Not "Imagine Charlie"

Not "Imagine Charlie" 1.1

I dart towards the sink, and the coffee and brownies come rushing out of me. Ugh, disgusting. I open the faucet and rinse the sink, rinse my mouth and put some cool water on my face. I grab a napkin from the paper dispenser and dry my face. When I turn around both Kathryn and Jary are staring at me. Guilt is spread across Kathryn's face, pure and utter astonishment is plastered across Jary's face.

My eyes look over to the door. I speed walk over, check the hallway to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then shut and lock the door. Breathe in, breathe out. I turn to both of them.

"Jary," I start. "Yes, I'm pregnant." I glare at Kathryn who half smiles at me. "We just found out on Friday, we haven't told anyone. So you both need to promise that this never leaves this room, until I say otherwise. Okay?" I say, swearing them the secrecy. They both nod in agreement.

Jary moves over to the window and cracks it open, "It smells lethal in here, you should get yourself some Febreeze. Your morning sickness doesn't smell very pleasant," she laughs. "How far along are you?" she asks, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"About two months, give or take. Which reminds me," I say, turning to Kathryn. "Make sure that your flavor of the month, from the lab, keeps his mouth shut too."

She laughs and visibly relaxes. "I'll handle him as soon as I get out of here," she says and winks at me. I am surrounded by perverts. "And Adelynn, I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't have said anything if I had known—" I cut her off.

"I know, Kathryn. Just don't tell anyone else."

The rest of the day was pretty busy and Jary spent it turning the other way whenever I walked in her direction. No doubt, feeling guilty about dropping the "Aspen bomb" on me. Tisk tisk. I'm not exactly mad at her... I just wish I would've heard it from Charlie himself. I clock out, say bye to Jeremy, and drive home.

Pulling into the driveway, I'm disappointed to once again, not see Charlie's motorcycle. I check my cellphone –a call and a few texts, none of which are from Charlie. I walk into the house and when I go to punch in the code for the alarm system, it's already been disarmed. What? Did I forget to turn it on when I left this morning? There's no way I'd do that. It's the one thing that Charlie is really adamant about when it comes to the house. I look across the living room and notice that the door leading down to the basement is open. I hear a loud clang from the from down the steps.

"Charlie?" I call out and get no response. "Charlie!" I call out again and still nothing. Shit. "Please don't be a killer. Please, please, please, be Charlie. Or a furry little raccoon," I offer a semi silent plead to whoever is listening up there.

I quickly and quietly pad over to the living room, grabbing the hatchet that Charlie, for some godforsaken reason, keeps on the wall above the TV. Of course it's heavy, ugh. I pad over to the basement door, down the stairs as quiet as I can manage and see someone crouched down behind Charlie's motorcycle. I raise the hatchet, ready to swing it like a baseball bat, and the crouched figure stands.

I catch sight of the man in front of me.

"Charlie?" I say, disbelieving and he looks at me in confusion. The hatchet slips from my hand and the handle lands on my right foot. "Fuck!" I yell out.

Charlie moves to me, picking me up and setting me down on the stairs. He removes my sneaker and sock, and gently inspects my toes. They're red and most likely fractured. Lucky me, but at least they aren't broken. Charlie pulls the headphones I didn't see out of his ears.

"That explains why you didn't hear me calling you," I say and smile feebly.

He looks down at the ear buds and a small snicker escapes him. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I was working on the bike and kind of lost track of time..." He sits down on the stairs, a few steps lower so that he can continue to gently massage my foot.