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JANUARY: TORI
I fucking hate parties.
Bodies swirl and writhe around me in the packed living room – a blurry mass of colours, a cacophony of noise, and the assaulting scent of beer mixed with Lynx Africa with an undertone of pungent armpit. I sit tight and upright in the corner of an ancient, dubiously stained but surprisingly comfortably squashy red sofa, clinging to my vodka lemonade like a lifeline. I suck in a deep slurp as I wonder – for approximately the millionth time – where in the living fuck Michael has gone.
The vodka burns in my throat and churns in my stomach as it goes down, and all I can think about is him –
Charlie.
My heart races as worries chase each other around my brain:
Is he okay?
Is he eating?
Is Nick looking after him properly?
It's the first time my parents have left him since he came home from the clinic a month ago and for some stupid reason, I allowed Michael to convince me to come and sit in someone's disgusting student flat near the uni – I have no clue whose party this even is – instead of being with my baby brother when he might need me. I barely even know Michael and I wonder, not for the first time, how in the absolute fuck I've let this happen.
Suddenly – almost without conscious thought – my glass is down and I'm up, feet propelling me through the crowd of flailing limbs, the bass of the music thudding through my ears and down into my chest. I spot Michael's curly head towering a foot above everyone else's through the serving hatch – he's in the kitchen – and elbow my way through until I'm tugging at his sleeve.
“Michael.”
Nothing.
I yank harder and shout louder. “Michael!”
He looks down at me, his expression morphing from puzzlement to joy in a split second.
“Tori!” he greets me jovially. “I was just talking about–”
“Not now,” I interrupt, and his head cocks to one side, his eyebrows knitting together so close it's almost comical. “I need to go home.”
He stares at me for a second, and then nods.
“Okay.”
I turn and stalk straight out into the hall without another word, grabbing my snuggly, oversized fleece from the coat rack and shoving it unceremoniously over my head. Just as I'm pushing my hands out of the sleeves, I feel the buzz of my phone in the pocket of my jeans and my heart flips. I pull it out hurriedly and my breath catches as I see Charlie's name lit up on the screen. I'm already running down the short hallway as I swipe to answer. I throw the heavy fire door open, the frigidity of the corridor outside the flat hitting me smack in the face as I hold the phone up to my ear and breathe, “Charlie?”
The worry in my stomach solidifies into a lump of cold, hard dread as I hear him – no words, just ragged breaths between heartwrenching sobs – and panic clutches at my chest, icy as the January air around me.
“Charlie, what's happened?”
“I–” A stuttery breath. “I didn't mean to.”
Fuck.
All of the air rushes from my lungs in a panicked ‘whoosh’ and I feel suddenly lightheaded.
“Charlie.” My voice is surprisingly calm. “What did you do?”
“I… I hurt myself–”
Fear twists in my gut like a blade.
“–but I'm okay. It's not–” Another shaky inhalation. “–it’s not like last time.”
Relief washes over me like a wave. “Where are you? Where's Nick?”
“I'm at home, in my room. Nick–” His breath catches. “Nick's gone.”
I'm vaguely aware of Charlie's resumed sobbing in my ear, but all I can think is “Where the fuck has Nick gone? And why?”
Michael's by my side all of a sudden, lightly touching my elbow and silently inclining his head down the corridor towards the steps. I follow him down to the car park at street level, getting into his beat-up old Corsa on autopilot as I listen to Charlie's broken explanation interspersed with bouts of uncontrollable crying.
Charlie hardly ever cries. I manage to parse that he's not actually upset about relapsing, but rather that he's had an argument with Nick. As he babbles incoherently – something about a forkful of food and telling Nick to fuck off – I glance at Michael, debating how much of this whole… situation I'm willing to share. He feels my gaze on him and turns to look at me for a moment, his eyes soft and his expression kind.
There's something about him, I realise.
I trust him.
I like him.
I can't quite fathom in what way I like him – my feelings for other people have so far in my life been pretty much limited to caring about Charlie and Charlie alone – but it hits me that I feel some sort of connection to Michael. Which is probably why I've allowed myself to be here, instead of at home with my brother.
Fuck it.
I take the phone from my ear – Charlie still wittering incessantly about Nick – and press the speakerphone button so that I can keep Charlie on the line but text Nick at the same time. I purposefully don’t look at Michael again whilst I type – I can’t stand the thought of him judging my little brother when he hears what’s happening.
Me: What the fuck has happened Nicholas?
Nick's reply is almost instant.
Nick: What do you mean?
Me: Charlie's hurt himself
Nick: What?? Is he okay? I'm coming back right now
Me: He's okay. I’m talking to him.
