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For everything that he’d already lost, Charles couldn’t group in this melancholic aura with any particular thing he’s ever known. That was the oddest consistency within the way he regards Samara, even now. For years, a man thinks he’s seen Hell and spent the greater facet of his adulthood mulling through it, only to find that he’d never learned. Something that should’ve left him feeling foolish, but instead brandished him with the sort of sadness that might as well have been enough to stifle his drive for the sake of anything, or anyone. Maybe he was a fool, though he never acknowledges it. Not anymore. And he could ponder all he wanted, despite the fact that the truth was blunt and undeniable; There isn’t anything worth feeling now, besides regret. A bleak, disconnected, all-consuming regret that made itself known since the moment she’d cried on his behalf. Regret that he had left anyway, not knowing how haunted he’d spend his days walking along London streets. Another distinction, because that woman made it a point to stand alone before all the lessons he’d learned to their core since Wales. Since Gweneth.
He’d missed Gwen, he’d loved her. More than anything, and at a time, he would’ve stayed with her no matter what it might’ve cost him. Until the price was her happiness, and that much was enough to send him running, because it was what she’d wanted. Staying would’ve been selfish, at that point. So leaving, in a general sense, was the easy part. With every heartbreaking rhetoric, and moral irrevocably hard to swallow, Charles never feared that he’d be unable to live without her. Another something different. Another sad, stupid reality in his twisted, mundane life of fleaing as soon as his home would be left better of if he went away. Wales, the US. Eventually London, he’s sure. No matter where he goes, there’s an inevitable misstep and the consequence is an individual decision of personal banishment.
That’s the way he’d intended for things to evolve, as far as he was concerned. However, becoming a new citizen again, starting over once more. He’d done everything as he had the first time around, and yet this grief felt unbelievably foreign. Playing with the reasons, and toying with his fragile grasp on understanding how the foreseeable future had gone so sour, a truth rang jarringly crystal as he drove to his first company event with Ellesmere, six months into his new position. He should’ve known that this wouldn’t be the same. Not even close. And he should’ve realized it, for all this time, he’s been aware that the U.S. isn’t Wales. That circumstances harbor complexities deeper than what can be construed as consistency between them. That Samara isn’t Gweneth.
He got too scared to explore as much, because Charles didn’t know how to be happy, without being selfish again. But above all of that, the image of her devastated tone and tear laced goodbye branded his heart, and he hated himself on behalf of what they could’ve had...and never would.
Parking his car, exiting the driver’s side, and regarding the venue with indifference, Charles took shelter in his stillness. Making no moves to join his co-workers beside their strides for the large, overtly grandiose entrance. He opted to reel beneath the dreaded way he'd come to understand the world. All the time he’d wasted running away from this chance of repeating his mistakes, never realizing how needlessly he feared the impossible. And, of course, he realized it too late. He stands here now. Alone. Having ruined everything.
I guess old habits die hard.
Left without any ambitions or hesitance, Charles sighed, and made way for a charity ball. Tolerated before enjoyed, as are all of the road stops in his walk of a failed life. He’d keep failing in spite of how it continued numbing him, for the sake of avoiding the inconvenience of death. There’s more to life than joy, and success. There’s also dread. That’d be enough, for now..
***One Hour Later***
“Ah, Charles!”
Charles turned, torn away from his plan to distract his mind by counting tiles and tracing patterns with his gaze all evening. This hall was intricate enough for him to stay overnight doing just that, and it would honestly beat having to socialize, despite how capable he was of putting on a polite, companionable smile for the man who had called his name. I don’t want to be around anyone right now.
Upon turning, he was surprised to be met with the face of Demetre Harris. Surprised, and instantly disinterested, once more. Though, he obviously wouldn’t make as much plain to his present company. Meeting him halfway, Charles approached his familiar business partner and offered him a firm handshake. “Mr. Harris, always a pleasure.” He greeted, as charming and deceptively at peace as ever.
Mr. Harris smirked, pulling his hand back before leaning against the nearest pillar. “Oh, you flatter me, Charles. Congratulations on the new position! I’m impressed to see that you were taken on so quickly.” He praised, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing caterer’s tray, nodding at her in high spirits. Laid back as he’s always been, something Charles admittedly envied. Granted, his stature could be as much of a front as his own. Another thing he’s learned, you never know. No matter how well you read people. There are things you just don’t see, beneath it all.
I want to leave.
“Ah, don’t be. I’m sure I wasn’t the first they’d called.” He answered, tone a tad more despondent than he intended. And of course, his acquaintance noticed, a subtle wrinkle having presented itself between his brows. Damn.
