Queens of Geek

CHAPTER TEN: CHARLIE

After Tay and Jamie hurry out the door, I walk up to Jase, who's sitting alone at a table in the corner.

"Hey," I say, taking a seat next to him. "Why did Tay and Jamie leave in such a rush?"

"Pfft, that chick is strange. And he's a prick."

"Yeah, because you're such a decent dude." I roll my eyes, and then see the empty beer bottle he's clutching in his hand. "Are you drunk?"

He shakes his head and his eyes widen, but they also give him away. Slightly red and unfocussed, it's clear that this isn't his first drink.

He leans forward over the table, hunched over and staring at me intensely. "I miss you, Charlie."

I almost fall of my chair, I'm so surprised. "Um, what?"

"I miss you." He pulls his chair closer to mine, and I give him a perplexed look. "Charlie, breaking up with you was a huge mistake. I should never have let you go."

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, feeling very sceptical of his intentions. "Then why did you?"

He rubs a hand over his face and leans back in his chair. "I'm an idiot. Obviously."

I scoff. "At least we agree on that."

"I'm being serious."

"Did it sound like I was joking?"

He groans and shakes his head at me, his blonde locks falling in front of his eyes. He blows it back and puts the empty bottle on the table. "Charlie, I'm trying to tell you that I want you back."

My jaw drops. I don't know what to say, so I just stare at him, trying to search his face for truth. I glance at the party on the other side of the room, making sure none of the reporters are overhearing this very awkward conversation. If people found out about what he just said, I'd never be able to escape Chase.

"Charlie," he reaches a hand over the table, opening his palm for me to take. I don't. "Come on. I made a mistake."

"Mistakes. Plural."

"Fine. Mistakes. I've made mistakes. But I've learned from them and I'll never do anything like that again."

His stand is still out, and I still don't take it. I furrow my brow, still wondering if this is for real or if it's some horrible practical joke. "Are you being serious right now?"

He nods. "Yes. I should never have treated you like that. I was out of control. I wasn't used to all the attention and I gave in to it. It was wrong. I'm sorry."

As much as I've wanted to hear him apologise, it's still hard. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. When I open them again, he's looking at me like he used to when we first started dating. He's looking at me like I'm the only girl in the world.

I remember the first time he looked at me like that; we were in the middle of an intense scene in The Rising. It was the first day of filming.

We were running from thousands of zombies, down a closed off Sydney street. My heel broke and I plummeted to the ground, ripping a hole in my jeans and scraping my hands and arms.

He stopped running, came back and crouched beside me, wrapping one of his big, muscly arms around me and helping me up. His bright blue eyes were full of concern and care for me.

Looking back now, it's such a cliche, but it won me over instantly.

And then the rollercoaster began.

Falling in love with Jase was like a tornado, everything around me was spinning and there was nothing to keep me steady.

So I got whisked off my feet.

First love is crazy enough, but being in the public eye amplifies that crazy by a million.

Sometimes I wonder if that was what doomed us; all the attention. It was a mistake to be so open about our relationship from the start.

The public scrutiny and constant watchful eyes of camera lenses got to us very quickly.

It made me shrink, and Jase expand. I spent more time at home, trying to avoid the spotlight, while he drank up the attention—even tipping off paparazzi to where we were going for dinner.

It wasn't the first time fame poisoned a relationship, and it won't be the last.

"Charlie," he says, pleading with me. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Six months ago, this might have been enough.

But not now.

"Look, Jase, I really don't think you want me back. I'm not even sure if you ever truly loved me."

He clenches his jaw, and hurt flashes in his blue eyes. "How could you say that?"

"I can say that because I really believe that if you loved me, you wouldn't have done what you did. You wouldn't have paraded around with another girl while we were still together. You wouldn't have put me through all that heartache and humiliation."

"Seeing all that tabloid shit hurt me as much as it hurt you."

I scoff. "Doubt it. I was the one who turned on the TV to see you making out with some slut."

The moment I say it, I regret it. Slut-shaming is something I've been on the receiving end of more than once. I've even spoken out against it publicly, and yet here I am contributing to it out of anger. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and blow out a frustrated exhale.

"Sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You have every reason to be pissed." He finally slides his hand off the table, accepting that I won't take it. We're awkwardly silent for a minute, and then he can't wait any longer. "Charlie, do you want to be with me, or not?"

"No." I say it before he even finishes talking. My answer is quick, but certain. I don't even have to think about it.

"But what about us? What about Chase?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What about Chase?"

"Everyone wants us together. The fans, the studio. Us being together will make everyone happy. We'll be the most famous couple in the world."

I glare at him, disgusted. "I don't care about that. It won't make me happy. You don't treat me the way I deserve to be treated. You never did. I have zero interest in getting back together with you."

"Come on," he says. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. I know what I want, and it's not this."

He reaches out and takes my hand.

I pull it away. "Don't. You don't get to hold my hand anymore."

He shakes his head and smirks. "Fuckin' hell, Charlie. Since when did you become such a prude?"

I could punch him. "Just because I don't want to be touched by you or get back together with you does not make me a prude. It's my body, I decide who gets to touch it."

I stand up, done with this conversation for good. "I'll get your manager. You need to go back to the hotel and sober up."

I walk away in a huff, trying to maintain my composure for the partygoers.

___________

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