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You'd think a life changing, near-death (or at very least death-adjacent) experience might change your perspective on things- on how you live your life, the things you regret, things you wish you'd change.
It's the sorta thing you hear stories of people turning their whole lives around because of. "It opened my eyes!" they say, they fix themselves up, become completely different people. Better people.
But if he's honest with himself, really truly honest, Charlie just feels worse.
It had certainly changed him, being yanked from the sure, steady ground of his home planet into the unknown, abducted onto an alien ship not once but twice, had a fool made out of him and then barely escaping with his life with only his best friend at his side. Plus....the whole "flat Earth" thing- he shudders at the thought. He and Pim had vowed to take all of it to their graves, especially that last part.
There's probably some inspirational lesson crap you could pull from all that, something about cherishing the time you have or the ones you love because "who knows what will happen" or whatever- but the point is you don't just come back from something like that the same man you were before it.
Right now though all he was, was exhausted.
And as he lay here in bed, a part of him wants to never get up, to melt into his mattress and rot away until there's nothing left of him. He doesn't want to be a "changed man", he wants to be the soil the worms sleep in. The piles of trash rotting in a junkyard. The decaying animals that lay beneath it.
With great effort he reaches for his phone on his bedside table, his heart sinking upon seeing the time.
12:03 pm.
Every. time.
Every single time, no matter how early he forced himself go to bed, he slept half the day away anyway. He was lucky Mr. Boss had been so gracious, just letting him and Pim come in whenever they could as they recovered from the "incident"...not that Pim had really needed it like he did. Miraculously he seemed relatively fine after such an event. Charlie appreciated it nonetheless.
It was just so.....exhausting. What? He couldn't tell you. Everything. Nothing. The entire world was crashing down on him in massive, unrelenting waves, his limbs were giving out, heavy from the water and the fight to stay afloat- and they only kept coming, apathetically filling his mouth and nose as he fought for every breath. The entire world was nothingness, a vast expanse of blank, indifferent darkness that stretched for miles and left him with nothing but his thoughts and the echoes of his heartbeat in his ears. Everything and nothing, all at the same time.
All he seemed to do lately was sleep and yet still it was never enough. As easy as it would be to call himself lazy, he knew that's not what it was. The exhaustion seemed to have simply seeped into his bones, his very soul, and made a home there that no amount of sleep could lure it out of.
He just couldn't help but feel like he lost all that time for nothing. He tried. He really did. Every second that went by that he wasn't up and ready felt agonizing. Yet here he sat, unmoving, watching them tick away. What was the point? What was ever the point? If he stayed here forever, would anyone even miss him? Notice he'd been gone? Care?
He tried desperately to blink the thoughts away with the tears pricking at his eyes but they kept coming. He felt so utterly useless. Here he was, an employee of Smiling Friends, meant to represent the company, and he can't even make himself smile. He could barely make their clients smile half the time, and when he did it was usually dumb luck. The other half was almost always only because of Pim's help.
Pim.
Who was he, to work alongside someone as amazing as Pim Pimling? He always got the job done, and he did so wonderfully. He could probably keep the whole place running all by himself. He didn't need Charlie. None of them did. He could just....
He violently shook his head, smacking it a few times for good measure to stop his self-loathing train of thought from continuing down it's track and crushing the little happiness he had left. Making himself feel like even more of a sack of shit was NOT going to help him get up.
He sighed.
The thing that really irritated him the most about all this is that it wasn't his first rodeo. He had literally DIED last Christmas and went through literal Hell to get his life back.
He'd spent so many sleepless nights wondering why, why him, why did he of all people get to come back to life, to have a second chance. A chance he didn't deserve. A chance he would never have needed if he wasn't an asshole to Pim in the first place.
So many horrible nights replaying it all, waking up screaming, trembling, hugging his pillow and sobbing into it until not a single tear was left in him- and then some. He'd made Pim put up with so many of those nights after finally working up the courage to tell him why he hadn't been sleeping. Why the weight of the world seemed to be held in the bags under his eyes.
So many nights he owed to his amazing best friend for picking up the phone so late, sometimes 3, 4 in the morning, for staying on with him for hours and helping him calm his nerves until he passed out, phone in hand.
For coming into work the next day with tired eyes matching Charlie's own, but a small, genuine smile on his face when he looked up at the taller critter, bearing none of the resentment Charlie feels he should have.
Add it to the list, he supposes. The list of things he didn't deserve.
