Charlotte

Charlie didn’t say anything, but he was probably wondering why I was bothering to do this when I hadn’t the last time. “I feel like it today.” While it was true that the dust would go away on its own tomorrow, for the rest of the night, it would remain. I hadn’t usually bothered to clean up because there were multiple issues- no running water (or if there was water, it wasn’t warm enough in the winter), no alternative clothing, nothing really to dry myself with, no soap, etc.

Come to think of it, I had spent many years at a time doing nothing, not eating, not moving, not bathing, and not even thinking for the most part. I was a corpse in all but name. Perhaps it would have been better for me if I had motivated myself during these times to do more - but the futility of it all got to me. As it was during those times, I felt there was little that was worth being active for.

Now though, I did have one motivation driving me. I couldn’t be completely covered in dust before the man I loved, now then could I? Not to mention it would at least feel better to get the dirt off even if the dust was only a temporary problem.

As I stepped into the bathroom (modern ones were quite convenient as I had found out while testing this one), I tried to remember the last time I had had a proper bath. Of course, while I had been alive I cleaned myself diligently and wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing my earlier unwashed clothes, though the monotony of this new life had gotten me to change that eventually.

The water at first nearly shocked me at how cold it was, but then again, during these hot summer nights it was a welcome reprieve. Modern soaps and shampoos were far better than anything I had had at the time. Come to think of it, though Charlie’s family was not nearly as wealthy as mine, in some aspects he had lived a far more luxurious life with wonders that I couldn’t have even imagined during my time.

As I stepped out to dry myself though, I realized that there was a fatal flaw in my plan that I hadn’t recognized before barging into the bathroom.

I did not have a spare set of clothes as of now - I only had my dress. Even if at one point I managed to procure something different to wear, the people who invaded my house, my sanctuary, would’ve taken it, so there was little point in worrying about my limited wardrobe. At least, that is how I had felt for a very long time.

Now though- that dress was extremely filthy and there was no sense in wearing it again. If I did that I might as well have not bothered showering at all.

“Uh… Charlie!” I shouted his name as I opened the door a tiny sliver. I had made sure to lock it, though Charlie didn’t strike me as the ‘Peeping Tom’ type, his comments earlier that day had rubbed me the wrong way.

And I wasn’t ready for anything like that yet.

It took him five minutes to come. “Ah, I don’t have a spare set of clothes…” I said that, feeling really idiotic for having gotten into this situation in the first place.

“Ah, sure, I’ll go grab something,” he said.

He came back fast enough, though to me it felt like forever, and handed me a set of clothes through the gap in the door. “All good?” he asked as I closed the door.

“Yes,” I said. I had a bit of trouble figuring them out, as they were all men’s clothes, but I had little choice in the matter right now.

I emerged, and felt rather off-put as he smirked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing- you ah, look really cute like that,” he said. I was wearing what wass called a 'hoodie', which was a shirt with an accessory to cover your head if you wanted. It was far too big for me and went down to my knees, beneath which I was wearing a pair of pants that were called 'shorts , that nonetheless slipped all the way to my ankles. Still, that was preferable to them revealing too much of my legs, I supposed.

He then took out his phone and took a photo, much to my chagrin. “Hey!” I objected. “Why would you do that?”

“You just looked so precious,” he said, while seeming like he was going to burst into laughter at any second, and then stopped and became far more serious - pensive, even. “Oh, what happens to the clothes you’re wearing if the sun sets?”

“I guess we’ll see,” I said. “I hope they burn to ashes or something!” I stuck my tongue out at him- a childish gesture, but he was the one being childish first!

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“Oh, I don’t care even if they do, those don’t fit me anymore,” he said. He then went and picked up my dress. “Should I bother putting this in a washing machine?”

“No need!” I snapped at him.

While I was grumpy the rest of the night, and tried to send him subtle signals regarding the same, he still had that dumb smile on his face for most of the night. Eventually I just gave up trying to communicate my annoyance to him and just decided to forget about it.

It turned out that when night fell, my dress once again returned to my body, pristine as ever. The issue was that whatever clothing I was wearing at the time still remained, and so, I was wearing my dress under the other clothing, which must’ve looked ridiculous aside from the fact that it was very uncomfortable. I couldn’t exactly do anything about it though, and when I would angrily later ask Charlie why he hadn’t done anything, he just said that he didn’t want to take off a set of my clothes like that, especially when I couldn’t move.

