1.
Charlotte locked the bathroom door and headed straight for the cabinet, tripping over a pile of towels. Even with the light on, it was dim inside. Her mum had bought the wrong light globes again. She kicked the towels aside and opened the cabinet. Packets of medicine fell into the dirty sink. Shoving them back inside, Charlotte searched for that familiar, comforting shape.
In the kitchen, her parents were fighting again.
“The last thing I need after a twelve-hour day is my house looking like a bloody mess.” Holden pointed a long, bony finger at his wife. “Is that what you do all day?”
June was sitting at the table engrossed in her new romance novel, ‘Stormy Persuasion.’ On the cover, a voluptuous blonde hung off a muscle ripped sailor, his shirt torn open exposing his tanned, hairy chest.
June waved her hand at him. “Not now, Holden. Please…”
“Please what? Please can I clean the house? Please can I make something decent for dinner? Please can I stop living my life through one of those pathetic books?”
Charlotte scowled. She hated her parents. They were so consumed with making each other miserable that nothing or nobody else mattered. She wanted to stand up to them — to tell them how invisible she felt, but who was she kidding? She was just a fourteen-year-old ghost in her own home.
June threw the book down onto the table and stood up. “At least these books make me happy. That’s more than I can say about you.”
Charlotte took a deep breath in, pulled her pyjama pants down and sat on the edge of the bath.
2.
Charlotte watched the other girls change into their shorts, their carefree laughter echoing around the locker room. She flopped down on the hard wooden bench, kicking her bag in protest. “PE is the worst!”
“Yep. On a scale of one to ten, where one is the best and ten is the worst, it’s definitely a twenty,” said Aggie.
Charlotte looked at Aggie, who had pulled her black-rimmed glasses down to the bridge of her nose.
“On today’s news, a humongous wart-covered Demagorgon, who smells like cabbage and sea water, launched an unprovoked attack on the students of Adelaide High School. Fortunately, only the popular kids were gobbled up by its ferocious onslaught. As a result, Physical Education has been cancelled for the day.”
Charlotte laughed. She remembered the first time she had met Aggie in Year 8 drama class. They were supposed to use their bodies to mime their favourite story. Charlotte was frozen with fear. She hated drama. The thought of standing alone in front of everybody made her stomach ache. No one moved. The teacher yelled words of encouragement, like she was trying to conjure up some sort of genius art form. Then a short, skinny, dark haired girl with black-rimmed glasses leaped into the centre of the circle. She began swinging her arm wildly, slicing back and forth, stepping forward as if to drive her opponent back. Her hand went up as she stumbled back, falling to her knees.
“Luke, I am your father,” Charlotte cried out. Aggie turned to Charlotte and grinned. They’d been best friends ever since.
“I’m just gonna wear my trackies today. It’s too cold for shorts,” Charlotte said.
Aggie pushed her glasses up and frowned. “What? It’s like 30 degrees today, which means it’s like 40 degrees in the gym.” She made circular motions at the side of her head. “You loco.”
“I’m not hot and besides, I can’t be bothered changing.”
“Can’t be bothered, or won’t be?” Aggie reached out to grab Charlotte, who ducked to one side.
“Ag stop!”
Aggie persisted, chasing Charlotte around the room, jumping over the benches in pursuit until she managed to grab hold of the back of her pants.
“Geronimo,” Aggie screamed as she yanked them down.
“What the hell!” Aggie stared at the horizontal cut marks on Charlotte’s upper thigh. Some were faded while others looked fresh and angry, the redness accentuated against Charlotte’s pale skin. Aggie reached her hand out as Charlotte frantically pulled her pants up.
“It’s nothing. Forget it. Let’s just go okay?”
Aggie sank down onto the bench and stared at her best friend. “What have you done?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously. Let’s just bloody go… please.”
Aggie pulled Charlotte down to the bench, wrapping her arm around her head and gently dragging her closer. “Why haven’t you talked to me? It’s me. You can tell me anything.”
“I… I… I just couldn’t. What was I s’posed to say?”
Aggie stroked her hair gently. “You can’t keep hurting yourself. Char, you have to stop.”
Years of pain and frustration poured out of Charlotte. She began to cry. Softly at first, then heavier, her body bobbing up and down with the weight of her shame. Aggie held her tight. “You know my mum’s a psychologist, right? Maybe you could talk to her? She wouldn’t say anything to your folks — you know, doctor-patient confidentiality thing. It couldn’t hurt.”
Charlotte wiped the tears from her face. She didn’t want to talk about it. Where would she start? How could she possibly explain everything that was going on in her head? But she knew she couldn’t keep going. It had started as an every now and again thing. The razor’s sharp edge and the pain it left behind replaced the anger and resentment she felt towards her parents. But the every now and again thing had turned into a nightly cutting and her scars were piling up. Charlotte knew she had to stop before it spiralled out of control.
She looked into Aggie’s eyes — kindness, warmth, friendship and love. She could trust her. Charlotte slowly nodded.
“Ladies, when you’re done gas-bagging, you’ve got twenty star jumps to do,” yelled Mr Roberts from the change room doorway.
Aggie clutched Charlotte’s hand firmly and pulled her off the bench. “And then the Demagorgon turned its attention on the faculty, chewing through the leathery gym teacher and spitting him out. As a result, Charlotte the Starlet got to wear trackies all day.”