I miss you

Max

Charles woke up in a cold sweat.

Good morning.

"Who are you?" He said out loud.

You sound like an idiot, stop shouting.

He shut his mouth, eyes wide.

The figure next to him turned slowly.

"Did you say something, schatje?"

Charles looked down at Max. His eyes were shut, his breathing even. He seemed to only be half awake, if he was awake at all. He was partially covered with the sheet, his back muscles defined in the faint light filtering through the blinds. He looked ethereal.

Charles settled back into bed, putting his arm over Max. Max grunted and turned to Charles, his eyes fluttering open.

"How did you sleep?" Charles asked Max in a low voice.

"Alright I guess," Max answered slowly. He stretched, turning onto his back. Charles rested his head on Max's chest, feeling comfortable in his warmth.

"Any bad dreams?" Charles asked, running a finger down Max's sternum.

"Yeah, one where you took all the sheets," Max replied, making Charles snicker. "Oh wait, that was real life."

"I did not take all the sheets," Charles exclaimed.

"Why was I so cold when I woke up then?" Max asked. Charles turned to look at Max, then crawled on top of him, trying to crush him with his weight.

"Are you cold now?" Charles asked, laughing at Max's feigned gasps for air.

"At least I'm not the one with morning wood," Max said. Charles abruptly stopped laughing, now slightly embarrassed.

Max leaned to kiss Charles, then straddled him, grabbing his hips and moving them to his groin. Charles let out a gasp at the contact.

"We haven't even gotten up for the day yet," Charles murmured.

"Who cares?" Max said softly. He kissed Charles again, then started trailing kisses down his neck. Charles gasped again, feeling very excited from the soft touches.

"Okay fine. Let's go," Charles said.

"No, schatje, I want you to beg for it," Max said seductively, continuing to kiss and bite Charles neck.

"Please..." Charles whispered, his voice breathy with each of Max's kisses.

Have your fun. It won't last long.

---

The sun was a bit higher in the sky when Charles got out of the shower. He dried his hair with a towel, and glanced at himself in the mirror.

The person he saw wasn't him. It was a grotesque version of himself, covered in cuts and bruises. The person he saw had a dark bruise around his neck and tears streaming down his face. Charles blinked in shock, and the figure was gone. All he could see now was the soft, foggy version of himself.

That's what you really are. Broken.

There it was again. That voice in his head, the one that called him an idiot this morning. He shook his head, as if it was a bug in his ear.

You're so stupid. I'm a part of you.

Charles looked up, a bit frightened. "Am I talking to myself?" he mumbled.

I am you, but not. I am the sensible part of you. The one who's going to tell you exactly what you need to do.

Why would the 'sensible' part of him be so cruel? Sure, Charles has had dark thoughts before, especially after Jules died. He's wanted to do horrible things to himself, and sometimes even acted on them. But Charles always thought it was his choice to do those things.