Charles hasn't slept in he doesn't know how long.
He's also barely twenty and hanging on by a thread.
The voices in his head are far too loud for him to be stable or for anything to be quiet.
So he lets them be loud and waits as the cliff comes steadily closer. He doesn't have a choice in it, but he likes feeling that he does. He's fallen over it once, almost a year ago now, and he's not sure whether he likes the idea of not coming back this time. On the one hand, everything would be quiet and he'd have peace. On the other hand, he'd be leaving Raven alone.
Three days.
That's how long it's been since he last slept. That probably has something to do with how bad the voices are, and how he can see the cliff so clearly. It's there, in front of his eyes, floating in the dark, waves crashing round its base of sharp rocks, jagged and ugly and somehow tempting. If he falls or jumps down there, he's not coming back. He decides he likes the idea. But the cliff's not far enough that he can jump over it. So he waits.
It's somewhere after one but before three, Charles thinks. He lacks the energy to fetch the bottle he'd managed to buy the other day. If he could, he'd finish it now. It's almost full; not enough to push him over the edge, but enough to get him into a state where he's almost over.
There's a Derringer on his nightstand, easily within reach. The bottle is on the other side of it. He doesn't remember what's in it, but he does know that it's very strong. Whatever it is is the same thing he had on his birthday after Raven went to bed, so that she wouldn't have to know how fucked-up he was. Charles liked it for the simple reason that it made him drunk enough that the voices quieted enough to let him have a halfway-decent night. They didn't disappear, but at least they were quietly whispering. Unlike now.
They're so fucking loud. And he's too young and too old and not enough for anyone and too much for himself and now his hands are shaking and how could anyone ever love him like this and how does anyone love him at all and does anyone love him at all and-
Charles is twenty. And he feels so old. His bones ache, his heart aches, he sees his dull lightless eyes every day and feels nothing but shame, he doesn't have the energy to cut his hair so it falls in brown waves to his chin, and he wants so desperately for it all to end. But it won't, because he's exhausted. He can't physically do anything. Except drag himself to class.
He stares at the ceiling, and the cliff moves with his line of sight. The voices, everyone and all their thoughts. are growing louder. He can feel all his ribs, and god he's thin. He's living on the cheapest alcohol he can buy. He stares at the cliff, willing it to pull him over, tracing the shape with his finger. It's so pretty. He could just step over the edge. Nobody would miss him.
Except that's not true. Raven would miss him terribly. But does he know that for sure?
No.
He hopes it, but he doesn't know. Charles wishes he could know anything good for certain. But the only thing he knows is his world crashing down around him every day.
He closes his eyes, and feels a tear trickle down his cheek. Everything hurts so much. He feels too much.
Sometimes, he doesn't want to fall over the cliff. Sometimes, he just wishes he'd never existed. This isn't one of those times.