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I fumble for my phone, the screen jumbled. I think there’s a text, I’m not sure. Where is Bryce’s number? I need him to finish Julian off. Get rid of him once and for all.
My friend slides over another bottle of tequila. That worm, shit, I never thought I could drink a worm, but I fucking do.
What was I doing again?
The bottle is empty.
I realize I’ve run out of cash, or the cash no longer sits in my pocket. I fumble for more, only to notice it’s all gone. I was robbed. Panicking, I place my hand over the secret pocket in my jacket, and relief washes over me as the plastic card still remains. Thank God for my Amex.
It’s time to leave, so I stumble out of the bar with my friend in tow. As the door opens, I squint, the light is so bright. I check my watch, but it’s missing from my wrist. Fuck!
It has to be the early hours of the morning or past midnight, I don’t know. As my eyes adjust to the light, I immediately recognize the ‘Christ the Redeemer’ statue overlooking Rio de Janeiro, but the light that comes off it is so bright it hurts, almost stinging my eyes. I ask my friend why it’s so bright, but he laughs and tells me it always lights up at night and rambles on about Jesus being his savior, but this isn’t a little light—it’s shining directly at me. I ask him again, he laughs once more telling me the tequila is making me see things, that the worm inside the bottle has a way of poisoning the mind. Yeah, so I am beyond intoxicated and has to be why my imagination is playing tricks on me.
The warm air greets us as I try to ignore the light until this little girl catches my attention. Her father is holding her hand. Odd, I think, to be on the streets at three in the morning. She looks small, her clothes are tattered, and her hair a wild mess of brown curls. She complains like a little brat to her father until I realize what she’s saying. She’s complaining about the light, the way it shines so brightly it hurts her eyes.
I turn around and run to her side. Kneeling to her level, I ask her if she sees it too, and she nods. Almost instantly, her father pulls her away, cursing at me and scolding her for talking to a stranger. She cries as he pulls her away, his voice speaking fast in their native language until I hear the name Carla. Isn’t that Charlotte in Spanish?
She runs back to me, her father yelling her name. The little girl asks me one more time if I see that light too. I nod, giving her a small smile before she runs back to her father.
I stand there—this light, this girl named Carla, this sign.
Fuck, my head hurts.
That’s the last thing I remember before I pass out, slumped in the alleyway against some old crates.
God knows how much later as I take in my surroundings, I know that someone is watching over me.
I’m alive.
The memories of last night flash before me—the light, the girl named Carla.
With my back resting against the dirty brick wall and the stale stench of trash surrounding me, I rub my face vigorously trying to come to terms with what happened.
I try to think about this more rationally.
Yes, she said the baby isn’t mine, but I remember what Bryce said about the psych ward. Is she reliving a memory, lying in a hospital bed, déjà vu and shit? I know Charlotte, and she wouldn’t actually fuck Julian, not willingly anyway. Maybe it was a one-time thing like after the Victoria shit that went down. No, that would’ve been too soon. If she already knew she was pregnant, then it would have happened at least over a month ago.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t in the picture, that’s possible, but she wouldn’t do that me, not after everything we’ve been through. So realistically, say she fucked up once, and it is his, do I let go of her for a lifetime?
There’s only one question remaining.
Is she worth it?
I know the answer and fuck the fucking universe with all its fate and destiny bullshit. If I want something to happen, I’ll make it happen—no matter what it takes.
She was mine all along, and once again, I, Alexander Edwards, vow not to stop, not until she’s mine again.
CHARLIE
Time has become a blur since the night he left me. Well, should I say the night I foolishly pushed him away?
I no longer know what day it is, suspended in this ‘no man’s land’ struggling to climb out, looking for any sense of hope, but it’s impossible. I’m on a familiar downward spiral, and by the seventh day, I know it’s near. I’m about to fall into pieces and forcefully be thrown back to a place I swore I’d never return.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
I was supposed to hurt him, push him away for good.
And the greatest punishment I bestowed upon myself is remorse.
