Chapter 13 - "He's having a panic attack."

Charles could barely recognize himself in the mirror.

His hair hadn't been styled ever since that day. The dark circles around his eyes were evidence of his lack of sleep. He had drowned himself in melatonin, but it didn't matter how many he swallowed, he was barely sleeping a wink.

The short times that he could fall asleep, he had gruesome nightmares and flashback, that he'd wake up shaking, drenched in sweat, screaming on top of his lungs so loud that both Dante and Nate rushed upstairs to his bedroom. Dante slept on his floor for a few days, but it didn't help whatsoever.

And today was the worst day of all.

It was his birthday.

On the day of the funeral.

That morning, he stared at himself, seeing the way his dull skin paled so much over such a short timespan, his eyes appeared permanently droopy from fatigue, his irises weren't as blue as they used to be, and even the closer he stared into his own eyes, he couldn't see any existence in them.

They were completely blank, as though his soul had left him and the remnants from his body were conducting themselves. The longer he stared at himself, the more he grew frightened, but for some reason, he couldn't peel his eyes away from that mirror.

Even when the door opened, he didn't turn away.

"Nate's getting ready right now."

Dante stepped inside, closing the door as he observed his son stay paralyzed in front of his mirror. Charles hadn't been doing good at all, leaving himself locked inside the bedroom, constantly blaming himself, if not aloud then in his head. He hadn't showered or brushed his teeth for days, covered his windows with drapes to hide any sunlight, left his broken keyboard and guitar on the ground exactly as it was that initial day, and barely ate anything. He had lost a bit of weight, and it was noticeable.

They had gone through deaths before, hence Dante and Nate knew how to deal with their griefs. But it was a first for Charles, and his mind had been completely broken, shattered into million pieces and drove him to insanity. Dante wished he could leak all the pain from within Charles and let it fill into him, because there was a chance Charles would never make it out of this sadness.

"I came to bring you some coffee before I start getting ready too."

Charles' fingers touched his own face, gliding them across his sunken cheeks; it didn't even feel like skin. And his hair was so greasy, but it didn't even gross him out. He tried opening his eyelids to their normal size with his fingers, but when he pulled his fingers away, they dropped back down.

Dante swallowed hard. "Do you want the cup of coffee?"

"No." His tone didn't even have any life left in it.

That caused Dante's heart to squeeze, but he still settled the coffee mug in his nightstand. "Do you need help getting ready?"

"No."

Dante slowly nodded his head, turning away from his son who hadn't stopped examining every single of his pores and crevices in the mirror. It was almost as though he was looking for a sense of individuality that was no longer there.

"Alright then," Dante sighed, walking towards the door. "We're leaving in thirty, so meet us at the front then."

Charles didn't answer that one, and Dante glanced one last time before closing the bedroom door. When he did, Charles felt his eyes overwhelm with tears as he planted his fingers against the mirror, wishing he could hide in his reflection forever.

Then, he whispered, "You don't deserve your birthday."

***

The ride there was very quiet.

Nate hadn't gotten over what had happened and hadn't been speaking much these days, and Charles was unable to speak or else he would start to wail. Instead, they kept to themselves, barely spoke, and Dante tried to have conversations here and there with both of them.

"We can go out to eat after the reception?" Dante suggested warmly, glancing towards Nate who was leaning against the side of his door, looking out the window, while Charles sat in the back leaning forward, his forehead against his folded arms. "We haven't really been together, the three of us. It would be nice to take some time to relax and think of other things."

Dante didn't expect any of them to answer; neither of them had really engaged in any conversation with him. Maybe a subtle nod, shrug of shoulders or even a sigh was enough for him. He was glad that one of them did this time, but it was not what he had hoped for as an answer.

Nate exhaled through a long sigh, "If Lucius doesn't kill him first, then I'm all for it."

Charles head shot upwards; Nate's tone had been harsh and bitter, which was why his own eyes narrowed as well. "That's not funny, dad."

Nate looked over his shoulder and hissed, "I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Alright, that wasn't the point of me asking that." Dante tried to settle, wishing he hadn't said anything at all. Ever since his argument with Lucius, Nate hadn't been the same. His temper was set off from the slightest issue; maybe it was because he missed his best friend that wanted nothing to do with him. Regardless, it caused him to snap towards Dante a lot, which now, he was diverting it to Charles. "That's not what I wanted to happen, so maybe we should discuss this after and see how we feel—?"

