Title: Monster

Author: Rib

Summary: And it steals him away from me.

Rating: T

Pairings: ChristopheGregory

Disclaimer: Nah. Matt and Trey's.

Notes: To make up for the monumental tenth fic, here is a monumental eleventh fic!

Christophe is being eaten alive, and I'm watching.

There are demons; Christophe has many. His addictions, his temper; they make him who he is. It is only now that I've grown to truly hate them. He's fading, and he knows it, and he won't do anything, and I can't stand it. I scold him. I hide his cigarettes. He gets angry, and he yells at me, I yell back. He's away for some time. He returns and it's worse.

I wish he cared more. At least, enough to want to stop it. At least, enough to even acknowledge it. And he says all he cares about is me? I've been crying and begging and screaming, and he knows it. I love you? Oh, surely. You would listen if you cared, Christophe. You would make an effort to get out of this shithole problem you've gotten yourself into. You imbecilic, uncouth, irresponsible, selfish French bastard. Oh, now you stop smoking.

So now, you're in my room, lying on my bed, unconscious. You aren't breathing properly and you cough occasionally. I cringe each time. You sometimes shake awake, and I'm there beside you, holding one of my pure white handkerchiefs to catch the blood you spew out. My hands are clammy through my gloves as I stare at those ugly stains. You tell me I'm paler than usual-now you start caring? I lean in anyway, and you embrace me.

That monster in your chest is just getting bigger, just like the empty space between us.

You must have been delirious that one night. You called me and caressed my cheek. You told me I was gorgeous, when I knew for a fact that I wasn't. I'd been crying again, and my eyes were swollen, my hair unbrushed, and my skin littered with red splotches that emerged when I was truly upset. You kissed me. You apologized (I hated that.) You aplogized repeatedly. You fainted.

You're sick. My Christophe-the real one, mind you- would've told me to stop being "such a fucking pussy." He would be loud and obscene and cause me a great deal of trouble. I'm missing him. Be violent, be profane, be obnoxious again, please.

You'll get better. Of course you will. My voice is shaking, and it shouldn't be. I know you're going to survive. You have to. Please.

Nooooooooo. It didn't turn out like a wanted, but okay.

Please review. D: Each review will go to... ehm. Buying Ze Mole more cigs to treat his lung cancer. :D So there.