See you at mine, there in 10
Nick: 👍
I close my message thread with Nick and try to tune back into Charlie; he’s quieter now, asking me something.
“Sorry, Charlie, what was that?” I ask.
“I said, ‘Do you think he’ll forgive me?’”
I shake my head fondly, a smile quirking at the corner of my mouth. “Charles, that boy would forgive you for anything. The real question is, will I forgive him?
“Tori, this is my fault,” Charlie insists. “I told him to fuck off!”
“Yes, so you said,” I reply. “Still.”
“Tori, please,” Charlie begs, his voice going all wobbly again. “Please don’t have a go at Nick for this.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.” I pause. “How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine,” he tells me. “I cleaned and dressed it and it's not that bad. It’s stopped bleeding.”
There’s a silence, only broken by my deep intake of breath, my heart rate beginning to slow as my anxiety lessens a fraction.
“I’m sorry, Tori.” My brother’s voice is small and it tugs on something deep within my chest.
“It’s okay, Charlie. You don’t need to be sorry. Listen, I’ll be there in five and Nick’s on his way too, okay?”
“You talked to Nick?” His voice sounds panicky again.
“Yeah, I texted him. He’s coming back.”
Charlie inhales shakily. “Okay. Thanks.”
“No problem. Are you okay if I go now? I should really explain what the fuck is going on to Michael. He’s driving me home. Are you safe now? Nick and I will be right with you, okay?”
“Yeah, yes, I'm okay. I’m safe, I promise. See you soon.”
“See you soon.” I go to hang up but then have an overwhelming urge to say something else.
“Charlie?” Now it’s my voice that’s quiet.
“Yeah?”
I inhale sharply. “Love you.”
I can picture Charlie's soft smile. “Love you too, Tor.”
“Two minutes, okay?”
He sniffs. “Yeah.”
“Bye,” I say, so softly I'm not sure he's heard me until he replies.
“Bye.”
I press the red button and heave in a deep breath, tipping my head back against the seat and blowing all the air in my lungs out as slowly as I can, trying desperately to calm my hammering heart.
“Um… are you okay?” Michael’s voice startles me out of my reverie.
I consider his question.
“I… I don’t really know. Charlie… my brother… he’s… he’s not well. And I’m just so… worried about him, like… all the time.”
I finally glance at Michael as he turns his Corsa onto our road, the tick-tick-tick of the indicator breaking the heavy silence that permeates the small space.
He looks thoughtful, then glances at me briefly before he pulls over by the kerb in front of our house. He stops the car and then turns in his seat, giving me his full attention.
“That sounds really hard.” His eyes are so earnest.
I nod. “It is.”
Michael swallows, thoughts scudding across his face like clouds across the sky. “I um… I remember Charlie,” he says gently. “From Truham.”
I nod warily.
“He always seemed sort of quiet,” Michael continues, his voice soft. “But kind. He didn't deserve the shit he got.”
“No,” I agree. “He didn't.”
We hold each other's gaze for a short moment, a weird sort of tension between us, and then all of a sudden, Michael's arms are around me and there's a lump rising in my gullet that I'm doing my best to swallow down. I sit stiffly in my seat, not quite knowing what to do with all… this… until Michael draws back, clearing his throat.
“Sorry,” he says. “It just sort of felt like a hug moment.”
I nod slowly. “I’m not a big fan of hugs,” I admit. “But thank you. That was… nice.”
Michael's grin lights up his face like a breaking dawn.
“I should go,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
Michael nods. “Yeah.”
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“You're welcome.”
As I get out of the car, I hear a door slam and then footsteps thudding down the pavement. I look a little way up the street and see Nick charging towards the house.
“Tori!” he calls, and I hold up a hand in greeting.
Nick comes skidding to a halt by our front gate and we hurry up the path together. I fumble the key a little, my anxiety getting the better of me, and I can feel Nick's impatience and worry rolling off of him in waves as he fidgets on the spot beside me. As soon as we're through the front door, he's hurtling up the stairs, two at a time, without even taking his shoes off. I fleetingly hope his Vans aren't too dirty – my mother won't be happy if they are – before I run up after him.
I stop short in Charlie's bedroom doorway, tears pricking behind my eyes as I see the two of them standing pressed together, Nick's arms around Charlie’s shoulders, Charlie's tight around Nick's back. I hear them mumbling apologies to each other and blow out a relieved breath; seeing them together like this settles something in my chest and somehow I just know my baby brother's going to be okay, eventually.
He’s going to be okay.
…
But am I?