Charlie stepped through the front door, taking off his sweat-soaked tracksuit with a grimace. "Ten days," he muttered under his breath. "Finally hit double digits. Whoop-de-freakin'-do."
He tossed the clothes into a corner and headed straight for the shower. The hot water felt good, washing away the morning's insanity. But no amount of soap could scrub off the lingering embarrassment of Rose's clingy, koala grip or Lisa's smug smile.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel, he made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a tall, ice-cold glass of orange juice. No vodka. No tequila. Just… juice.
As he took a sip, the front door swung open with a loud bang.
"Charlie, I'm here! Pants on or off?"
He sighed. "Dealer's choice, Berta."
Berta walked in wearing her usual no-nonsense expression, a garbage bag in one hand and a bottle of cleaning spray in the other. She took one look at him standing in the kitchen with his orange juice and immediately froze.
Her eyes narrowed. "Okay, what the hell is this?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast."
"That's not breakfast. That's a cry for help," she shot back, tossing the garbage bag on the floor. "Where's the whiskey?"
"There is no whiskey."
Berta's face dropped. "No whiskey?"
"Nope."
She folded her arms. "Okay… coffee then."
"No coffee."
Her eyes widened. "No coffee?"
"Nope."
She blinked at him, mouth hanging slightly open. "Jesus Christ. What is this, a hostage situation?"
"You really ain't gonna stop asking about it every morning, are you?" Charlie chuckled. "Alright, just to keep up the custom for the tenth time... I'm ten days sober."
Berta sucked in a breath like she was about to deliver some heartfelt encouragement and then burst out laughing. "Ten days? Damn, the world really must be ending. Should I start building an ark or just wait for the locusts?"
He sighed. "Come on, Berta. Can't a guy try to improve himself?"
She shrugged. "Sure. But you improving yourself is like me going vegan. It's unnatural and probably a sign of a midlife crisis." She grabbed a rag from the counter and started wiping down the stove. "And speaking of midlife crises, guess who called me at 2 a.m. last night?"
Charlie rubbed his temples. "Please don't say Rose."
"Nope. Cheryl. My dumbass eldest daughter."
Charlie chuckled. "Oh boy. What did she do this time?"
Berta threw her hands up. "What didn't she do? She got arrested. Again."
"For what?"
"Stupidity."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Is that a felony now?"
"It should be. Dumbass got caught stealing lawn gnomes."
"Lawn gnomes?"
Berta nodded. "Yup. Drunk as hell, walking through the neighborhood with a shopping cart full of 'em. Cops pulled her over 'cause apparently one of the gnomes was flipping off traffic."
Charlie laughed. "Okay, that's actually kind of impressive."
"Oh, it gets better," Berta said, rolling her eyes. "When the cops asked why she did it, she said she was 'starting an army.'"
Charlie nearly spit out his juice. "An army?"
"Yeah. Said she was gonna use 'em to 'take back the night.'"
Charlie laughed so hard he had to put the glass down. "Wow… I mean, points for creativity."
"Creativity my ass," Berta huffed. "This is the same girl who thought 'Venmo' was an Italian dessert."
Charlie shook his head, still chuckling. "So what happened? She make bail?"
Berta nodded. "Yeah, after I got out of bed, drove down to the station, and bailed her out for the fifth time this year."
Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Fifth time? It's only March."
"Tell me about it," she muttered, wiping the counter aggressively. "And you know what she had the nerve to say to me on the drive home?"
"What?"
Berta straightened up, lowered her voice, and did her best impression of a whiny teenager. "'Mom, it's not my fault. Gnomes have vibes.'"
Charlie burst out laughing. "Oh my God."
"Yeah," Berta snorted. "I swear, one of these days I'm gonna put her in a box, slap a UPS sticker on it, and mail her ass to Guam."
Charlie wiped a tear from his eye. "Well, maybe she can start a new army there."
"Yeah, with coconuts and sand crabs," Berta muttered. She grabbed the garbage bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. "I swear, Charlie. I don't know where I went wrong with that one."
He shrugged. "Maybe you dropped her on her head as a baby?"
"Funny you say that," Berta said thoughtfully. "Because I did drop her. But only once. And she landed on her feet."
Charlie blinked. "Like a cat?"
"Yeah," Berta sighed. "A dumbass cat."
As she headed toward the back door with the trash bag, she paused and glanced back at him. "Hey, I gotta give you credit though... ten days sober. That's gotta be a record for you."
Charlie smirked. "Yeah, well… I'm trying."
Berta tied the garbage bag with a grunt and tossed it by the door. She wiped her hands on her jeans, eyeing Charlie like he was some kind of exotic animal. She muttered. "I still can't believe it. I keep expecting you to pass out in a planter or show up on TMZ with your pants around your ankles."
Charlie smirked, sipping his orange juice. "Well, I hate to disappoint."
Berta raised an eyebrow. "Oh, trust me. You'll find a way." She grabbed the cleaning spray again and started wiping the counter. "You got any withdrawal symptoms yet?"
Charlie shrugged. "Nah, not really. A little headache now and then. Some cravings. But nothing crazy."
Berta snorted. "Hah. Give it time. My ex-boyfriend went sober once. Cold turkey. Lasted about two weeks."
Charlie leaned on the counter. "Really? What happened?"
Berta stopped scrubbing for a moment, staring off like she was reliving a war flashback. "Oh, you know. The usual. Shaking, sweating, hallucinations… kept screaming about a tiny man living in the ceiling."
Charlie blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"Dead serious," Berta said. "One night, I came home from work, and there he is, standing on the coffee table, buck naked, swinging a broom at the light fixture, yelling, 'You think you're better than me, Gary?!'"
