Charlie P.O.V

When I wake up in the morning I check my phone to see if Michael has texted me back. Unfortunately, there isn't a single message from him. There is the possibility that he might still be asleep, but I just don't have much hope right now.

Slowly, I sit up and sigh. I rub my face and run my fingers through my hair. I'm feeling rather sore from getting out of the hospital. I'll probably just take a few days and rest.

I take out my cell phone and call my mom. The phone rings on speaker for several moments before she answers.

"Hello?" she asks.

"Hi, Mom," I reply softly.

"Oh, hi, Charlie!" she says happily.

"Who's on the phone?" my father's voice comes through.

"Sweetie, it's Charlie," she tells him with a happy tone.

There's an audible snort from the other end of the phone, presumably from my father. I close my eyes and silently sigh.

"Oh, don't mind him. He's in one of his moods. How are you?"

I take a deep breath and swallow the growing lump in my throat. "Not so good," I tell her softly.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asks, her tone growing with concern.

"When are you coming home?" I ask shakily, my eyes burning with tears.

"Why? Charlie, is something wrong?"

I find myself unable to answer her. My lungs feel like they're in a choke hold and my eyes are pouring tears. I can't bring myself to speak.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" my mother asks, yet I am still unable to give her a response. "Charlie, say something. You're scaring me."

"When are you coming home?" I manage to choke out through my sobbing.

"I don't know, Honey. It could be a while. What's going on? Are you okay?" she asks.

"No," I cry.

"Do you want us to come home?" she asks.

Before I can give her an answer, my father cuts me off. "We can't go home right now," he argues. "This trip is important for our work."

"Then you stay and I'll go home," my mother snaps in return. "Something is clearly wrong and all you care about is our work."

"He's eighteen! If you keep coddling him he'll never be able to take care of himself!" my father yells.

"He's been taking care of himself since he was fifteen! You never want to go home and see him! All you want to do is work and count money!" my mother screams.

I hang up the phone and toss it to the side. Tears continue to pour from my eyes as I gently rock myself on the bed.

I have never felt more alone. I've basically been on my own since I was fifteen, but this is different. I finally had someone that I could count on. Someone that made me happy. Now he's gone. Michael hasn't confirmed that he doesn't want to see me anymore, but I know deep down that it's true.

Several days pass. Still no sign of Michael. I now know that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I thought the time we spent together was great. Apparently, he didn't think so. I guess that's just how it has to be.

I hear the front door open. I don't bother to gaze out from my room. The only person who would manage to lift my spirits would be Michael and he's made it clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I should have known that it would be too good to be true.

The familiar sound of high heels clacking against wooden floors echoes through the house. Mom is home. She opens my bedroom door and runs in, wrapping her arms around me.

"Goodness, Charlie! You had me worried sick!" she exclaims, beginning to check me for any sign of injury or sickness.

"I'm sorry," I mumble quietly. "I missed you."

"We missed you too, Sweetheart," she says, hugging me.

"Is Dad here?"

"Well, no. He decided that he had work to do and couldn't afford to come home right now," she explains, a bit of frustration clearly in her tone. "So what's wrong?"

My mother sits on the edge of my bed and brushes a bit of hair from my eye. It's something she always does. It never bothered me much.

"A lot has happened lately," I tell her.

"Like what?"

"I was in the hospital," I say softly.

"What?" she asks in shock.

"I had to have my appendix removed."

"Are you okay? Do you need to go back to the hospital?" she asks in concern.

"I'm fine," I assure her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. I got to the hospital and they fixed it," I explain.

"Who took you there? Surely you didn't drive yourself in the snow."

"Michael drove me," I whisper.

I know that Michael and I only had a few days together, but I had been waiting for a time like that since middle school. Now, I feel like I've been abandoned without any real explanation. It hurts to be in this situation.

"You mean the boy you met in middle school? How cute! How is he?" she asks.

"I wouldn't know," I admit softly. "We dated for a couple days and he hasn't talked to me since. He's ignoring my texts."

My mother has a look of surprise on her face. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know!"

The longer this conversation goes on, the harder it is to contain my tears. In the end, I break down and sob. My heart aches for a reason for Michael to leave. If he could just tell me the truth, it would make this situation just a little easier.

"Oh, Sweetheart. It'll be okay. If he left then that's his loss, not yours," she says while rubbing my shoulders.

I let out a shaky sigh. I don't have the same mindset as my mother. I don't think Michael lost me. I lost him. For whatever reason, I lost him. That's just the way things turned out. Perhaps I'll move on, eventually. It won't be easy by any means, but I have to try.