Begin Again: A Charlotte Bloom Short Story Read Free Page B

horror (and delight), I saw Charlotte come out and sit down beside me. Shit.
    "So… did Helen tell you?" Her voice was light and excited.
    "Tell me what? Obviously not, because I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, slightly slurred. Great. Now she would know I was drunk. She scared me. How she made me feel scared me. I thought she was fucking hot, and at the same time, I wanted to get to know her.
    "She and George offered me some temporary work here, helping out with the computers and PR for the Parc. So, I guess I’ll be staying longer than I thought," she said, innocently.
    I looked over at her, and the bubble of panic that had started today in the pub had turned into full-blown fear. She couldn’t stay. But if she did… maybe I had a chance with her.
    "So, you’re saying you’ll be around for a while?" I didn’t know how else to ask the burning question inside of me, and I was too inebriated to think of a more eloquent sentence.
    "Yeah, I guess so."
    "Great," I said, my voice full of dread. As much as I wanted her to stay, so much could happen. She could hurt me. I’d tried for so long to avoid getting hurt again.
    "You sound happy," she accused, angrily. It was quite possibly the cutest expression I’d seen of hers so far. Her frown was irresistible.
    "I’m not. Trust me." Because, I really wasn’t. I slowly realized… I didn’t want her around. I didn’t want to get hurt, and I knew she had the capability of hurting me.
    "You know… I’m beginning to think that I don’t like you," she said, defiantly.
    I stifled a laugh. She really was bold and unrelenting. She drove me fucking crazy. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before – she was definitely not my type. And she knew how to push my buttons.  I stood, and she followed suite.
    "Well, I’m beginning to think that I don’t like you, either," I said, boldly.
    "What’s your problem?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and looked at me with irritation.
    "I think you know." I wanted her to know that I could push her buttons just as much as she could push mine. Maybe I didn’t like her, but I wanted her… my god, I needed her right now.
    "Spell it out for me," she said.
    I began to shake ever so slightly. She was causing this reaction. She was the reason I’d consumed four beers. She’d gotten me thinking of marriage and children, for fuck’s sake. What was wrong with me? It didn’t matter if she was interested in me or not. Women like her deserved better. She was good. She was so fucking good. I needed to know why she was staying.
    "Why are you staying, anyways?" I swayed as I said this, and I caught myself on the railing. "What does this place have to offer you? I guess I just don’t trust you," I said. I had a sickening feeling that part of the reason she was staying was because of me. Call it intuition – or something. Was she really interested in me? I swear to god, I’d fucking kiss her in less than a second if she confessed her feelings for me.
    "You don’t know anything about me," she hissed.
    And I realized she was right. I knew nothing about her. I didn’t know why she left Los Angeles. I didn’t know what she did for work, or whether or not she had a boyfriend. This could never happen between us. Sure, she may have been attracted to me physically – most women were, if I were being honest – but she wouldn’t like me when she got to know me. I didn’t deserve her.
    "Thank god for that," I whispered, my breathing ragged. I wanted to push her away – I truly did. But being so close to her… it was damn hard. I wanted to shut this down. It needed to be shut down. I was drunk. This wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
    "I have been nothing but nice to you since I arrived a week ago. And you… you’ve been nothing but rude and arrogant. I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I’m done trying to be your friend," she whimpered.
    Here goes nothing. I needed to pretend that I wasn’t interested in