#i bet my grammar is terrible forgive me 😿

[wishchip106]

listening to duster makes me want to think of depressed Charles 😁

Everything has become so tiring that the only routine he can keep up is injecting himself with the serum. Charles manages to eat something every now and then but the only thing that truly fills his stomach is the alcohol he moved up to his room, which has all gone warm by now.

The days have gotten blurry, so much so that Charles doesn’t remember the last time he woke up or the last time he fell asleep.

Nearly everything reminds him of before Cuba. When he was happy, when he could walk without the reliance of drugs, when he had sister.

Charles doesn’t want to think of Erik, but his face haunts every single dream he has, reminding him what happens when you trust a monster with your heart.

There’s a pile of glass bottles in the corner, building up by each hour. A mixture of trash and clothes can be found strewn across the floor and the bed in Charles’s room. Discarded syringes are overflowing his drawers.

Sometimes Charles can be found sitting in random rooms of the mansion, staring at nothing while he lazily drinks from another bottle of alcohol. Hank found him once, passed out in the attic.

There was one time he tried to break out of his habits. He decided to walk around the grounds, take in the fresh air and nature. Before he could even make it halfway he collapsed on the gravel, his last dosage of the serum wearing off.

He screamed for an hour before Hank came. The voices yelled in his head while he was forced to look at the satellite facing towards the mansion.

Charles never went back outside again.