Choice: Part I

After the events of last night, Charity had naively hoped she would have a deep, dreamless sleep. Yet here she was, three sleepless nights later, with deep circles beneath her bloodshot eyes, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues she couldn’t appreciate. As the sun’s rays began to warm her skin, a deep ache panged her chest.

Her mother was gone, and she would never again see her bright smile or feel her warm embrace. Never again could Charity walk into the kitchen of her childhood home and smell cinnamon and sugar swirling in the air as her mother baked treats like she always loved to do. Never again would Charity be able to come to her mother and talk about her day while her mother sipped black coffee and listened intently. Would Charity forget the way her mother’s nose crinkled when she disapproved of her father’s antics? Would she remember her contagious laugh that always seemed to fill a room? The thought frightened Charity.

Now, despite all the tears Charity shed through the night, she began to cry once more. She did her best to stifle her sobs, not wishing to wake Leah who was sleeping soundly on a couch adjacent to her. Charity was not sure how long she sat in silent misery, wiping the tears and snot so frequently her face had become raw, before Leah began to stir. Leah’s eyes, still clouded with sleep, widened as they landed on Charity. In an instant, the sleepiness vanished, replaced by a look of concern. She crossed the room and sat beside Charity.

“How are you feeling?” Leah asked.

“Like an elephant is sitting on my chest,” Charity halfheartedly joked while wiping more tears and mucus off of her red, puffy face.

“Do you want me to take off of work and stay with you today?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Leah. I’ll be fine. I promise,” Charity replied. Leah was not convinced, but Charity continued before she could protest, “I’m probably just going to try to sleep most of the day anyway. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Leah still didn’t like the idea of leaving Charity alone, but she knew arguing would be no use. “Fine, but I’m getting off early and coming straight here. I’ll bring lunch, too.”

Charity gave her friend a soft smile before laying down on the couch once more, listening to the door groan in protest as Leah rushed off to work. Charity sighed and did her best to fall asleep, but her efforts proved fruitless as countless emotions crashed over her heart and mind and prevented her from giving into the exhaustion and receiving the rest she so desperately needed.

A loud slam pulled Charity out of her spiraling thoughts, and she hurriedly wiped her stained face once more before turning to greet her father. However, words failed to pass her lips as she caught sight of her father’s disheveled appearance. A five o’clock shadow was present on his usually clean shaven face. His typically neatly-groomed hair looked as though it had been nearly pulled out, and his wrinkled, half-tucked shirt exposed some of the loops he had missed when putting on his belt.

Peter’s swollen, red eyes began to water as he met Charity’s gaze, and he covered his face in shame. “I’m so sorry,” he wept.

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“Dad, it’s not your fault,” Charity whispered, trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“But it is, Charity,” Peter said, sitting beside his daughter. “It’s all my fault. I failed as a husband, father, and councilman when I didn’t put a stop to what your mother was doing.”

“What do you mean?” Charity’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“Your mother’s friends… the ones she went to be with the night she… she…” Peter stopped and swallowed hard. He struggled to find the right words as he wrestled with the overwhelming guilt and grief threatening to overtake him once more.

Charity placed a hand on his clenched fist, and Peter drew a few shaky, slow breaths. “Those friends… They aren’t good people. They’re rebellious, good-for-nothing scoundrels, and I told Rose that from the beginning. Normally, people who think and talk like they do, people who refuse to see the good King Abaddon has done and spread dangerous ideas to others. They’re… they’re dangerous. They sow chaos and leave the rest of us to reap despair.

“And I… I told… I told Rose that. From the beginning, I told her they were no good. Normally, people like that are supposed to be reported to the Elite. But Rose. She… she didn’t listen. She told me I was wrong about them. And I… I trusted her. But I should have gone with my gut. I should have stopped her. I should have reported them when I had the chance. If I did… my Rose…” Peter covered his face and began weeping uncontrollably.

Charity wrapped her arms around her father’s broad, shaking shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter repeated between heavy sobs.

“Dad, it’s not your fault,” Charity replied. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and met her father’s gaze.

“I’m going to fix this,” Peter’s voice was filled with rage, “I’m going to find every one of them.”

Charity pulled back, frightened by Peter’s sudden outburst. He seemed to not notice her withdrawal and said his goodbyes before rushing out of the door, assuring Charity she did not have to come back to the office until she was ready to return.

As the door clicked closed, silence surrounded Charity, capturing her as though she were a caged bird. She struggled to breathe as grief and loneliness sat heavily on her chest. Her mind raced, and it refused to allow Charity even a moment’s peace as it sped back and forth between her father’s words, her awful dream, and those bright red eyes that still tormented her every time she blinked.

Suddenly, a knock reverberated throughout the empty house, startling Charity so much she yelped. She stared at the door for a moment and wondered if perhaps she was hearing things, but when another knock resounded, she jumped up to see who was behind that creaky, old door. She combed her fingers through her tangled curls and wrapped a large blanket around her wrinkled clothes in an attempt to appear somewhat presentable.

Charity was immediately greeted with the sweet aroma of fresh baked pastries and roasted coffee. Andrew stood in a plain, white shirt and old blue jeans, holding a paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. His icy blue eyes brimmed with warmth and care, and Charity’s rosy cheeks deepened its red hue under his intense gaze.

“I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I picked a few different options.”

“You came all this way just to bring me food?” Charity asked, dumbfounded.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, all things considered.”

“Well, thank you,” she murmured, accepting the food and coffee and immediately setting them on the counter.

“You’re welcome.” Andrew turned to leave, but Charity grabbed his sleeve almost instinctually.

“Wait,” Charity said. Andrew stopped in his tracks and faced Charity once more. Charity let go of his sleeve and looked down at the dilapidated yellow tiles beneath her feet, embarrassed at her sudden outburst. “Could you stay? Just for a little while. I… hate being alone.”