“Shit,” I moan as I slide a wide palm down my face. This is going to get ugly.
I morph to George’s bedroom. Charlotte is already standing in his doorway watching him dig through his bottom dresser drawer before pulling out a small bottle of pills.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Charlotte groans.
George stands and shakes the bottle in her face, the pills rattling, as he pushes past her. “You can either stay and watch or you can get your ass out of my house. Your choice.” He leers at her and she rolls her eyes. George crouches down, slowly paying mind to his injuries, in front of the coffee table and dumps a pill on the glass. He takes the picture of me in the frame from the day I graduated basic and begins crushing the pill with it.
Charlotte’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “What the fuck is that?”
George snorts. “Oxy.”
“You’re going to snort oxycodone? Are you fucking kidding me?” she shrieks.
George doesn’t answer her. Patting his pockets, he finds his wallet and pulls out his license and continues to break up the pill with the card. Charlotte stands, arms crossed, staring down at him in disbelief.
“You want some?” George asks snidely, knowing she doesn’t, as he pulls out a dollar bill and begins rolling it up. She may not realize what he’s doing, but I do. He’s trying to scare her away; let her see the worst of him.
“Don’t do it, George,” Charlotte warns, and even I’m surprised by her tone.
“Or what, Mother Teresa?”
“I’ll tell your mom,” she threatens.
George laughs haughtily. “She’d never believe you.”
Charlotte bites her lip as George bends down to snort his first line. In a rush, she throws herself on the table and the pill dust flies everywhere as the glass crushes and combusts into a thousand tiny pieces.
“What the fuck?” George yells as she hops up, white residue and glass covering her black Ike and George’s shirt, her expression hard with anger. “Get the fuck out of my house!” George growls.
Picking up the photo of me George used to crush the pill off the ground, she yells, “What would Ike say if he could see you now?” as she shoves the photo in his face.
George freezes. “Really, Charlotte?” I mumble. “This has gone too far. You should go,” I encourage. George’s expression is unreadable, and as his twin that knows everything about him, that worries me. I’m not sure what he’s capable of right now.
George slowly looks up at her and drops the dollar bill, yanking the picture frame from her hand and tossing it on the sofa behind him. With his injuries, it takes him a minute to fully stand and Charlotte waits, her jaw set.
“Leave!” he roars. “Leave right this fucking minute!”
The room falls silent as they both breathe heavily. Charlotte’s eyes move to the pill bottle that lays sideways amidst the table she just destroyed, and I can practically read her mind.
“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late. She’s darted to the table, seized the bottle and bolts to the bathroom. George, even in his pain, manages to catch up to her rather quickly, cursing at her as he moves, but by the time he makes it to the hall bathroom, the toilet is already flushing. Her eyes are fixed on the toilet bowl as the water spins around and the pills swirl with it. George is in the doorway, shirtless, every muscle in his body coiled. His rage rolls off him like pulsing heat as he stares at her in disbelief. I’m a little thrown, too. She’s a very drastic woman. Not even I could have predicted she’d do something like that.
When she raises her head, she twists the lid back on the pill bottle and approaches him in the doorway. She’s not smiling, but there’s definitely no apology in her eyes. Pressing the bottle to his chest, she looks him directly in the eye and without one ounce of fear, says, “Here. I’ll be leaving now. Thanks for having me over.” She releases the pill bottle, which George doesn’t attempt to catch, letting it fall to the floor. Pushing past him, she walks calmly to the living room, but before she reaches the entrance, George seizes her arm and jerks her around. Her eyes widen slightly before returning to their usual calmness. I’ve never seen George so angry, and I know he’d never hit a woman, but even I’m worried I could be wrong about that, judging by the look on his face.