“...and don’t tent your brows so much. It will give you wrinkles.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Jones. Did you eve-”
“May I have everyone’s attention?”
The Welshman and his fellow businessman turned at the call of a booming accent, Ellesmere’s CEO infecting the air that swam about the banquet hall via the authority and friendly command in his tone.
"Apologies for the sudden interruption, everyone, but I wanted to take a moment this hour to acknowledge, and welcome this year’s top donors to our charity efforts here at Ellesmere.”
Both men were immediately taken by the announcement, Charles finding himself feeling grateful for the excuse to forget their conversation in favor of a change in direction. One positive thing surfacing as a result of their environment. They each drew closer to the loft on which Charles’ employer stood, addressing his guests from above as a means of demanding their focus across the board. He looked up, dutifully. Fulfilling obligation, and questioning when things would change this time around. When he wouldn’t be needed here, either. Waiting for the cue that suggested an acceptable time to escape.
“As you all know, the charity we’ve selected for 2018’s event is the American Red Cross. A humanitarian organization which we regard with the utmost respect for their life saving efforts, achieved within all corners of the world. As their mission statement reads, ‘The Red Cross, born of a desire to bring assistance without discrimination to the wounded on the battlefield, endeavors—in its international and national capacity—to prevent and alleviate human suffering wherever it may be found. Its purpose is to protect life and health and to ensure respect for the human being.’ A message by which Ellesmere not only stands, but hopes to maintain so long as we’re kept at a monetary capacity to do so, and are allotted the tools, and the people, to keep said dream alive.” He took a breath, smiling at the newly hushed crowd to which he spoke. “And, with that being said, there are a select few in attendance tonight who put forward a tremendous sum of generosity. Those whom I would be honored to present to everyone here. To all of you, who cared enough to grace this event with your presence. We are eternally grateful.” Shuffling the cards he held before him, their host flipped to his acknowledgements. Charles, letting a hope bloom in his chest on the foundation that he’d be allotted the chance to head home after this, no longer required to show face in the name of maintaining a professional image. As childlike as it seemed, he felt sick. Tired. Completely suffocated by the notion of him being there for no purpose aside from needing to be. The same feeling he’d been suffering from since the day he arrived. Within every place he’s gone, without her. He let his face sink a little, at that. Slipping, only for a moment. I need to get out of here.
“Please, raise a hand when I call your name, and let yourself be seen.” Clearing his throat, taking seconds that felt like hours to begin delving into his list, the older gentleman started with the newest employee on his team.
“Charles Jones.”
In turn, Charles rose his hand, smiling with artificial jubilation at having been pointed out. In reality, it only made his resolve shrivel into something smaller. Leaving him to wish that he’d chosen to make an anonymous donation and call in sick that day. The applause was muffled by his ears, rejecting its presence in an attempt to ignore one of the many things he never deserved. Just, be over.
"Demetre Harris.”
Huh, there’s one anomaly out of the way, then. Charles considered, fighting to think about whatever insignificant, unrelated thing he could in place of the overwhelming desire to turn and make a beeline for his car.
"Calvin Mathews”
He looked down, trying to return to the last tile he was on prior to his trivial interaction with Demetre. Not much longer.
“Natalie Rodgers”
Ha. I wonder if you’ll ever breach the end of this funk, Charles? You could very well end up wallowing in this misery forever, after everything. He managed a smile.
That’d be what you deserve, anyway. The cost of being so absorbed in your own faults, you couldn’t even tell her how much she mattered. It’s almost funny, how much of a villain you truly are.
“And, lastly, I’d like to extend my deepest mass of gratitude towards the dedicated management team at Young Technologies, on behalf of their 2.5 million pound donation,”
Charles scoffed at himself, ever used to that family’s name coming back to insert themselves in situations they clearly are not a party too. The name “Young” showing up in places it’s not. Billboards, menus, street signs. He’s convinced he’s gone mad, not caring to note how this circumstance stood alone when pitted against the others. For every other Young he’s seen since he’s taken up residency in London, a perfect little “Samara” had been etched before it. Uttered as a preview to the otherwise common adjective.
“...Here to accept my thank yous, hailing from California, I present the Young family.” With the graceful sweep of an arm, he directed the crowd’s attention towards the wide, magnificent staircase stationed to his left. The foot of it resting directly in front of the audience’s center. At the very top, stood a smiling family of four.