Charlie burst out laughing. "Gary?"
Berta nodded. "Yeah. Apparently, the little guy had a name. They were arguing about rent."
Charlie choked on his juice. "What did you do?"
"What do you think I did? I grabbed a beer bottle, sat on the sofa, and watched him dangle his dongle."
Charlie was laughing so hard he had to sit down. "And you think I'm the crazy one?"
Berta shrugged. "Hey, at least I wasn't the one trying to fight a ceiling dwarf with my junk flapping in the wind." She shook her head. "Man lost 20 pounds in two weeks. Looked like a Slim Jim in a beard."
Charlie shook his head with a sigh. "Did he ever get better?"
"Yeah," Berta said casually. "After he fell down the stairs and knocked himself unconscious."
Charlie blinked. "Wait… what?"
"Yup. Woke up in the hospital, totally fine. No shakes, no cravings… just asked for a cigarette and a bucket of fried chicken."
Charlie shook his head in disbelief. "Wow. So you're telling me the cure for alcoholism is a traumatic brain injury?"
Berta shrugged. "Hey, I'm not a doctor. All I know is, when he left the hospital, he started drinking again, but this time, he could hold his liquor."
Charlie laughed. "Well, that's one way to improve."
"Not so much. He died the next day... Splattered like a watermelon by a truck," Berta wiped her hands on a dish towel. "So... you need me to push you down the stairs, or you gonna white-knuckle it?"
Charlie raised his glass. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll take my chances."
Berta sighed. "Suit yourself. But don't come crying to me when Gary shows up."
Charlie chuckled. "If I start seeing tiny men in the ceiling, I'll check into rehab."
"Good," Berta said. "And while you're there, see if they got a family discount. I might need to send Cheryl in for lawn gnome rehab."
Charlie laughed, shaking his head. "You know, for someone who gives me a hard time about my life, yours isn't exactly a Disney movie either."
Berta shrugged. "What can I say? We all got our demons. Yours comes in a bottle. Mine show up in a stolen shopping cart at 3 a.m."
As she grabbed her cleaning supplies and headed for the balcony, she stopped and glanced back at him. "But hey… ten days sober. That's pretty damn good. Just try not to die before you hit 20."
Charlie smiled. "Thanks, Berta. That means a lot."
She snorted. "Don't get sappy on me, sunshine."
..
[Noon]
After Berta left, the house settled into an unusual quiet. No sarcastic remarks, no clanking dishes, no nagging about alcohol. Just Charlie, a piano, and another glass of orange juice that was dangerously close to being healthy.
He sat at the piano, fingers resting on the keys, staring at the blank notepad in front of him. He decided to do some real work and maybe improve his career.
"Alright, Charlie," he muttered. "Time to get serious. Gotta write something good. Something meaningful. Something that'll make those little brats stop picking their noses for five seconds."
He cracked his knuckles and started playing a light, cheerful melody.
🎶 "Brush your teeth, you little freaks,
Twice a day or your mouth just reeks.
Cavities hurt, your breath is worse,
And no one wants to kiss a curse!"
He nodded, satisfied. "Alright, not bad… educational and traumatizing. Kids love that."
He jotted it down, then moved on to another tune... something bouncier. He let his fingers dance on the keys.
🎶 "If you gotta fart, let it fly,
Better out than in, don't be shy.
Holdin' it in might make you cry,
And Grandma could die - do you want that?!"
He laughed to himself. "A little dark… but memorable. Gotta rewrite the last part."
He scribbled it down and kept going.
🎶 "Sharing is caring, that's what they say,
But if it's fries, tell 'em no way.
Sharing is great, don't get me wrong,
But those are my nuggets - move along."
Charlie leaned back, smiling proudly. "And they say I'm immature… this is gold."
He reached for his orange juice when suddenly...
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
He frowned. "Seriously? Now? And what's wrong with the door bell?"
Charlie got up and walked toward the door. As he approached, he peeked through the spy hole. His eyes widened.
It was Lisa.
'What's she doing here?' He wondered.
Well, he opened the door.
Lisa stood there, arms crossed, looking sheepish. She was in her usual T-shirt and jeans. And, she kinda looked… awkward.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," Charlie replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. "What's up? Here to gloat some more?"
Lisa rolled her eyes. "Okay, I deserved that." She let out a breath. "Look… I wanted to apologize. For this morning."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I was starting to think you were just gonna throw it in my face every time I walked into a room."
"Yeah, well… I thought about it," she admitted with a small smile. "But… I was out of line. I overreacted."
He folded his arms. "You don't say."
Lisa sighed, shifting on her feet. "Look, I get it. It wasn't my place to say anything about… whoever you date. We're not… together or anything. That was a long time ago."
"Exactly," Charlie said. "A very long time ago."
"I know," she said quickly. "And I'm not trying to make this weird. I just… I saw you with Rose, and I guess it hit a nerve. But it's not my business. If you wanna date a… stage-five clinger with the emotional maturity of a middle-schooler, that's totally your call."
Charlie smirked. "Wow. So this is your idea of an apology?"
Lisa laughed softly. "Okay, fine. That was petty. I'm sorry. For real."
He looked at her for a moment.
They stood in awkward silence for a beat.
"So?"
"Apology accepted. Come on in..."
---
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[Read 16 advance chapters] [All chs available for all tiers]
AN: I know some might question MC's new lifestyle and behaviour. Just have a bit of patience and give him time. I mean, look at his past. It takes time to adjust. And he won't be a whoremonger like Charlie.