contact with him.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" She questions harshly, getting a baseball bat from where it was leaned against her dresser, holding it out in front of her.
"I didn't mean to scare you. I knocked, the door was unlocked, I thought other people would be here." He held his hands up, almost afraid of her.
"And how do I know you're not a robber or a kidnapper?" She circles around him, walking him into the room and making him sit on the chest at the end of her bed.
"We've met before, Crystal. I'm not a stranger."
"Well no matter what, you're a stranger to me. I don't know you."
That pain hits Charlie again somehow, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. He knew she wouldn't know, but the confirmation hit him where it already hurt.