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“Do you get love?”
The question had come as Mac and Charlie sat on the back porch of an old, rundown, abandoned home situated in a more unsavory part of Philly, and Mac had peered over at him, brow furrowed, as he removed the cigarette from between his lips, chapped from the winter chill.
“Get love? Yeah, I get it. I mean, it’s like a burst of light; like she’s the brightest thing in the room. It’s a great feeling.” He wasn’t naive, but he also wasn’t about to call his friend out on his crush on Dennis. That was a conversation for another day once Mac came to terms with it and he was a dick, sure, but not about to label someone’s sexuality for them. “Why? Do you think you’re in love?”
It had thrown him off guard to be asked it, leaving him wide eyed and fumbling for words, opening his mouth just to close it a moment later and repeating. Charlie was lucky that Mac had the memory of a goldfish with dementia because he most certainly wouldn’t remember this when dawn broke (or when the next, more interesting thought came).
“I didn’t mean to freak you out, man. It was just a question.”
“I know. I don’t like anyone, no.”
It was simple and true, but still made him feel wonky. By now, he should’ve gotten frivolous crushes and have wanted to kiss someone, but he just never had. Sure, people were pretty, he could give them that, but he never wanted to jump someone’s bones and it was a crying shame because he wanted to want that.
He wanted to want relationships and sex, and not just watch as everyone around him shacked up, leaving him behind. Charlie wanted people to all be like him, to understand that it was just all so overwhelming to watch occur around him and not understand, to understand that his lack of want to do anything with strangers at parties didn’t make him less of a man.
He’d often considered that maybe Uncle Jack had messed him up too much as a child and maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t been abused as a child (not that it had ever really stopped. More so slow down, if anything) if he would still dislike the concepts of sex and relationships.
Maybe huffing anything and everything he could get his hands on scrambled his brain?
“Charlie?” Mac broke him from his thoughts, waving a hand in front of his face, almost bumping his nose, “you in there, bud?”
“Yeah, yeah I am.” He was there, granted barely listening to Mac’s tirade about the latest show (maybe a movie? He didn’t give a shit) he’d seen, but still physically present.
Charlie felt weird. Like a hole was in his heart, seeping black ooze that spread throughout his body and poisoning his brain. He could feel it move if he disconnected enough, even.
It hurt him. Not physically, obviously, but emotionally.
The sludge coated his veins and neurological pathways, clogging them and leaving dark grey smudges, obscuring the parts of his brain that were supposed to work like everyone else’s, which were supposed to want people.
He wanted to keel over, clutching at his heart, in pain, but he knew that the moment people realized he wasn’t having a genuine heart attack, they’d tell him to stop fighting for attention, so he sat, chest tight and a metaphorical hole in his heart.
“Can I speak my mind for a moment?” He blurted out, interrupting Mac’s ramble about god knows what. Receiving a nod, he began, “I think I’m broken. Like, I don’t want love or sex or anything like that. Well, I do, but it’s more of a want to want it, you know? I want to want what I don’t want, if that makes sense. I just don’t get them, I guess. Everything just seems pointless. If I wanted a relationship or sex, I could get it, I know that, but I don’t go seeking it out like you or Dennis do. There’s got to be a reason I’ve not tried to do that.”
Mac placed his hand gently on Charlie’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, “we’re still in high school, dude. Don’t worry about not wanting it yet. You’ll get there, I promise. You probably just are a bit freaked by it because everyone is trying to get all their first times out of the way now, so they have the experience, but you have all the time in the world. You won’t feel this way when you hit your 20s.”
Charlie felt tired after hearing that, as if all of his energy had been drained because Mac had told him he’d be normal one day. What did he expect, though? Mac was the last person who’d ever understand him, so he shouldn’t take it personally (except he did and he was).
Maybe he would grow into it, but the thought of that happening made him want to hurl onto the splintering wood stairs.
Maybe it wasn’t normal to feel sick at something so human.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” And he probably was, right? Mac knew more about feelings, after all.