Charlotte XXV


My time with Charlotte flies by. I had taken her presence in my life for granted and it isn’t until she is gone that I realize how much she is part of my daily routine. Even before we touched each other in ways that I’d fantasized about, she was always there.And now she’s not. 

Nick feels it too. In the week following her departure, after the whispered private promises and the tear filled public goodbyes—her tears, not mine—we are both uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Miss her man.” Nick powers down the car window as we speed to class. “Didn’t think I would because Skype and shit. And because she’s been out of school for weeks. But I still expect her to be home ready to hear all the crap that went on at school.” 

“Yup,” I answer. My feelings are too intense to give them much verbal play. I don’t want to sound like a preteen who is so insecure that he keeps checking his phone to see if the girl he likes has responded to his last text. But Christ, I do miss her in so many ways. 

I miss her small body next to mine at night. I miss her fingers running through my hair as I sit on the floor to study. She’d lie on the bed and prop her chin on my shoulder, pretending to read but more often distracting me because she claimed I smelled too good not to lick. Taking a deep breath, I drive those thoughts away so I don’t walk into the school with a hard on so massive my backpack won’t cover it.

Yes. Fuck. I miss her. 

“Guess you’ll have to get used to missing each other if you’re going to spend four years after graduation in the military,” Nick muses.

Guilt spears me because I still haven’t told Charlotte. I meant to but then I was distracted by sex. I’m a seventeen year old male whose girlfriend wanted to be taught how to give a blow job. Nothing would have steered me away from that course of action. Not a tornado, a five alarm fire, or confessions about future plans.

And there I go again. The jeans are feeling too tight again. I have to stop thinking about Charlotte and sex. At least for the next eight hours or so. After? Once I’m back in my bedroom, I’ll be jerking it like a madman. My hand will probably be calloused by the time she gets back. I can just picture it. “Why Nathan, your hand is so rough. Been working out much?”
“Yeah, I fapped every night for three hours looking at your pictures, smelling your pillow, and remembering your tongue all over my body.”
I’m not sure whether she’ll be disgusted or turned on. 

As if he’s reading my mind, Nick asks, “Think it will be hard to go without? I mean, like I can’t not have sex every weekend or I think my brain processes shut down.” 

“Nice Nick. Real classy.”

“What?” He raises his hands trying for the innocent look. “There are guys out there who are only pleasuring one woman and there are guys—like you—who aren’t having sex at all. I’m doing both genders a favor by picking up the slack.”

Shaking my head, I snort. “If that helps you sleep at night. Hope you are wrapping it up. No need for little Jacksons running around before you graduate. Not to mention disease.” 

“Thanks a lot for jinxing me. Next girl I see, I’ll impregnate. I’m going to blame it on you.”

“You can blame anything you want on me. You’re the one whose life will end when Dad finds out.” 

This shuts Nick down. “I’m just sleeping with Josie and have been for like three months now.”

Josie is a senior at an all girl’s Catholic school. She lives on the eighth floor. I’m sure Nick picked her because of the easy access.  “I know. I’m just messing with you.”

When we get to school, I check the time. Charlotte is seven hours ahead so right now she’s probably getting out of treatment or tutoring. We don’t have a good lock on her schedule yet. I send her a quick text.

Heading to class. If you’re learning German, get all the good curse words. And then how to say I want to lick your breasts.

As soon as I send it, I realize that this is a bad idea. I don’t want Charlotte asking anyone about sex over there. What if her tutor is a guy and thinks she’s coming on to him.

Scratch that. Just the curse words. English is fine for me. I know a lot of ways to say I want you in English. 

Charlotte: (1/2) ROFL. My tutor is a Swiss Miss. She looks like she belongs on the package of those horrible hot chocolate drink packages that had the dried marshmallows. Remember those? I loved those. 

Charlotte: (2/2) She’s actually not teaching me anything because I’m still in the testing stage so basically she just has me reading. I’m supposed to call her Frau Kielholz but since she looks like she might only be a few years older than me she agreed I could call her Reta.

The bell rings. I try texting and running into the building. 

“Ask her if Reta is hot,” Nick says waving his phone at me. Charlotte is texting us both at the same time. He speeds off toward his class and I run up the stairs for Advanced Comp.  

Is sh hot? N wants to kno.

Charlotte: Please. It’s like hot genes barfed all over here. Everyone is hot. Even the 90 year old grandmothers are hot. It’s depressing. Never come here Nate. Promise me.

Nate: Promise to find no one hotter than you.

Charlotte: Lame. Luv Ux1000.

Nate: Luv U

When the noon bell rang, I lope down to the entrance, taking the stairs two, three at a time. Near the bottom, I use the railing and catapult myself past three sets of slowpokes. As I’m adjusting my backpack that slipped off my shoulder as I was vaulting five feet downward, I feel a shove against my shoulder. More like in my pectoral area than my shoulder. Looking down I see the angry face of Charlotte’s friend Greta.

“Whoa there. You drunk this morning?” I straighten her by her shoulders and set her out of my way. I hear the click of a camera phone. It’s another girl whose name I can’t ever remember. Sarah, Susan, Shelly. One of those. I don’t really care though so I just continue to walk past them until Greta’s next words stop me in my tracks.

“Your girl off to get her abortion?” 

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