Charles' POV
My throat felt raw — sore, like I'd swallowed sand. My head pounded in a slow, dull rhythm. Even though I didn't want to eat, my body clearly did. My stomach growled so loudly I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Mother heard it too. Her head turned sharply toward me, and the look she gave made me uncomfortable — not angry exactly, just… heavy.
"You had a fever last night," she said quietly, her voice trembling at the edges. "After all that ruckus."
I looked up at her, startled.
"When I came back home and saw you…" she paused, her expression twisting, "…blood on the floor, glass everywhere — were you seriously that crazy, Charles? Did you hate me that much? Did I fail you that badly as a mother?"
Her voice cracked, and it hit me harder than I expected.
"All I've ever wanted," she went on, "was for you to find your path, to be happy. But you keep putting me in these situations, Charles. You keep making me feel like I'm losing you."
"Mom—"
