The Meaning of Charlie Armanio

II

IT IS ABSOLUTELY SHOCKING to hear that Charlie Armanio, the boy who loves life as much as life loves him, is in the hospital after attempted suicide and this is all the proof I need to ensure me that something bigger is going on. But the bigger question remained: Who was in Charlie's room posing to be the boy in question?

I hurry up the remaining flights of stairs, deserting my phone on the stairs and rushing into my room. I open the door and peer in slowly only to realise that someone is snooping through my things. The man's bulky silhouette is emanated by the dull light coming in from Charlie's room and his hands are searching on top of my desk and in my drawers.

I walk in slowly and turn on the light switch, casting light across the room and highlighting the offender, "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

He turns around and the dark mask covering his face gives nothing away than a pair of dull green eyes. His switches a pocket blade and the dangerous object glimmers in the light as he walks closer and closer towards me.

I take several steps back, my heart bumping loudly and rapidly in my chest as I try to evade the jabs from his blade. I scream loudly, but remember that there's no one home but me. The complete hopelessness of the situation causes me to scream, "Tieri! Tieri, please help me!"

The feeling of despair was holding on to me tight and all I could do was scream and grope around for any object I could use to protect myself. I run around the room, throwing books and knick-knacks I had made on the floor to deter the man dressed in black but he was very clever in his feet and managed to evade them, lunging at me and slashing the midriff of my  - Charlie's – huge white shirt.

The blade had grazed my stomach and I elicit a scream as my stomach begins to burn and my whole body along with it. He doesn't stop, if anything he comes at me harder and faster until he's right in front of my hunched up figure by my desk. I place a hand over my cut and inhale and exhale, focusing my other hand on finding the baseball bat I had lent from Charlie and forgotten to return.

My killer drops the pocket knife to the wooden floors and places his gloved hands around my neck, his fingers painfully digging into the pulse in my neck and successfully cutting off my oxygen supply. Ignoring the occupation of grabbing the bat, I stretch my fingers and arm, with the remaining energy I have left, towards the deserted knife at my side.

"Please," I hiss out, trying to draw in as much air as possible, but my head was getting heavy and my eyes wanted to shut themselves close. "Please, stop."

Pale green and determined eyes narrow down at me and his fingers tighten around my neck. My finger tips finally reach for the smooth, marble cover and wasting no time, I stab the man in the abdomen, slackening his grip around my neck.  He groans on the impact of the pocket knife fully wedged into his side and I hop of the floor, clutching my stomach and leap out of the house after grabbing my phone off the floor.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"So, you stabbed him in the stomach?" Claire clarifies as she places a mug of steaming black coffee on the coffee table in front of me, "and then you run here, yes?"

I nod again and bring the rim of the mug to my lips to taste the strong coffee Claire made.

"But why would someone come after you?" I had an inkling that she was talking to herself and I just happened to catch the words by luck, "it just doesn't make any sense."

I have suspicions that I fear that if she heard, she'd laugh in my face. Something's have just been finalized and I hope –

"Have you called your father?"