Charles had fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd touched the couch. I doubted any noise from the television would wake him but decided not to test it. I slipped the front door shut behind me and went to knock out a few errands. I had been working on a new painting for a few weeks, and I needed some replacement brushes; a little grocery shopping wouldn't hurt either.
As I drove, I tried to imagine what Charles had been doing for the almost four years since we'd graduated. As far as I knew, he hadn't gone to college. He must have had a job, but I never knew what it was. When he came to my apartment that day, he hadn't said much. I had microwaved him a bowl of vegetable soup, which he finished off along with a full sleeve of saltine crackers, and after thanking me for the seventh or eighth time, he headed straight for the couch and more or less crashed into it and started sleeping.
As for my own endeavors, I was still working towards a degree in accounting while holding out hope that my paintings would get noticed and make me famous before I had to solve even one more awful word problem. I'm allowed to dream.
I thought back again to the days when Charles and I fell apart. If nothing else, his reappearance in my life was good for nostalgia. The day I had accused him of stealing Ashley from me, he had been sure to mention as often as he could that it was my fault the way things were going. Seeing him now, I wondered if he still felt that way. That turned out to be a rather uncomfortable thought: that I might be responsible for his turning out this way, that as much of an inconvenience as it might be to turn my apartment into a hotel for him, it might all point back to something I did. I turned up the radio and tried not to think about Charles for the rest of my trip.
I wasn't in a hurry to get back home, so I busied myself amongst art supplies for an hour or so, fawning over paints I couldn't afford. I took my time buying groceries, too, and ended up with a few extra items that I was sure I probably didn't need. Still though, there's rarely an occasion that doesn't call for onion rings.
By the time I started my car to head back home, I was feeling a little better about the situation. I had realized that, even if he still thought I was the one who started all this, I was also still the one he had come to for help. If there was any redeeming that needed to be done, I was ready.
I opened the door as quietly as I could, expecting Charles to still be asleep on the couch. He wasn't. I stood in the doorway waiting for him to notice me there, to turn around. He didn't. The seconds crawled.
"Charles, what are you doing?"
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