She knew, mentally, that she ought to be thanking Cat for her help - but at the same time it felt both freely given and absolutely natural for this woman that she barely knew to be giving her guidance, whether it was in house hold chores or even advice about her friend. Charlie took a few paces back and leaned against the counter running the length of the room, lazily crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yeah. Yeah, he does." Her tone sounded lamentful and unsure, and she stared at Cat for a moment as though she were going to blurt out everything, just get it off her chest to someone, anyone, but for some reason Cat would be the best person to tell, despite their short-lived acquaintanceship. That thought pressed Charlie's lips closed, her mouth gasping like a fish on dry land. She glanced away again, feeling awkward, and then back to Cat's face.
"My clothes...he, uh, came over drunk the other night. An' he tried..." Charlie waved emphatically in the air, as though the gesture described what she was trying to say. Finally, she dropped her hands to rest on the counter's edge and shrugged. "He tried tah kiss me and threw up instead." Charlie was never much of a talker to anyone, and never a gossiper with a dozen female friends to whom she could spill her guts, and this revelation of information, though it might be more than Cat cared to handle, felt nice.