The difference was, last time he DID get better. He improved. He didn't exactly do a complete 180 but for the first time in a while, he was trying. He was trying to talk to people about things that bothered him instead of letting it fester. He was trying to take Pim up on his offers to watch silly, lighthearted movies he himself didn't find particularly interesting because he wanted his friend to feel wanted. He was trying to eat fast food less, trying to teach himself how to cook (thanks to YouTube tutorials) but usually ending up with his kitchen looking like a crime scene and a bowl of cereal for dinner.
It definitely didn't always work but it was an attempt, an effort, something that had slowly slipped from his grasp over the years, so gradually he hadn't even noticed until it was too late.
Until he was in Hell, surrounded by demons, wondering where it all went wrong.
He swore every time he blinked the entire world moved faster, raced ahead of him so that he could never catch up. More and more time seemed to pass with every one. Blink. 2 days. Blink. 4 days. Blink. A week. A month. Christmas. 4th of July. The days unfolded without his permission and the months snuck past behind them. He couldn't even recount the last time he'd felt present. No matter how hard he tries to keep himself grounded, there's always something ripping him out if his body, forcing him to view himself and his actions as a spectator. Or worse, throws him back to the wolves of the past.
Because when he walks past an arcade with it's futuristic noises from games he used to play he's suddenly back on that alien ship, running for his life. Because when he tries to light a cigarette to calm himself the little flame is suddenly a raging fire surrounding him, the smell of sulphur burning his nose and remorseful tears evaporating in the heat. Because when he binges The Mr. Frog Show, he seems to always "accidentally" misclick and skip "Mr Frog and The Bug vs the Alien" and "Mr. Frog Dies and Doesn't Come Back", which is a shame, they used to be some of his favorite episodes.
He wonders, briefly, if Pim has dealt with any feelings like this since the alien ordeal. Or any of their other "adventures" for that matter.
His thoughts wander back to a conversation they had recently, leaned against the back wall of the office building, watching the mutant rats fight to the death in the radioactive flowers in the alley. Both critters' hands itching for the lighters in their pockets for that brief bliss of relief. Neither making the move.
It was probably about a week after the whole almost-dying-in-Spamtopia-and-almost-killing-Jason fiasco. Another thing that weighs on Charlie, but he'll deal with that another time...maybe. They had just gotten back from a job- something about a critter needing to learn to love their big nose or whatever. Charlie didn't see the problem, personally.
Pim had been acting weird all week, something Charlie was keenly aware of but had never brought up. He'd been strangely solemn, seeming almost far away at times. There was a glint in his eye that the light hit occasionally, the kind you'd see in the eye of a trapped animal that's given up all hope of escaping. Sometimes Charlie would ask vaguely if he was alright or if he needed anything. He always said he was fine.
Right now Charlie wondered if he should ask again.
"Charlie," Pim started suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts, "do you...do you think my eyes are weird?"
"..what?" he'd heard the question just fine. He just had no idea why it was even a question. He expected Pim to laugh, to say it was some sort of weird joke or just that he was just being silly, but he didn't respond. He didn't even look at Charlie at all, eyes fixed on the rats now having a lovely picnic date.
Charlie gulped, suddenly worried he was gonna screw up and say something shitty. If this was the root of Pim's weird behavior lately, he wanted to show his friend he could be there for him.
"uhm....I mean...yeah? But like, I dunno man isn't- I mean isn't everyone weird? When you like- when you think about it what even is weird dude-" he laughs awkwardly, making himself cringe, "like that guy we just helped had that whole thing with his nose and stuff and it's just- there's nothing wrong with it at all, it's just beauty standards and crap I guess- we're all just on a spinning glo- or uh, plate- and uh- yeah. You uh, you look fine dude."
Pim was quiet. Yeah he'd definitely fucked up somehow. He felt sick.
They'd gone inside and it was never brought up again. Despite his stupid speech Pim did seem to cheer up, gradually returning to more or less his old cheery self. Charlie pretended not to notice him avoiding his own reflection.
It still pecked away at him, the burning curiosity of why Pim had asked the question at all.
He looks at the clock again.
12:32.
Holy shit, he's spent way more time than he thought sitting here feeling sorry for himself. He tried to give himself his usual pep talk, about how alpha he is and how alpha males don't sit in bed all day and "rise and grind" and all that other stupid shit to trick himself, if only for a moment, into having the will to move....but frankly he felt more glued to his bed than ever. He just needed to get up....
get up...
get UP.....
