Being Wrong | ✓

Part 12

The clock on the dashboard said it was just past midnight when they stopped for the night at a motel. Charlie's dad left him in the car while he went in and paid for a room. Charlie idly considered getting out and running while he waited, but the only thing he'd managed to do by the time his dad returned was make his lip bleed by aggressively gnawing at it.

The room had two single beds, a small table with two chairs, and a TV, which Charlie's dad immediately turned on. The bathroom had a shower, a sink, and a toilet, and was painted a faded pink colour. Charlie wanted to brush his teeth before bed, but he didn't have a toothbrush or toothpaste. He jumped when he looked up and saw his dad leaning in the doorway.

"I meant to get some shit together for you before we left, like a toothbrush and all that, but then I went to stake out the place and you were right there so I just nabbed you. We'll get some stuff tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Charlie echoed. Normally that would have been a big deal, but Charlie couldn't find space in his brain to care about it just then. He probably would tomorrow, though, when he woke up to his mouth tasting gross and his teeth feeling fuzzy.

Charlie's dad gave him a forced smile. "Yeah, we'll be fine, hey? Things are going to be a bit rough for a while, but we'll find some place new and get settled back in. We're always fine in the end, aren't we?"

Are we? Charlie wondered. Am I? "Dad... what's wrong with me?"

That startled a bark of laughter out of Charlie's dad. "Want me to make a list?"

That was something Charlie liked about his dad. He was honest and straightforward, even if it wasn't the nice thing to say. Though... Charlie had also kind of liked Travis' automatic response to that same question - that there wasn't anything wrong with Charlie.

"No, but, like... why?"

"Doesn't matter why. You were just born kinda fucked up and that's not gonna change."

Charlie made a quiet humming sound and gripped the side of the sink. He considered leaving the conversation there before his dad got angry, but Charlie wanted answers and nobody knew him as well as his dad. "Travis thinks I should get therapy."

Charlie's dad scoffed. "All that psychologist, psychiatrist, therapist shit is a scam. You think talking to someone about your problems is gonna make them go away?"

Charlie shrugged. Maybe. Not really. But... if they had some kind of answers, or they could give him some advice to make things easier, maybe it would help.

"You know what they'd do? They'd talk to you for half an hour, then give you some shitty pills to take that only make you feel tired. Tell you to come back in a month. Next time, you'd tell them the pills only make it worse, but they'll tell you to keep taking them anyway because maybe they haven't started working yet. For months. And then when you finally convince them the pills aren't working, they'll give you different ones that don't help either and make you feel sick. It's a shitty carousel that doesn't stop until you get sick of it and get the fuck off."

"Oh."

"Yeah, fucking oh." Charlie's dad moved towards him and Charlie quickly shuffled back, but he had only been heading for the sink to splash water on his face. "The shit that actually helps, you can't get from a shrink. I sell people shit that helps, but because some fucking big business isn't getting a cut it's illegal."

If your drugs help, why did you throw me out of the car when you were on them and get us into this mess? If your drugs help, why is my mum dead? Out loud, Charlie said, "Okay."