MERLIN / MERTHUR ONESHOTS

Addiction (2)

TW!SH
This is part two :)

Merlin gently traced his wounds with a trembling finger, he believes he went too far this time and he's already beginning to get engulfed in guilt.

There's 23 cuts, Merlin doesn't like that number and his fingers twitch, desperate to make one more. They're long, a couple inches. They're wide, a centimetre or so. They're deep, half an inch perhaps. He needs stitches but he can't be bothered.

They're angry, violent. Each cut is glaring at him, in a mocking way. Merlin can't help but feel as though they believe they are better than him, their expression nothing less than supercilious- if he's being honest, they remind him of Arthur.

He rubs a paste into his cuts, it's scent is something similar to lavender but he just can't grasp what it is. His face morphs into a grim expression, his breathing heavy as he prods at his insides. Once Merlin believes he's added all the correct medicines to himself he wraps his leg. Merlin does it securely, the material of the bandage embracing his leg in a one sided hug. He ties it off with a pretty bow, smiling at a job well done- his eyes are a little distant, the guilt forcing him to retreat inside his head.

Merlin blinks.

He's in the corridor. Merlin recognises it, he's a couple minutes away from his room. He doesn't know how he got there, he just sighs in relief at the fact that he is clad in trousers. Merlin's limping heavily, a few people stop him to ask if he's alright, others wink suggestively but he's too far away and he doesn't recognise his voice when he speaks.

He blinks again.

He's outside Arthur's chambers. He's starting to feel more present again, he wished he didn't though.

His chest is heavy, heart throbbing incessantly, ribs compressing his lungs. Merlin's head is cloudy, his breathing penetrating his ears. Merlin can't place his thoughts still, his mind going blank. His hands are by his sides, twitching aggressively, it's almost like a tic. Merlin's bones ache with the guilt and he tries so hard to justify his actions to himself, though he knows that nothing he can say will make it better. His guilt is a stain he'll never be rid of, it's marked his soul- no longer pure.

Merlin closes his eyes and when he opens them again he's in Arthur's chambers.

His vision is blurry around the edges and his hands feel like they're not his, but still he cleans Arthur's chambers.

He blinks once more.

He's sat in a chair at Arthur's table; His body is rigid and though he stares straight ahead with an emotionless expression, his hand is moving in a repetitive circle. He feels like a corpse, his skin cold, eyes cloudy, soul absent, mind lost.

His ritualistic polishing halts, the rag dropped and forgotten on the oak surface. He stiffly gets up, marching towards the door in a soldier like manner. Only then does Merlin notice the other presence in the room. He focuses his eyes and sees Arthur standing there, eyes roaming over Merlin and a worrisome expression laced on his face.

Merlin's draw drops down, his demeanour becoming sullen as he recognises the ache it holds- the ache he often gets from nattering on like you wouldn't believe. Merlin didn't remember talking but the burning, clawing feeling in his throat only confirms his theory.

"-Lin? Merlin? Anyone in there? You're scaring me mate."
Arthur's thoughts are riddled with concern and his veins are burning with fire. He watches on as Merlin stares blankly at him, swaying on his feet lightly. Arthur's seen Merlin like this before, absent whilst simultaneously present- he can see recognition sweep at his manservants eyes along with confusion and a sickening wave of fear.