The Charm Offensive(29)

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. No, that helped, so… thank you. But I should… bed.”

“What about the shirt?” Dev points to the bowl on the counter, but Charlie’s already out of the kitchen, rushing into his bedroom.

Dev stands there staring at the closed door for a long time after Charlie’s locked himself away behind it.





Charlie


He doesn’t sleep. He twists himself into a thousand anxious knots between starched sheets that aren’t his, in a bed that’s not his, in a room that’s not his. He stares up at a popcorn ceiling in the dark and counts dots into the thousands. He hasn’t had an episode that severe in years.

As a kid, long before he knew what the term compulsion meant, he would get stuck in these patterns he couldn’t explain. He would sit on the swings at recess, reciting the same storybooks from memory over and over again until he got it just right; he would have to spit up his saliva into tissues because he was terrified if he swallowed he would choke on it; he would have to do every school assignment perfectly, even if it meant spending hours on a single hand turkey for Thanksgiving. Being perfect was the only way to ensure everything was safe and everything was healthy.

Then he grew up. He had good teachers who took a vested interest in his intelligence. His good teachers found him good therapists, who provided him with good treatment and good meds, and for the most part, his intrusive thoughts and compulsions haven’t controlled his adult life. Not in a long time. Not until he lost his damn mind over two drops of bourbon on a white T-shirt.

He had an episode in front of Dev, and now Dev’s going to act differently. People always do.

Except… Dev tried to understand, which people almost never do.

Let me take care of you.

Charlie punches his pillows, trying to get comfortable, but it’s no use. His brain is a runaway train, and he’s never going to sleep. He does calculus in his head until it’s an acceptable hour to get up. Then he does the most strenuous exercise video he can find on YouTube as punishment for the Bourbon Stain Incident, for the way he can’t seem to keep it all together, even now, when it matters the most.

When exercise doesn’t help, he calls his therapist to schedule an emergency session, takes a Xanax, and throws himself into the shower. He puts off facing Dev for as long as he can, then forces himself to go into the kitchen to deal with the fallout.

He finds his roommate dancing to Leland Barlow in front of the stove. Something is burning. “I’m making brunch,” Dev announces, flinging his spatula like a baton. “And yes, the pancakes are vegan and gluten-free. Do you want blueberries in yours?”

“Um…” Charlie doesn’t know what to make of this scene. Is Dev’s plan to butter him up with baked goods before he stages a mental illness intervention? (It wouldn’t be the first time—Josh once bought him a new micro soldering kit before he told Charlie he couldn’t do interviews on behalf of the company anymore.)

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Dev says, sprinkling blueberries into the batter on the skillet. “Do you need help deciding who you’re going to send home at tonight’s ceremony?”

Dev deposits a plate of dark brown pancakes in front of Charlie. “Uh, what?”

“You’ve got to send home two more contestants tonight, and I think it’s between Shawna, Emily, and Lauren S.”

“Who is Shawna again?”

“Exactly.”

Charlie picks up his fork and knife and begins cutting his pancake into meticulous little squares, waiting for Dev to pull the rug out from under him, waiting for Dev to act less Dev and more like people do whenever he has a breakdown.

“How are the pancakes?”

Somehow both burned and raw in the middle. “Delicious.”

“Be honest, Charlie.”

“I think I already have food poisoning.”

Dev laughs, and Charlie stares at his mouth. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why isn’t Dev being awkward around him like his colleagues at WinHan used to be after an episode, avoiding eye contact like they were embarrassed for him, skirting him in the halls like he was a bomb set to go off? Why isn’t Dev confronting him about the Bourbon Stain Incident? Why isn’t he looking at Charlie with the mixture of pity and fear he memorized on Josh’s face?

“Well, this was a failure,” Dev says, grabbing the plate and sliding the contents straight into the trash. “Should I send Jules to get takeout? I’m thinking breakfast burritos.”

Charlie stares at Dev in his hideous cargo shorts and his ill-fitting T-shirt, toothpaste in the corner of his mouth, and he finally accepts Dev is never going to pull out the rug.

Charlie hasn’t met many people like this—people who don’t make assumptions about you when they discover your brain doesn’t work like theirs; people who don’t judge you; people who simply stay with you and ask what they can do to help. People who trustingly hand you all of themselves in PDF form.

“You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”

“Literally always,” Charlie says, and Dev laughs again, louder this time. Charlie feels the sound unlocking all his twisted fears. “I have OCD,” he says before he can’t.

Dev props an elbow on the countertop and leans into his hand. “Okay.”