“Okay, Sir.” Then, he returned to cleaning the floor, as if the president was coming by.
Leaving him to it, I headed to the living room to enjoy my coffee.
With my phone in one hand, cup in the other, I sipped my drink and scrolled through social media.
And, of course, it took only minutes before my phone began to ring.
Again, it was way too early.
“Hey, Moore.”
“Hey yourself,” he greeted. He didn’t give me more than a breath before he went on. “So, I have a double shift. Can Adrian stay with you tomorrow? He’d love to spend some time with Charlie.”
“I suppose so,” I answered through a yawn. “As long as you order pizza for the boys.” Although, I would bet that they’d enjoy making homemade pizza if given the choice. “I’m assuming he’ll stay the night?”
“If it's not an issue…”
Adrian had stayed over a few times when Moore had to work a double shift. It wasn’t often, since my Alpha friend tried not to take them on more than he needed. Adrian wasn’t a fan of the long hours alone, let alone being left to his own devices during nighttime hours.
“Not at all.”
“Great. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
There was no small talk needed. Moore simply ended the call right there, leaving me to shake my head.
Surprised that Charlie had yet to venture to where I was, I slowly stood and made my way to the kitchen. I found him still cleaning the floor.
I watched from the doorway. The way Charlie moved wasn’t about cleanliness. It was about control. His own. Or someone else’s.
I stepped forward, setting my mug on the counter. “Charlie.” He froze, rag clenched in one hand. “You don’t need to do that.” The floor was more than clean enough. Not that it was dirty to begin with. I had let him get away with it, sure that he would have finished by the time my coffee was gone.
He didn’t look up. Just stilled.
“I wasn’t told to stop.” His voice was quiet. Careful.
“I’m telling you now.” I waited.
He sat back on his heels, eyes flicking toward me, uncertain.
“The floor can’t get any cleaner, sweetheart.” I dared to walk closer before kneeling at his level. “I don’t want you up this early doing chores anyway.”
“Yes, Sir.” He sounded so dejected. Charlie sat back on his heels, rag limp in his hand. He didn’t look at me right away. Just stared at the floor like it might give him the answer.
Then, quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask, he said: “What should I do instead?”
“You’re not here to perform,” I said. “You’re here to exist.”
He blinked. That word—exist—landed like a foreign language.
I reached for the notebook on the counter, where he had left it from the night before. I held it out. “When you don’t know what to do,” I said, “you write. You breathe. You can sit near me if you want to. You ask for structure if you need it.”
He took the notebook with both hands as if it were fragile. Like it might bite.
“You’re not failing,” I said. “You’re learning.”
He just nodded.
“Remember, that’s the reason for the notebook. If you feel unsettled or lost, write down your thoughts. Draw a picture. Whatever you need to do.”
