ficinabottle

Title: "More Than You Know"
Pairings: None...just Charlie-centric
Rating: no rating to speak of
Summary:Okay so anyways this is my first attempt at a drabble/ficlet/one shot whatever you want to call it, so hopefully it doesnt compeltely suck...I'm really only used to writing looooong fics so yeah...dont know how good this'll be. Basically it's basically what I got out of the whole Charlie/Locke thing concerning Charlie's drugs and guitar during "House of the Rising Sun" There are spoilers, obviously but if you're like me you like spoilers anyways. There's also some speculation as we dont really know what Charlie was doing in Australia to begin with so yeah...creative license takes a big role.Anywho, on with the drabble...oh coincidentally is it just me or did anyone else find the look on Charlie's face once he found his guitar immensley heart wrenching somehow? Oooh oohh, also coincidentally, I'm an admitted community whore but other than all my communities I've joined I have no actual individuals on my friends list *pouts* so if anyone wants to be friendly and add me I'll graciously add back :)

It was almost symbolic when he took the time to actually think about it, the guitar resting unscathed on the face of the rock hill just waiting for Charlie to reach out and take hold of it; its his old life, the one before the shit he'd been poisoning himself with for so long now; the one in which he didnt have to put on some brave facade and try and convince everyone who so much as looked at him that he was the typical egocentric attention seeking rock star without so much as a flickering of self doubt or insecurity. The guitar was all that he wished he could have back and the rock face was everything he needed to go through to get it; everything he never followed through with because he was too weak.

Charlie's heart may as well have broken into a thousand pieces right there on the spot as he gazed up at his beloved instrument. All it did was remind him of how far away he was from home and everyone he cared about. For the first time in a long time, Charlie felt that odd twinge in his stomach, the kind that almost sucks the air away from a person when they've been kicked or on the recieving end of a sizable scare; for the first time in a long time, he was homesick and there was nothing he could do about it. Now every time he would press his fingers to the fretboard and half ass his way through a simple tune just to hear the notes echo quietly through the air, all he would thing of is the one place he would never see again.

The funniest thing was, at least in the way that people use the term to describe a situation that is impossibly ironic in nature, was that he got on the stupid plane to get away from the shambles of his former life. He hand't toughed out the hellish stay in the rehabilitation center that everyone had forced to check in to; he hadnt even stayed half the time he had said he would before searching on line for the next flight out to America and counting down the days until departure.He had said his goodbyes to his brother and what was left of his friends; he was tired of listening to them tell him how he had a problem and how he wasnt welcome until he did something about it; he was tired of all the betrayal and how everyone around him played off on being so picture perfect all the time; he was tired of being made the black sheep. He had wanted a chance to start over and build a new life and now that he had it, albeit not exactly the way in which he had planned, it was far more frightening than whatever it was that lurked in the jungle and far more painful than what he was about to go through.

There was no more time for weakness, but being strong was something Charlie wasn't sure he even knew how to do.