GET UP.....getupgetupgetupgetupget-
With a groan, Charlie slowly, painstakingly sits up, swinging his legs over the side and sitting there for a moment, staring at the carpet under him. Weird. When did that stain get there? he wonders, tilting his head to get a better look at it. He tells himself he'll clean it up later. He knows it's a lie.
He yawns, stretches, and begins the daunting trek to the kitchen, a grueling 10-ish feet away...where he quickly realized there was absolutely nothing to eat.
He tries desperately not to lose his resolve and go back to bed as he scours his cupboards for something, anything, to make himself SOME kind of food for breakfast. He just needs something to get him started for the day. Something to keep him afloat until he can steal Allan's lunch at the office. He'd worry about his wrath later.
Eventually he finds some stale toast pushed way back on the top of his fridge and pops it in the toaster. It'll have to do for now. I really need to get groceries, he thinks.
Ugh.
But just like everything else, he'd been putting it off. Cleaning his filthy apartment, getting food, the list stacked higher and higher and he had less and less energy to get through any of it. He just needed a distraction. Something to keep his mind off all this. He couldn't handle all the thoughts running through his head right now.
He'd used to smoke a lot in his younger years, almost a pack a day at some points, a passive relief to help him get by until he could get home to his darling, alcohol. Nowadays he rarely does either, a combination of Pim's years of encouragement and intervention and the sobering experience of watching the literal Devil fall into the same trap.
For the first time in a while though...he really wanted a cigarette.
He still had some hidden away, for emergencies, he had told himself. He knew he was a liar. If it was truly for that purpose he wouldn't bring a pack with him to work. His eyes wandered to where he knew they were, in his desk drawer.
For the third time today Charlie aggressively shook the thoughts from his head like an ill-treated Etch-a-Sketch, as if doing it hard enough would make them tumble out of his ear and he could squish them under his shoe. Unfortunately that wasn't the case, and the itch was still there. He grabbed his phone off the counter and scrolled mindlessly through TikTok instead.
It was nice, even if just for a moment, that for once he could simply turn his brain off for a bit. It took no effort to look at some pictures on a screen and huff in amusement. It took no brain power to scroll over and over and over, the videos did all the thinking for him. He knew it wasn't a very healthy substitute for his other vices but his dopamine receptors were shot anyway, what was a little more frying gonna do? If he kept scrolling he wouldn't have to think about that, either.
He suddenly became aware of the smell of burning.
Fuck.
Shit. Fuck shit damn it damn it all I can't even make fucking TOAST without FUCKING IT UP???
He quickly removed the toast from the toaster, burning his finger (because why wouldn't he fuck that up too??) and staring at the charred would-be breakfast that now lay pitifully on the counter before him.
What was the point. What was ever the fucking point. Who was he doing this for?
He could feel the air in his lungs evaporating, his heart angrily pounding in his chest and making his body tense, ready to run. Ready to curl up into a ball so tight he'd collapse in on himself. The sweat started to pour like it was trying to escape the chaos within him. The shaking didn't help.
This is so fucking stupid. he couldn't breathe, he needed to breathe, he was in a vacuum, running out of oxygen with no way out. It took every ounce of energy in him to not fall to the floor, clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing tethering him to this reality. Like he'd drift off into the atmosphere without it.
The burnt mess on the counter taunted him.
He tried talking himself out of it, he really did.
He didn't want to fall back into any of his old habits.
But the impulse came back to him all too quickly as he pulled the pack out of the drawer.
Just one. Just something. He just needed something, something to calm the storm in his head, the ache in his heart, just to get him one second of peace in this madness. He wondered if he'd ever left Hell. If this was some sort of "phase 2".
It was then, just as he lifted the lighter to the cigarette held between his lips, that he heard his text tone go off. He took the wretched thing from his mouth as he fumbled around in his pocket for his phone.
It was Pim.
Good morning Charlie! I noticed you aren't at work this morning, I wanted to check that everything's okay. I know things have been difficult for you lately, but remember I'm always here for you!! You're not alone. See you soon!! :)
The cigarette was placed carefully back into it's package.
The bed was once again occupied by a large yellow critter wrapping himself up in the blankets.
The phone, with all of the loving and kindness of his best friend's words, was left on the counter, unanswered.
It was silly. It was all ridiculous, really. It was a short, simple message, telling him something he already knew. That he wasn't alone.
But with it, the true weight of his reality was thrown at him with full force, the truth that he couldn't admit to himself or anyone.
He was not okay.
Charlie wept.