Figured out what to do with Charlotte. I waited until she dropped by the apartment. Then I dragged her under the scanner in the bathroom (I keep a scanner in the bathroom, ok?); mine is set up to scramble, which happens sometimes in poorly insulated areas like the one I've chosen as my home. Shoved her under the shower head where I indicated in a mock simulation of her voice "Let's have some fun!"
So there we are, both fully clothed, getting completely soaked. I have the water on cold because yeah, it bugs me, but it will bug her even more. Then I tell her I know her name, her address, her cred numbers...the works. She makes a small gasping noise. I don't smile because I'm not happy I've scared her, but since my face is expressionless I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how much I'm not enjoying this. Then I say that she needs to stop calling and stop visiting. She needs to tell her uppers that I am ok on my own, that the cop and the crazy guy can watch me just fine. That if I had wanted to do something catastrophic I would have done so by now, and that I prefer being alone to being with someone paid to be my friend. Also, that I will check out every single person every sent to me. No matter how good they are, I will be better. Because to be who I am, I have to be. To get the world I want with actual friendship, love, and attention, I have to at least believe it's possible that people befriend me because they aren't afraid of what I might do.
Then I let her go. She stammers a minute and I see pity. I know what pity looks like. My lips become a thin white line and she shuts up. I tell her if she says anything--tries to make me feel like she's doing this herself, or that she took the money as a bonus and being my friend is so gosh darned fun that she can't contain herself, that she should take the stairs for the rest of her life, which won't be long. Because I have access to food processors, vehicle controls, the works. I don't tell her I will kill her, because I am not sure that I will. I let her imagination drive her, though, and she turns white, shivering more now than she was when she noticed the cold water.
I call her a bitch, something that seems to piss women off when Scratch says it, and then I exit the bathroom. She slowly follows. She asks if I have a towel. I tell her no. It's my apartment. I turn up the heat normally when I'm done until things are dry or I use my blanket. I tell her she needn't stay to get dry, though, and, soaking, she walks out of my apartment with a curious look on her face.
I'm certain she's wondering if I always shower in my clothes.