There are so many different ways that this could have gone and somehow this still feels like the worst of all of them. Charles stands there, at a loss of what to say to make her go home with him, so that he knows that she's safe and warm and taken care of, and feeling so much more helpless than he ever remembers feeling in his entire life, which, considering chunks of his childhood, is saying something.
"But I don't want to let you go, Raven," he says, looking and sounding surprised at his own words, at how foreign his voice registers to his own ears, and he might not know what it is that he's doing here, or why he's saying it, but he knows, now, that it is most definitely true. "Can you not see that? I don't want to let you go, Raven, because you are far too important to me. Perhaps I don't care for you in quite the same way that you do for me, but it's not as if I've actually given it much thought. I..."
The pause lingers, and he can feel the tension it leaves, his own suspense building because he still isn't sure of what he's saying or where it's coming from, but he needs to put this right. "This isn't something that I ever would have dreamed you to long for, love, and because of that I never allowed myself to indulge in such thoughts. But that doesn't mean that I - that there isn't..." But he doesn't know how this part of the conversation finishes, or what's driving it, and he frowns, frustrated at the situation and angry at himself.
"You know me better than anyone, Raven, there will never be anyone who could be as close to me as you are, so you must realise how bad I would be for you in such a way. I work far too many hours, locking myself away until you drag me back to reality, and I should perhaps admit that I am so very grateful for those gestures. But I'm selfish, Raven, and so very set in my ways, and you deserve more than that. You are worth so much more than that, than what I could ever possibly offer you. You already share everything that I own, but outside of that I can't offer you anything that you ought to have."
Yet something nags at the back of his mind, something he can't quite put his finger on, and it refuses to stop. What if he were to think about this, to come to terms with the idea - would it make a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. But he knows that she is worth ten times what he is, and that he's already stolen so much of her life by keeping her safe, locking her away from the world in order to protect her, because as much as he believes he has saved her time and time again from the cruelties of the world, he also isn't ignorant to his own actions enough that he could ever justify some of the things that he's done over the years. This, for example, being one of them. He should let her go, really, he should, but he's selfish, he hates the thought of anyone else getting her, no one will ever be good enough, and no one would ever look after her properly without some ill intention behind it.
"Please, let us just go home for tonight. I promise I sharen't speak to you if you need your space, I will go directly to bed and remain there if it means that you will be safe and warm at home where you ought to be."
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"But I don't want to let you go, Raven," he says, looking and sounding surprised at his own words, at how foreign his voice registers to his own ears, and he might not know what it is that he's doing here, or why he's saying it, but he knows, now, that it is most definitely true. "Can you not see that? I don't want to let you go, Raven, because you are far too important to me. Perhaps I don't care for you in quite the same way that you do for me, but it's not as if I've actually given it much thought. I..."
The pause lingers, and he can feel the tension it leaves, his own suspense building because he still isn't sure of what he's saying or where it's coming from, but he needs to put this right. "This isn't something that I ever would have dreamed you to long for, love, and because of that I never allowed myself to indulge in such thoughts. But that doesn't mean that I - that there isn't..." But he doesn't know how this part of the conversation finishes, or what's driving it, and he frowns, frustrated at the situation and angry at himself.
"You know me better than anyone, Raven, there will never be anyone who could be as close to me as you are, so you must realise how bad I would be for you in such a way. I work far too many hours, locking myself away until you drag me back to reality, and I should perhaps admit that I am so very grateful for those gestures. But I'm selfish, Raven, and so very set in my ways, and you deserve more than that. You are worth so much more than that, than what I could ever possibly offer you. You already share everything that I own, but outside of that I can't offer you anything that you ought to have."
Yet something nags at the back of his mind, something he can't quite put his finger on, and it refuses to stop. What if he were to think about this, to come to terms with the idea - would it make a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. But he knows that she is worth ten times what he is, and that he's already stolen so much of her life by keeping her safe, locking her away from the world in order to protect her, because as much as he believes he has saved her time and time again from the cruelties of the world, he also isn't ignorant to his own actions enough that he could ever justify some of the things that he's done over the years. This, for example, being one of them. He should let her go, really, he should, but he's selfish, he hates the thought of anyone else getting her, no one will ever be good enough, and no one would ever look after her properly without some ill intention behind it.
"Please, let us just go home for tonight. I promise I sharen't speak to you if you need your space, I will go directly to bed and remain there if it means that you will be safe and warm at home where you ought to be."