Just Hold My Hand

Chapter Six- Charlotte

Charlotte's P.O.V.

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He opened the door, I was smiling ear to ear just because. He was there, I was there, all my problems just seemed to melt away into the background. There was really nothing I wanted more than to just be with him. He was smiling too, I cherished it, memorized it. I loved that smile, it lit up my darkness. I was whole in his presence. He completed me without even realizing it. I realized I might have started to salivate over him, so I recovered my dignity and spoke first,

"Are you going to let me in? It's raining, it's all gross and wet outside." I couldn't help but let out a nervous giggle. He was just too amazing to not feel self-conscious around. He pretended to contemplate and smirk at me, he replied

"I don't know? I normally don't let street people into my house.... and you are all wet...." He left the sentence open. I mentally sighed, here we go. A battle to see who can out-do who. He normally won these, but I loved it. We both had a pretty good sense of humor, one that nobody else understood most of the time. We began to banter and bicker and eventually, I slipped up and accidentally placed my hand on his fore-arm for balance after he made me laugh too hard. The reaction of our skin touching almost knocked me off my feet. It was like firecrackers going off between my hand and his arm. He remained unfazed. I tried my best to act normal, apparently I am an exceptional actress.

After a few minutes more of bickering, he won. Of course he won. He was the best at everything, including winning. I was always the loser, best to accept it.

We were both eventually sitting on the couch, and he seemed to just stare off into space. It seemed he was thinking, and every once in a while he would side-glance in my direction. I made me nervous for no apparent reason. I started to fiddle with the hem of my shirt, and pick at my nails. I acted casual and nonchalant. He continued to stare out at nothing in particular, and again side-glance in my general direction. Eventually I stood up, intent on making him come with me to the kitchen. He did not move a micro-centimeter. It was as if I hadn't moved. This was strange.

Usually we were so attuned to each other that... well once I was about to sneeze and he said God-bless-you before I even made the "about to sneeze" face. That should say how much we are aware of each others being. I know what he feels, how he thinks. He usually knows that same for me.

He just continued to stare. I sighed quietly, he'll tell me when he's ready. I turned and went to the kitchen. I was thirsty, he usually had some good cola. I approached the refrigerator when suddenly my phone vibrated. I was puzzled when I answered the phone, no one usually calls on Saturdays,

"Hello." It came out more as a question than a greeting, but I was confused.

"Charlotte? Is this Charlotte Anderson? Is this she?" I nodded dumbly, I did not recognize this voice. Then I realized she was not actually there and answered verbally instead of my ridiculous nodding,

"Yes this is she? How may I help you?" She sighed, and then cleared her throat before speaking. Why did she sigh?

"Well, actually Charlotte this is a matter of how I can help you. I am calling to report a death, of a loved on of yours." My stomach landed in the soul of my foot. I suddenly felt the urge to fall over and hit my head. Hopefully knocking me out or waking my up from this.

"Charlotte, are you there? Dear, it's your... it's your father." My father? I felt my knees giving out. I had to get out of the kitchen. I sprinted toward the staircase. I managed to make it into Andrew's room and close the door before collapsing at the foot of his bed. I was hyperventilating. My father, father, was... dead?

"He's dead?" I questioned, my voice coming out strangled. It barely recognized it myself. She sighed again and her voice was full of professional sympathy,

"Yes my dear, he was killed last night in a car accident. He suffered a serious loss of blood and passed around ten o'clock last night." I could just picture the look of apology on her face. She shoudn't be too sorry, she had called him a loved one. He was not a loved one. I hadn't seen him in years, many many years.

"Thank you for calling." I was still on the verge of tears and it wasn't safe to speak, it would end up coming out as a sob. She seemed to realize i needed to hang up because she said,

"Alright sweetheart, I've already notified your mother, take care. I'm sorry." That did it,

"I don't need you're apologies!" My face was streaked with tears, the little makeup I had on was running down my cheeks. Just as I screamed, Andrew burst in the door. The look on his face was of pure horror. Concern mixed in with it.

I slammed the phone shut and turned me face away from his gaze. I was sobbing and holding my chest. It felt like I could just implode right there at the foot of his bed. He was frozen in the doorway, I could feel his gaze studying me. I tried to shrink even smaller, wishing for a sudden whole to eat me alive into the earth.

Finally moved, and just like that I was in his warm, comforting embrace. He was in "shoulder to cry on" mode. That's what I called it. The Andrew I needed and depended on. I was falling apart at the seems and he would hold me together.

I can't say what hearing about my father's sudden passing felt like. Loss. Sorrow. Grief. Surprise. Confusion. In the middle of all that though, a slight sense of relief. He was gone, no more. I would never have to fear him again, not that I'd really had reason to in the past few years. The restraining order was supposed to protect me. I never could shake that fear though, the fear he would return. He did though, in my dreams... in my thoughts. He really was always there.

Now he was gone.

The weight that lifted from my heart and mind had me floating. Andrews embrace the only thing holding me to the ground. I was free, free of the fear.

All while I was having my little epiphany, Andrew was whispering comforting things in my ear. Things like " it's alright, I'm hear," or "it's okay, let it out sweetie," or my favorite, "I love you, it's alright"... yes it was alright. He loved me, even if it was as a sister, he was there. I clung onto him, and we sat there. I stayed in his arms, savoring his embrace and words.

"Andrew... Andrew." I was speaking into the crook of his neck. He had my head in his hand pressed to his throat. I could barely speak, he understood. He released my hold, and let me speak,

"Andrew... My father... he-" I was cut off by the sudden stiffening of Andrew's entire body , along with his sudden harsh word's that I am glad were not directed at me,

"What did he do?!" He was intensely gazing in my eyes. Had I not known it was out of care toward me and not hate, I would have cowered at this look. I sighed and placed my hand on his cheek, ignoring the sensation.

"Andrew, he's dead." I smiled relieved at him while a look of understanding mixed in with shock dawned on his face. Then he hugged me again, this time stronger and firm. I sighed into his chest, this was where I was safe. In his arms. Not one could hurt me here,

And my father was gone.