Chapter 2

"Tooo theee window! To theee wall! To the sssssweat drop down my ballssss! To all you bitchessss crawl! To all skee skee motherfu--oops!" then giggled when I lost my footing.

"Oh god," Mike groaned, very frustrated as he righted me up again. We continued to walk through the deserted hallway, heading for my apartment.

I continued rapping and added a little of my own version, something along the lines of doing body shots with Brad Pitt.

He rolled his eyes. "Jeez, will you stop rapping that crap?" he muttered, still holding my waist, making sure he had a tight hold on it. My arm was slung over Mike's neck for dear life and at the drunken state that I am in, I was pass piss drunk and could barely even stand straight. If anything, from the look on Mike's face right now, his scowl was directed to my rapping, which sounded like a cat being drowned.

After graduation, Mike and I decided to grab a quick bite at some Italian restaurant and then head for the club from downtown Los Angeles, in a haste to drown my so-called effed life with Vodka and a couple shots of Jose Cuervo. Even though I threw caution in the wind, the news of Dalton and Caroline's engagement still echoed in my head, taunting the life out of me. Drink after drink, the pain wouldn't go away; that tight  grip squeezing in my heart made me so angry with myself and I thought, when was this going to end?

What happened to good karma?

Was this my punishment for being selfless? For letting Dalton go just because I was scared for Caroline's insecurity and self-harm issues?

If it was, then, someone up there must be playing mind games on me right now.

"Remind me to hide The Proposal DVD," Mike muttered. "You watch that crappy movie like it's on repeat and that fugly Ryan Reynolds dude is getting on my nerves."

I gasped in disbelief and slapped his forehead with my free hand, making him wince from the impact. How could he?! No one disses that movie, especially if Ryan Reynolds was in it! That boy had one fine piece of ass and I could definitely tap that. Woo momma, I'm on fire!

"You're jealous that Ryan Reynolds is hotter than you," I said, trying to glare fiery holes into his brown eyes, but failing epically. "Face it, the boy has a body to die forrr."

He scoffed. "That's impossible. The dude is all fake - his abs look fake."

I snorted. "Please, he's freaking au naturelle, you douche."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said and then he stopped walking, the sudden jerk making my head reel like crazy, which had me groaning. "Oops, sorry," he apologized with a sheepish look on his face. "We're here."

"I think I'm going to puke," I said, my head spinning in circles. Wow, are those stars from the galaxy I'm seeing right now?

He held out his hand. "Give me your keys."

Blinking profusely from my drunken haze, I dug my key from my pocket. I  handed it to him and slump my head on his shoulders. "Ugh," I groaned. "I am never going to drink again."

He chuckled. "And to think I was the one who suggested this."

"You got that right," I muttered, then looked up, frowning. "How come you don't look like you're not plastered?"

He grinned, looking all smug and I wanted to smack that off his pretty little face. "I can hold my liquor, unlike someone I know."

I glared. "Just open the damn door," I said and then, my stomach churned uncomfortably. "Oh god, I am definitely going to puke."

With a scrunch on his face, he immediately slid the key on the keyhole, turned it and a click was heard. He was damn sure  taking his sweet time and right now, my insides had turned from having a party to a rave, and if he didn't hurry the hell up, I was going to make sure to puke on his favorite DC shoes.

I'd worry about homicide after I sort out my queasy problem.

"Hurry up!" I gritted my teeth, trying to reign the bile that was rising in my throat, and when he finally did open the door,  I pushed him out of my way, darting in a flash for the bathroom.

"Hey!" he yelled as he staggered back. "No need to get physical!"

I ignored him as I had more pressing matters to attend to, like emptying the contents of my stomach. My strides were fast and when I reached the bathroom door, I wasted no time as I wrenched it open and dove for that white, shiny throne like waste disposal and heaved like no tomorrow.

Who said binge drinking was fun?

When you get past the heaving, the suckiest part begins, which was the hangover. By tomorrow, I was sure as hell going to suffer a head beating.

My hair was lifted and I knew it was Mike. He rubbed smoothing circles behind my back as I continued to hurl like a freaking fountain.

No more Jose Cuervo and Screwdrivers for me. Period.

"Ugh," I groaned, finally sure that I had emptied the last of my dinner. I flushed the toilet and then slumped down on the cold tiled floor. "This sucks."

Mike chuckled, low and deep then sat next to me. "That's for downing shot after shot of Mr. Cuervo."

I laughed lightly and then, it went into full on laughter. I know it's crazy, but I don't know - I just had the sudden urge to laugh like a donkey and it was weird, but either way, I just had to do it.

"Uh, are you alright, Charlie?" Mike asked, slightly worried for my sanity.

"Am I fine?" I asked, still laughing. "Do I look like I'm fine?"

"Uh..." he said, not sure what to say.

Am I really okay?

I asked that question for the last four years, and yet my answer was always vague. But right now, at this very moment, I had the answer to my question.

I was never fine.

The pain never went away.

He was still the love of my life.

Though what I did was for the best, my love for him never went away and I was forced to face the truth.

