Please forgive me Merlin (Merthur boyxboy)

Dear Sire

3rd person

Dear Sire,
I should probably inform you that as a result of last night, I can no longer be your servant. I wish never to see you again, or anyone for that matter. Please, sire, I wish not to trouble you. I will never come near you again, for I can never trust you again. Just leave me be. Just let me go. For God's sakes, leave me alone.

Your former lover and loyal manservant,
Merlin

Arthur's hands shook as he read the letter on his table. His head was pounding and the worst thing?

He couldn't remember what he had done.

Merlins tears, so clearly seen dotting the paper, started to intermingle with his own, now rapidly falling on to the damp, yellowed paper.

With every tear, Arthur could've sworn his heart shattered just a bit more.

He had nobody left.

Merlins POV

I stare at the wall blankly. Gaius knocks on the door, telling me the water is ready for my wash. I ease myself in, and gaze at the decorative blue-and-purple marks that are seemingly everywhere.  They are in the shape of fingers.

I stay in the water for ages, hoping the water will wash the marks away. But it doesn't. And neither does it wash my memory clean.

After, I slip back into my clothes and sneak out the door to avoid facing Gaius.

The only thing I have to do today is deliver potions, so I go about my business as quickly as possible.

Arthur's POV

I must've re-read the letter so many times, but the  words don't make sense in my head.

What did I do?

Ugh! I'm just going to go for a walk around the castle to clear my head.

I've been walking for a while now. I turn the corner and bump into someone.

"Sorry," he mutters hurriedly. He goes to move past, but I realise who it is.

"Merlin!"

His head snaps up to look at me, and he looks terrified.

Of me.

"Sorry, sire, I'll move out the w-"

"No! I mean, no." I say, composing myself. "Not until you tell me what I did!"

Merlins POV

He doesn't remember. HE RAPED ME AND HE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER.

I stare into his eyes  planning to be hostile, but I can feel myself tearing up. So I might as well... No. I won't tell him.

I run off so he doesn't see me cry.

I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry over him.

I run and run back to my room.

I'm back, sitting in my bed, twirling a blade in my hands.

And I know what to do to stop the sheer ocean of agony from ripping me apart.

Shaking, I start to slice my arms and legs.

The rhythm of the slicing helps.

But not much.

But it distracts me, and that's all I need.