The voice hesitated. ‘What happened?’
‘If you must know her son just ran away.’ My voice broke on the last two words. Saying it out loud just made it so much more real. Tears began to fill my eyes and I bit down on my lip. ‘I’ve got to go. Good-bye.’
I hung up, not even bothering to wait for an answer, and sat down on one of the painful wicker chairs Charlie's mum was so fond of, head in hands. Taking a few deep breaths, I once more willed myself not to break down.
He’d come back. He had to come back. He wouldn't just leave like that. Without so much as a goodbye to any-one.
But he had. There was no note, no warning, nothing. He’d been perfectly fine, better than fine even, for the past few weeks, and I wondered just what had I missed? Did he try and talk to me, but I didn't hear? Were there any signs? Could I have stopped it? And the biggest, most heart-aching question: Was it my fault?
No, I told myself firmly, it's not your fault.
I was the perfect girlfriend. Everyone thought so. According to Loralei, my best friend, I was "too perfect for my own bloody good." People who weren't my best friend just called me "sweet" or "nice."
I never got "annoying" or "an idiot", but then again, isn't "nice" one of the most commonly used adjectives when it comes to describing people? So really, it didn't count at all.
"Nice" wasn't enough to keep him here, was it? My sweetness didn't stop him from packing his bags, neither did "perfect."
I just wasn't good enough.
No biggie.
A cover of "Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's began playing and I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone and pushing down the memories. I'd have to change the song. Hearing Charlie's voice, so soon . . . it was torture. I still remembered the night he sang that to me
It was on the first day of March, our anniversary, and he'd told me he had a surprise for me, which, oddly enough, was no surprise at all. Charlie was spontaneous that way. He took me to a bar.
That was a surprise.
I mean, yeah, Charlie drank, but he didn't go to bars. And we were underage anyway.
As soon as I saw where we were going I freaked.
‘If you must know her son just ran away.’ My voice broke on the last two words. Saying it out loud just made it so much more real. Tears began to fill my eyes and I bit down on my lip. ‘I’ve got to go. Good-bye.’
I hung up, not even bothering to wait for an answer, and sat down on one of the painful wicker chairs Charlie's mum was so fond of, head in hands. Taking a few deep breaths, I once more willed myself not to break down.
He’d come back. He had to come back. He wouldn't just leave like that. Without so much as a goodbye to any-one.
But he had. There was no note, no warning, nothing. He’d been perfectly fine, better than fine even, for the past few weeks, and I wondered just what had I missed? Did he try and talk to me, but I didn't hear? Were there any signs? Could I have stopped it? And the biggest, most heart-aching question: Was it my fault?
No, I told myself firmly, it's not your fault.
I was the perfect girlfriend. Everyone thought so. According to Loralei, my best friend, I was "too perfect for my own bloody good." People who weren't my best friend just called me "sweet" or "nice."
I never got "annoying" or "an idiot", but then again, isn't "nice" one of the most commonly used adjectives when it comes to describing people? So really, it didn't count at all.
"Nice" wasn't enough to keep him here, was it? My sweetness didn't stop him from packing his bags, neither did "perfect."
I just wasn't good enough.
No biggie.
A cover of "Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's began playing and I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone and pushing down the memories. I'd have to change the song. Hearing Charlie's voice, so soon . . . it was torture. I still remembered the night he sang that to me
It was on the first day of March, our anniversary, and he'd told me he had a surprise for me, which, oddly enough, was no surprise at all. Charlie was spontaneous that way. He took me to a bar.
That was a surprise.
I mean, yeah, Charlie drank, but he didn't go to bars. And we were underage anyway.
As soon as I saw where we were going I freaked.