And the question is, what the hell am I going to do now?

"Charlie?" Mike asked again, putting an arm around my shoulder. "Earth to Charlie bear."

From laughter, it turned into painful hysterical sobs. All the pent up emotions I kept for so long came pouring violently out like a dam, and I grip onto Mike's shirt like it was my life line. With my free arm, I clutched into my heart as I felt that tight squeeze, thinking about what was about to come.

They were getting married and he was going to be my goddamn brother-in-law.

He was about to become a part of my life, again.

Mike rubbed my back, trying to comfort me. "Shh, it's going to be fine."

I wanted to believe he was right.

As he continued to comfort me, I went on crying and hoping with all my might that this would be the last time I would break down for the love I had lost.

                                                 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The sound of metal banging together had me woken from my slumber.

"Ah hell, seriously?" I moaned, burying my head into the comforts of my pillow. I felt that nagging throb in my head and I seriously need Tylenol.

Groaning, my eyes fluttered slowly, blinking a couple times to remove the sleepy haze and then when my vision was clear, I winced as my eyes welcomed the sun's bright morning rays.

Someone forgot to close the blinds.

Oh yeah, that's me.

With a sigh, I glanced at my night stand to check the time and it showed that it was 11:30 a.m. I heard my door creak open, and when I tried to get up from my bed, I fell back with a plop, closing my eyes.

God, my head hurts.

"Sorry about that," a deep voice apologized and I opened my eyes again to see Mike standing at my bedroom door with a sheepish look. "I was making breakfast."

I took a sly sniff. It smelled like bacon and eggs; I hope he made pancakes, because I could use one right now. Mike makes the best pancakes ever.

"Ugh, my head hurts..."

He chuckled. "Get your lazy bum out of the bed and get some grease in your system now, chop chop!" he ordered and went back to the kitchen, leaving the door open.

I groaned. "Fine, just give me a sec," I slowly got out of my bed and noticed that I was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. Whatever, I'd worry about that later, and so I walked sluggishly out of my bedroom and headed for the kitchen.

My apartment was just like a bachelor pad: one bedroom, two bathrooms, a living room, dining room and a kitchen. The theme of my apartment was a combination of shabby chic and contemporary, which in my definition was organized chaos. It fitted my personality and I liked it.

When I moved in freshman year, it was drabby and lifeless; the walls were white and the place was too sterile for my taste. A lot of work had to be done, and as time went on, certain pieces were added and I just sort of got carried away at some point.

I saw Mike putting in the last bacon on the plate that laid on the kitchen island and when he looked up, he gestured for me to sit on the stool.

"Sit," he ordered.

"So bossy," I muttered, then sat on the stool.

He rolled his eyes and handed me a plate filled already with food. "Here and dig in."

And I did, very ravenously I could eat a horse. When a piece of pancake landed on my taste buds, I moaned at how good it was. Mike once told me that he had his own way of making pancakes. He actually had a secret ingredient to which his uncle taught him and had him solemnly swear to never share it to anyone else.

I tried once, and all I got was a death glare.

Mike chuckled. "Having an orgasm are we?"

I shoved another piece into my mouth and moaned again. "You have no idea."

He smiled and then it was replaced with a serious expression, meaning business. "Charlie, we need to talk about you going home."

I was hoping he would avoid that topic, even for just a while. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go home and see my sister walk down the aisle with him. If you didn't get the memo, Dalton's going to be my brother-in-law.

It would be so awkward.

I sighed, putting my fork down. "I know. I just don't know if I can handle it."

"Charlie, maybe coming home would be good for you," Mike suggested. "For some closure."

I snorted. "Closure? I don't need closure," I said, glaring at him with animosity. "The last time I checked, I left on my own accord because it was the right thing to do, so tell me, why do I need closure?"

He glared back. "Charlie, think about it. You can't go on like this; go home and get over it."

"It's hard, damn it!" I screamed and the outburst had increased the throbbing ache in my head, but I was too pissed off to care. "You don't know what it feels like, Mike, so don't tell me to get over it!"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb. "Charlie, I may not know what it feels like, but you need to get past this. You have to face them again one way or another. Face your fears - no more hiding."

"I'm scared..." I said quietly, feeling defeated all over again.

He reached out to caress my hand and I welcomed the comfort it brought. "I know, but do you know what's the best part of coming home?"

I frowned. "What?"

He grinned. "You get to tell them off for not attending your graduation."

Oh, he's good. This changed things and made a whole lot of sense. After all, I had a bone to pick with my family for missing my graduation and they most certainly were not getting away with this.

I've had enough of being a good daughter.

"And I have the perfect plan for that." By now, I was grinning like a maniac with my idea and it ought to be good.

Matching my grin, he asked, "What?"

"If I'm going home, it would be unannounced."

"Meaning...?" he asked, slightly confused.

"What I mean is," I said, picking up my fork as I wanted to eat again, "I'm not telling them my flight schedule and the day of my arrival."

Yeah, I may as well do it with a bang.

Charlotte Grace was coming home with a new attitude.