"I already know it's my fucking fault, you don't have to say it," Charles snapped, his eyebrows curling and his eyes instantly filling with tears. It had been way too hard already, and it didn't help that Nate wouldn't even look at him. "I know I'm the one that got her killed, I know I should have said something, I know all of this, alright?"

Dante shook his head, eyeing him through the rearview mirror. "Charles, it's not your fault."

"You don't have to lie to me," Charles mumbled through tears, wiping them quickly as he leaned against his window. "I know she died because of me."

"No, she did not die because of you," Dante tried to reassure, keeping a softened tone. He knew it wasn't going to help, but maybe if Charles' heard it enough times, he would soon believe it. "It might feel this way, and it probably will for a long time, but you have to remind yourself that you did the best that you could—"

"I'm glad you know it's your fault."

Dante's head spun so quickly he almost got whiplash, glaring at Nate with such heat that it could've burned his skull if he really tried. "Nathan, that's enough."

"No, that's not enough," Nate scoffed. "At first, I was sympathetic for you, Charles. I felt bad for you because you watched your best friend be murdered in front of you, of course you'd be miserable." Nate twisted around in his seat, shaking his head; he had been sitting with this for days and keeping his mouth shut, but he couldn't anymore. "But part of me agrees with what Lucius said; why the fuck didn't you tell anyone what she went through?"

Charles' eyes widened, his lips quivering uncontrollably as he stared at the disappointment in his father's gaze. "I was s-scared, and..." His breath was shaky, attempting to wipe as much tears as he could as he added, "...a-and...I didn't know who to—"

"You could've spoken to me, you could've spoken to Dante," Nate snapped, his voice growing even louder. "We wouldn't have told Lucius if you asked us not to, but we could've done something to help her!"

"Nathan, shut up," Dante growled, reaching over and grabbing Nate's collar. "Stop talking before you say something that you can't take back—"

Nate ripped Dante's grip apart from him, his eyes locked onto the widened bloodshot ones of Charles as he spat, "I know you were trying to be a loyal friend, but what you did was not being a friend at all, you were an idiot. As far as I'm concerned, you helped those men ruin her by not saying a thing—"

Dante swerved on the side of the road and slammed on the breaks, all three of them being thrown forward and Nate almost having his forehead hit on the dashboard.

"Shut your fucking mouth right now or I'm taking off my ring." Dante had completely turned to him, the rage showing through the bulging vein on the side of his forehead and his gritted teeth, slammed against one another so hard that they threatened to break. Nate's eyes stayed narrowed, staring back at Dante for a moment before leaning against the side of the door, staring out the window again.

But it was too late for Charles, since that was a perspective he hadn't even thought about.

"I...I-I helped them r-rape her?" He said it very slowly, as though he was coming to the realization.

Dante turned around, seeing the way his son's eyes had widened even more in horror, his breath getting heavier and shakier. "No, Charles, don't freak out, that's not true—"

"Oh my god...oh my god..." Charles placed both his fingers on either sides of his head, gripping onto his hair and practically pulling onto his scalp as he screamed, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...OH MY GOD!"

He couldn't breathe, everything was spinning, he felt as though there was a hand gripping his neck and squeezing tighter and tighter every second. He had been gripping his hair so tightly that he pulled out strands, he was barely inhaling any air, his entire body trembled uncontrollably that both Dante and Nate confused it for a seizure.

"He's having a panic attack." Dante leaped from the front, rushing to the side door and pulling it open. Instantly, he reached around Charles and dragged him from the backseats, bringing him outside but Charles entire weight was on him, as though he couldn't even move his legs. "Charles, listen to me, alright?"

"I KILLED HER! I RAPED HER!" Charles screamed that over and over again, unable to stop his mind from blaring those words over and over again. "I'M A MURDERER."

"No Charles, you didn't! I'm sorry I said that, I shouldn't have said that, oh my god!" Nate freaked out, keeping his distance as he watched Dante attempt to get Charles' attention.

"Charles, listen to me, try to take a breath. Can you tell me the colour of the car?" He was attempting to avert his focus on anything but his thoughts, but Charles only kept panicking more and more, his breathing increasing at an alarming rate.

Soon, he screamed, "DAD, I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS! WHAT'S GOING ON! I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON! WHAT'S GOING—"

Suddenly, Charles eyes closed, and he fell limp in Dante's arms, unconscious.