????: ??????? ??? (? ????? ???? ?????) ?

~~~

Skyler

The next six days, after Charlie dropped his immense ask, consisted of the following: one, me looking for job options, two, Charlie waiting on a confirmed date for when filming began, three, Calico being a nuisance, four, talking to Mom and Dad about me and Charlie's relationship and life in general, five, me taking care of my father whenever he needed it, and last but not least, six, considering Charlie's immense ask.

The week was supposed to be our last period of freedom before the burdens and weight of adulthood struck us like a storm in a once smooth-sailing ocean. But, instead, I spent it in self-strife, waiting anxiously in anticipation as the week neared an end. When I would have to give Charlie my answer.

I wanted to be happy this week—my, supposedly, last week with him. But, I ruined it with my neverending, self-contained, ongoing panic attack. Whenever I want to be free or feel unrestrained by the encumbrance of my own mind, that small panic attack haunts the corners of my head, teasing me maliciously. I never know when it's going to lash out. When it'll be unleashed. When I'll break down and drop ten layers deeper into a bottomless pit. Sometimes I'll feel like I'm floating and in a steady position, but then, suddenly, my mental health just goes lower, no matter how hard I try.

I spent my whole week with that on my mind, other than Charlie.

Charlie and I were lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, no words being exchanged at all. It was Sunday. Charlie left for California in a few hours.

We were both putting it off. Neither of us wanted to talk about it.

I didn't want to give him my answer. It was an extremely difficult choice. I spent the whole week on a tightrope, leaning both ways, losing my balance constantly. I didn't know which direction to fall. I just kept standing on my toes, struggling to keep my footing. Either, stay home and care for your family, or move in with Charlie.

Choose quick, or else the tightrope will snap and you won't be able to choose either. You'll just drop down ten more stories.

I turned my head to the right in the bed, looking at a bored Charlie, who was staring blankly into space. I wanted to ask if he was okay, or if I could do anything, but that would bring up the point of interest, and neither of us wanted to face it.

I wanted to say something. We were wasting time. Charlie was leaving soon and this was not how I wanted to spend our last moments.

Charlie suddenly took his phone out from his pocket, breaking out of his empty, half-alive state. I watched as he opened his messages app and scrolled through, searching for something.

"Anything yet?" I broke the silence, Charlie turning his head back at me.

"As of now, nothing from Amy," He said with a sigh. "But I do have several messages from Jonathan—"

"—Oh, is he okay?—"

"—Yeah, he's just sending me photos of his house. Five messages from Cassie—"

"—Oh, how is she?—"

"—Good, um, two messages from Rue—"

"—Wait, how's Rue doing with her new job in Ohio?—"

"—She enjoys it, I heard she interviewed Zendaya last week, so, yeah, one message from Mastace—"

"—Oh, how is he and Briggan?—"

"—Briggan's in the Armed Forces, Mastace is still in Bristol, so, they're doing fine, I hope... uh, and... fifteen messages... from daddy." Charlie slapped the phone down on his chest in annoyance.