Charlie called me a few days later.
"Phil..." He was crying.
I shot a look of panic to Dan. I wasn't very good at handling Charlie in a crisis, but I was going to try my best.
"Phil, I need you." My boyfriend didn't sound good. I could hear repressed sobs in his breaking voice and I winced, knowing it was bad this time. Charlie had a variety of problems, part of the reason why we were on-and-off for a while.
"Charlie. Take a deep breath." I spoke firmly but gently into the phone, Dan looking at me with worry and confusion in his eyes. "You'll be okay. I'm on my way over now, alright?"
"Y-yeah. Hurry." He hung up the phone abruptly.
"Is he okay?" Dan asked.
I sighed. "Charlie... he's troubled. Trauma in his life. It's not my place to go into details." I was already gathering my things, money for the bus in hand.
"Phil." Dan looked at me steadily.
I paused, my hand on the doorknob.
"Yeah?"
"Tell him I said that this will pass... and that I-I know some things about breaking down, and
having issues, so tell him to talk to me if he ever wants to."
For no reason at all, I felt a lump forming in my throat.
"I will. And... thank you, Dan. For everything." He half-smiled.
"No problem. Now, go." Dan's eyes flickered downwards. "He needs you."
I nodded, and stepped out the door, grateful to have a friend like Dan in my life.
I knocked hesitantly on the door to Charlie's flat. While I waited, I paced the hallway, grimacing at the sour smell of sweat and cigarettes the permeated the air, and noticed the nicks in the stained, yellow walls. His building was in the rough part of London, and my fingers subconsciously crept towards my phone.
"Come on, open up," I muttered, knocking again, this time a little louder. The door opened slowly and I quickly made my way inside. Charlie looked terrible. I took him in, unshaven, matted hair, and bloodshot, puffy eyes. He looked like a heroin addict. Nothing like the spunky, clean-cut guy I associated him with.
"Hey, Phil," he rasped.
"God, Charlie, what happened to you?"
He shakily motioned towards the couch, and we sat down together, me keeping a respectful distance from him.
"I got drunk, thought about my life, and fell into a pit," Charlie said. "And I called you to get me out of it."
I looked down at my hands, nervously twisted around each other. Nothing came out of my mouth. This was a responsibility I hadn't asked for, didn't know how to deal with, but was thrown at me anyway.
"Tell me how."
Charlie laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "I thought you'd know."
A tight ball of anger started building in my stomach. First Dan, now Charlie. Why was it always my job to save everyone from their problems? I knew it wasn't fair to blame them, but a small, stupid part of my mind that I'd tried to keep tucked away and out of sight whispered to me, Tell him to get over it. To go to a therapist and confide in a professional instead of you. You can't help
him. What are you? Just a boyfriend he's had for a year. You aren't able to help him. As a matter of fact, you aren't able to help anyone, least of all Charlie... or Dan.I shoved those thoughts away as quickly as they appeared, then took a deep breath.
"I don't know how to help you, Charlie."
Charlie snorted. "Figures. I can't be fixed."
I was taken aback. "Just... tell me what's wrong."
He clenched his jaw. "I feel like nothing's going right. Ever. It never has, never will. I live in a shitty flat, I have a dead-end job, and a boyfriend who lives with another man. My life sucks, okay? There's your reason." He reached for the half-full glass of liquor and took a swig, wincing as the sharp alcohol went down his throat.
"Your life doesn't suck."
He looked at me for a long moment, disdainful, and shook his head. "Yes it does. Even you're not enough to make it better." He muttered the last part into his glass, obviously thinking I wouldn't hear. That hurt me.
"You have a good life, Charlie, alright? You have a place to live, you could get a better job if you wanted, and me? I live with Dan because he pays me rent. Okay? Nothing else. So stop expecting me to save you from your depressed thoughts, because I don't know how! And stop making me feel guilty and like a shitty boyfriend for not knowing!" I regretted my outburst as soon as I finished, the words echoing around the small room. Charlie gazed at me, shocked, the angry words starting to register in his brain.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, his tone flat and choked.
"I didn't mean—"
"I called you because I thought you could help, not dig me deeper." He took another drink.
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter." Charlie stood, swaying slightly. "Get out."
The guilt was eating me alive. "Charlie—"
"Get the fuck out!" he screamed, suddenly angry, his eyes lighting with rage. "I put up with you and that twink living together, not knowing if you're cheating or whatever the hell's going on, I put up with you canceling dates and being moody all the damn time, I liked you. And you can't even do me the fucking decency of being there for me when I'm having a bad time? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I swallowed, guilty and furious and humiliated.
"Fuck. You." I said, walking out. "See a goddamn therapist, Charlie."
"He'd be a better confidant than you."
And he slammed the door in my face.
I sank to the floor, exhausted and feeling... empty. No satisfaction, resentment, relief... nothing. I was a bottomless pit full of nothing. I sat in a cab with my head against the window, staring at all the people, all the other cars whizzing by.
"How's he doing?" asked Dan the moment I walked through the door. He was in the exact same position he was in when I left, comfortable on the couch, scrolling through Tumblr. I said nothing, just throwing myself down on the couch next to him and willing the tears to stay in
my eyes.
"Hey." Dan put a hand on my shoulder and forced me to look into his large, melted chocolate eyes.
"We broke up. It wasn't pretty." I finally said, the words rushing out of my mouth.
He nodded and pulled me into a hug, his head resting on my shoulder while I fought back tears. His body was warm, and I burrowed my head into his neck, breathing in the scent of cheap deodorant and clean clothes.
"Thank you." I spoke into his shirt, trying to normalize my voice.
I could feel his smile, even though I couldn't see his face. "No problem."
------------
A/N:
*Finally Charlie's gone.
*PHAN TIME!