Part of me respected him greatly for that, though another part was equally annoyed.

This annoyance, however, did not last long. Sitting there like that, contemplating life all the time, meant that it was hard to hold onto something so tiny as a grudge.

Not to mention, now other thoughts began to occupy my mind. Things that I wouldn’t have thought of earlier.

For one, what would the future be like for Charlie and I? I had read many romance novels and heard many stories (many of them after May had read them first), though the only examples I had known in real life were my parents. Uncle Gregory was usually away on business trips, though I assumed that he and Aunt Emily had a happy marriage. My grandmothers passed away by the time I was only three, and both of my grandfathers before I had even been born, so I didn’t even have my grandparents to consider in this regard. I saw glimpses of other couples around me and observed how they behaved, though what I knew of love was almost entirely based on what my parents did.

And that worried me greatly. I was expected, much like my mother, to be married off by the time I was twenty-five, and then I would take care of my husband’s household as she had. However, how could I do that in this condition? I didn’t even know if that was what Charlie wanted, after all, but even if it wasn’t what he wanted, there were multiple other problems I had created for myself in my head.

For one, just speaking to his family would be a massive headache. In this form, it was a mountain to explain my existence to other people, and with that always came a risk to me. Forgetting that, even if they understood who I was, would they accept me? Charlie said he wouldn’t care, but I couldn't bear the thought of causing a rift to open up between him and his family because of me.

But it didn’t end there. No, what if he wanted other people to visit his house sometimes? He couldn’t, not with me like this, and he couldn’t even introduce me as his wife to most people if we were to ever reach that stage. Above all was the fact that I was here, stuck in this house, unable to move from where I was. When he would age and be on his deathbed, how could I be with him if he was in the hospital? Or how could I help him if something happened to him such as falling and say, breaking his hip? The only thing I would be able to do is hear his screams of pain, unable to move at all.

Granted, perhaps I was really getting ahead of myself as I was still not sure how much Charlie really loved me back. I had never been serious with anyone before, though I knew that he had, and I couldn’t help but think about how this ‘Josephine’ had been like. Did he ever compare me in his mind to her?

He must have, it was only human to do so, or so I felt. I did try my best to not get him to bring her up, but whenever he mentioned her his voice seemed to be laced with bitterness.

A part of me, wrong as it may have been, greatly delighted in this fact. After all, it seemed that he was not particularly fond of her, meaning the chances of her stealing Charlie from me were practically nil. It seemed she had broken Charlie’s heart in some way, which angered me naturally, but also was soothing to think that it was definitely over.

As it was, even leaving my condition aside, the two of us were not only from different social classes, but different time periods as well. Should I act more like the woman I saw on the modern shows and movies on television? Was that what he wanted? Charlie had never expressed such an idea, though my unfamiliarity with technology did seem to vex him on occasion.

And those were all ‘big picture’ things. What about smaller issues - for example, the fact that I always only wore this red dress? I certainly thought that it looked nice, and if you’d have asked me earlier I’d have said that it didn’t bother me at all that I wore it every single day of my life.

When I had first come to life in this form it certainly had, but that concern completely faded after a few decades. It wasn’t as if anyone was coming in to look at me to notice what I was wearing - but Charlie’s comment earlier regarding my outfit, even if offhand, made me reconsider that point of view. I don’t think any person would’ve been genuinely content to wear the same exact thing day after day.

I wasn’t incredibly self-conscious about this fact, but then again what other alternative did I have but to just say ‘it is what it is?’ All of my other clothes were long gone and wouldn’t have fit me anyway due to the fact that I had shrunk slightly for some reason. And where would I get money for more clothing anyway? It wasn’t as if I could walk out - or even invite a tailor in either.

Was I overthinking things? Most definitely. But, what else could I do? For long periods of the day, I could do nothing but sit there and let my thoughts simmer. Sherlock Holmes once said that it felt like his mind was an engine that would tear itself apart if it was not stimulated somehow, and I could see how that was.

These thoughts were not helped by two incidents that occurred during the next weekend.