(no subject)
Chuck had the vague impression that a full day had gone by since he'd found his way to the empty hut, bottles in hand - it'd been getting dark when he'd left the compound, he remembered that, and it had been light when he'd woken the first time, slumped in the corner, the newspaper splayed on the floor from where it'd slipped from his hand when he'd passed out. And now it was dark again. He should put the bottle down, something inside him said, get up, get out and back hom, clean himself up and go to bed. But that all seemed like such an effort. Easier to drink again, until the burn chased everything else away, close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall.
His father was dead. He hadn't been there. Those were the two thoughts that kept repeating in his mind. Bart had died, probably disappointed in him, and what did Chuck have left? A company that he wouldn't be allowed to run. A bank account, held in trust. And nothing else. He didn't know what he was doing now, other than trying to forget what he'd seen; maybe if the island wouldn't send him home, he'd take himself off it by force. It didn't matter, and that was the thing that probably hurt the most. Nothing mattered anymore, and there was no one left in the world to whom he should matter. At least with his father alive, even if he hadn't given a damn, there had been that. And now? Nothing.
He took another swig from the bottle and let his head fall back against the wall, hovering in a place somewhere between consciousness and blackout, far enough gone that even when someone entered the hut, he didn't move.
His father was dead. He hadn't been there. Those were the two thoughts that kept repeating in his mind. Bart had died, probably disappointed in him, and what did Chuck have left? A company that he wouldn't be allowed to run. A bank account, held in trust. And nothing else. He didn't know what he was doing now, other than trying to forget what he'd seen; maybe if the island wouldn't send him home, he'd take himself off it by force. It didn't matter, and that was the thing that probably hurt the most. Nothing mattered anymore, and there was no one left in the world to whom he should matter. At least with his father alive, even if he hadn't given a damn, there had been that. And now? Nothing.
He took another swig from the bottle and let his head fall back against the wall, hovering in a place somewhere between consciousness and blackout, far enough gone that even when someone entered the hut, he didn't move.