When: Room 2, Day 6, Evening
Where: The Wobbly Elm
Status: In progress
Rating: High, talk of addiction and drug use
G-Doc:Read only
Charlie paced back and forth across the line-marked parking bays just a little way outside the entrance to the Wobbly Elm, a lit cigarette hanging limply between his fingers when it wasn’t pressed between his lips. He knew he shouldn’t be here. He knew this was a bad move. Still, he was tired of sitting alone in his motel room every evening or, worse, sitting with Dalamar in his motel room. The elf was kind of weird and not in the way that Charlie could identify with. He’d tried. Fuck, he’d tried, but the wine thing had irritated him and, since then, he hadn’t been able to find it in himself to give the other guy much time. When they were both in the room, Charlie tended to retreat into himself, reliving old YouTube uploads of the comedians he liked, the ones that had got him through so many long, lonely nights in rehab.
But he wasn’t in rehab now. There was no urine test waiting for him in the morning. There was no one to tell him he couldn’t go out for a beer with a new friend. And, really, what harm was one beer going to do? It wasn’t like he was going to taste the alcohol on his tongue and feel a sudden need to shoot up. Adam’s death was still very fresh in his mind and, while it was, he wasn’t going to go near anything stronger than beer. After all, he’d resisted the pot brownies, hadn’t he? When there had been a whole fucking pile of them in the next room along from his, the room which adjoined his, he’d forced himself to walk in the opposite direction and sit outside with a packet of cigarettes and a quickly filling ashtray until he was fairly certain the majority of them had been claimed. After that mammoth display of restraint, he deserved the chance to relax, didn’t he? As long as he kept himself in check, he’d be fine. Besides, he could do with making a new friend… a friend who wasn’t the devil, that was.
Charlie had purposefully screened his messages about meeting Steve at the bar from Lucifer. After their conversation over the googly eyes and all the talk of sober buddies, Charlie got the impression that Lucifer wouldn’t be completely chilled about him heading out to the Wobbly Elm. He felt bad about that, about the subversion. He always felt bad when he had to mislead his friends. He didn’t want to do it. Sometimes it just… happened. Sometimes he couldn’t stop himself. At least he always had the good grace to feel guilty about it.
Charlie took a long drag on his cigarette then looked down at the glowing stub as he exhaled. Honestly, one or two beers would be fine. He’d never had a problem with alcohol anyway, just like he’d told Lucifer. As long as he stayed sober enough that he didn’t lose control, he’d be fine. As long as he stayed clear headed enough to remember why he had to resist anything stronger, there wouldn’t be a problem. Just for good measure, though, he might ask Steve to hang on to his money for him...