Charles wanted to laugh out right, there being nothing left to do in reaction to the blatant loss of his sanity. Unable to deny the proof as it stood before him. A proverbial nail in the coffin, as it were.
“Oh, hey, I wasn’t expecting to see them! A lot of familiar faces at this thing, huh?”
He took a minute to process, naturally. Startled. Doubtful. Shaken.
There’s no way…
When he wasn’t allotted a response, Demetre turned to face Charles’ profile. Unable to mistake the mortified note hedged about each one of his features. He nudged him, for if he hadn’t, he knew Charles would never have been pulled away from the newfound shock that laced his demeanor. Before Demetre had the chance to question his Welsh acquaintance’s state of mind, however, Charles levied a fearful query of his own. “Y-you can see them too?”
“Samuel Young, accompanied by Samantha Young,”
Not really needing an answer at this point, for Demetre’s confused expression was clarification enough, Charles turned to regard the guests of honor for a second time. His previous employer and his wife having been formally presented. The couple waved as they were introduced, linking arms before directing proud eyes towards their children. One of them, returning the glance. The other, stilling her gaze towards the stair that lay beneath her heels. She didn’t look up until her brother lifted his hands, helping her remove the wrap that settled delicately atop her shoulders. Accepting his help, the plain, navy material slid down thin arms and into his awaiting palms. Revealing a regal gown in the shade of deep scarlett. Charles felt his heart glow, his palms go damp.
“...and their children, Samuel Young Jr…”
Her eyes must’ve worked to scope the entire hall in a matter of seconds. That, or her gaze was magnetically tuned to his. For there they were, doelike and sure. Finding solace in the blue of his own. There she was.
He didn’t know what to do, or what he wanted. Unsure, completely unsure of what would be best. Should he leave now? He felt like wincing at the weight of every option, too much for him to decipher. Each one hitting him at a different angle, and requiring its own calculation. All he could do was stand there, certain that she wished he’d do the opposite. Abandon this party like he’d wanted to all night, before she felt obligated to greet him. Though, for the first time since arriving, he loathed the idea of being anywhere else. She’s here.
“...and Samara Young.”
It wasn’t until recognition lit up her sature that Charles felt like crumpling where he stood. For when she saw him, unadulterated, genuine happiness erupted across her face in the form of her beautiful smile. He could see her chest lift with the gasp she stole from the air surrounding her, white teeth unmistakable against the red of her lips. Regarding him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. She was happy.
“I’ll never forget you,”
It was a sanctuary, her joy. Reassured, Charles’ feet fell against marble tile on their own accord. Squeezing past his fellow guests, control abandoned his actions. His intentions. Because for Samara, all bets were off. All answers, all certainty.
“...and, if we ever do cross paths again…”
It happened too quickly for his consciousness to keep up. He couldn’t think about anything, because for years, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t breathe without battling his decision to do so. Without weighing options, for the sake of keeping everyone’s peace. No impulses.
“...I want you to know that I’ll be ready to take care of you, Charles.”
Samara had taken some initiative for herself, meeting her Welshman at the bottom step and flinging her arms around his neck. His own trapping her against his front by the waist, his legs recessed into the bell of her skirt.
"Because you are worth it to me.”
“Hi.” she whispered, voice as gleeful as it was trembling. Tears having already made their debut, trickling down both pairs of cheeks. Unbeknownst to their creators.
“H-hi…” Charles breathed, shock evident and rooted throughout his accent. He stroked her back, petting her hair. Kissing her crown and planting his chin atop the head he’d come to adore and yearn for more than anything else.
“I missed you.” She cooed, fingertips trailing benevolent lines against his nape. The couple flat out ignoring their plethora of murmuring onlookers, her father included. Though, he viewed the display from behind with fuming, reluctant tolerance. He was her dad. His anxiety would forever take a backseat to her happiness, no matter how crumby he may be at showing it. No matter how legitimately infuriated such a sight has left him, his queen’s hand being the only thing holding him back from strangling his ex-manager on sight.
“I-” Charles stopped, interrupting himself. Seeing things clearly, while he had the chance. There’s so much hurt in this world. So much anger. You can only face it for so long before deciding that rationale doesn’t always mean abandoning what isn’t dreadful. That there are reasonable things in life that provide laughter, and contentment. And, now that Samara is here...There isn’t a reason for him to live by the very principles that tore them apart in the beginning. Things were different now, they always will be. And, maybe he is a little selfish.
He held her tighter, bending so he could nuzzle his temple into hers. Taking in her scent, letting relief wash over him in waves.
“I missed you, too.”