Page 98 of Dirty Chorus

“I just want to go to sleep.”

“No, no. Tell me what you took.”

“I’m going to go to sleep. I’m sorry,” she murmurs again.

“Mom!”

I hear the three beeps of the phone call being disconnected. Charlie stares at the phone like it might come back to life, and her mom will still be on the other line. “I have to go!” Charlie throws her phone in her purse rushing off the couch.

“Charlie...” I stand up, reaching for her arm, but she already has her hand on the doorknob.

“You heard her! She took something!” she shouts. I press a flat palm on the door, to keep her from leaving.

“Noah?” Gramps voice cuts in from the kitchen with concern laced within his tone.

“I’m coming with you,” I tell her.

“No!” She shakes her head. “We aren’t together, right?”

“You are in no condition to drive being this upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. I’m worried about you. This isn’t safe.”

She twists the knob, and I release my palm as she opens the door rushing down the stairs, and her footsteps pound on the concrete down the alley.

“Charlie!”

I sit on the front steps, elbows on my knees, and my phone clenched in my hand. The concrete is cold, even through my joggers. It seeps into my bones, but I don’t move, or go inside, or even stand up. I stay still because this is where she left, and this feels like the only place I’m allowed to exist until she comes back.

I check my phone. There are no new messages. I swipe up and down through my apps, go through my texts like maybe the screen just forgot to tell me something. Like maybe if I stare hard enough, her name will light up and everything will snap back into place. But there is nothing.

I exhale slowly and look out into the empty street. Above me, the porch light flickers then steadies. I checked the time, and she’s been gone for almost two hours. My leg bounces and I try to still it with my hand, but it just starts up again the second I let go. I should've taken her keys and drove or just hopped into my truck and followed her.

Then I hear it.

A car pulling up to the record store. My heart jumps into my throat as headlights sweep across the road. The engine idles, then shuts off. I hold my breath, listening. The faint click of a car door opening, and the soft thud as it closes. Footsteps crunch against gravel towards the apartment.

I say nothing, and wait until she appears at the bottom of the steps. Her face is ashen. Completely drained of color like something vital has been ripped out of her. Her eyes are burning red from crying as I can see tears falling.

I stand up, walking down the steps.

“I... I...” she says with a chin trembling.

“It’s okay.” I cup the back of her head pulling her into my chest. Her fingers dig into my shirt.

“I went home... and she’s on the floor... covered in vomit.” She sobs, her mouth is drenched in saliva as I cup her red cheeks, and I’ve never seen such raw cheeks before. “I didn’t know what to do and called my brother... and...”

“Charlie...”

“We...” She sniffles and sucks in another lungful of air. “We called an ambulance... she overdosed on oxy.”

“But she’s alive?”

She nods her head clenching her eyes tightly. “She’s had a problem for a while.”

“I wish you had told me. I’ve lived through it.”