The first time I tried to escape was the night she fell asleep while hugging me.
Her arms were coiled around me, her breath warm against my skin, her grip loose—too loose.
It was the first real opportunity I'd had since she'd broken me, piece by piece.
I wasn't about to waste it.
I moved slowly.
Every inch felt like I was wading through a minefield.
My fingers brushed against her throat, the pulse steady beneath my touch.
Just a little pressure, just a little more, and I could be free.
I squeezed.
She stirred awake in panic feeling tightness around her throat struggling against the grip.
And then—
A sharp, sickening crack.
White-hot pain exploded in my skull as she slammed my shackles against my head. I saw stars.
Felt warmth—blood, maybe?—drip down the side of my face.
But I didn't let go.
Not yet.
She hit me again.
I felt my grip falter, but I forced my fingers to stay, tightening them just a fraction more—
Until she snarled and drove her knee into my stomach, forcing all the air from my lungs.
I collapsed onto my back, gasping, wheezing, struggling to think past the ringing in my ears.
I had failed.
My body screamed at me to brace for the punishment to come.
The beatings. The knives. The—
But nothing came.
Instead, she hovered over me, breathless, staring—no, studying me.
And then, she laughed.
Soft. Almost delighted.
"Oh… oh, Hayato. My precious little fool."
Her fingers dug into my face, nails pressing against my cheeks as she lifted my head to meet her gaze.
"You were trying to kill me? You? My sweet, delicate boy?" She clicked her tongue.
"That's adorable. Look at you… still so pure...."
I swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the fear clawing at my throat.
I had to think.
Had to do something—
And then, an idea.
A stupid, desperate idea.
I let out a breathless, rattling laugh.
A dry chuckle, bubbling up from my chest.
Her expression flickered with the barest hint of surprise.
"Kill you?" I wheezed, smiling through the blood in my mouth. "No, Sayuri… no, no, no. I wasn't trying to kill you."
I forced my body to relax, my lips twitching into a manic grin.
"I just… I wanted to feel you, that's all. I wanted to understand...To be like you."
I saw it, then—the way her pupils dilated, the way her breathing hitched.
Encouraged, I lifted my trembling hand to her cheek, brushing a smear of red across her skin.
"It felt good, Sayuri." I whispered, my voice thick with false awe. "The way your heartbeat pounded beneath my fingers… I understand now. I really, really do."
Her lips parted.
Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she smiled.
"Oh, Hayato…" she murmured, eyes gleaming with something twisted and hungry. "My beautiful,.... precious boy."
She straddled me, pressing her forehead against mine.
"You do love me after all, don't you?"
Her voice was breathy, feverish.
I grinned wider, my head throbbing, my stomach churning, my entire body screaming at me.
Instead, I reached up, dragging my fingers through her hair.
"More than anything."
And just like that… she believed me.
The weeks of recovery passed in a drugged haze, my body stitched back together with expert hands.
Sayuri had called in ninja healers to fix the damage to my skull.
I could do nothing but watch, paralyzed by the toxins she had laced into my bloodstream, my body little more than a corpse waiting for movement to return.
The healers did their work efficiently, almost mechanically, their faces blank, their hands precise.
They never spoke, never lingered.
And then they left.
And she let them go.
That part shocked me.
She didn't kill them.
Didn't even maim them.
She simply paid them, thanked them sweetly, and sent them on their way.
I realized I was doing this all wrong.
I wasn't going to escape by resisting.
I was going to die by resisting.
She was a doctor.
She knew how to keep me alive no matter how much damage she inflicted.
Every injury, every wound, she stitched back together like a devoted sculptor.
No, as long as Sayuri wanted me breathing, I would breathe, no matter how much I wished otherwise.
So I did the only thing I could.
I let her consume me.
I leaned into the madness, let it seep into my skin like ink on paper, let it paint over everything that was me until I became something she could never doubt...and then i would strike.
I stopped flinching when she ran the scalpel along my arms, stopped resisting when she pressed her lips to my wounds.
Instead, I shuddered...., I moaned.
"More," I whispered one night, breath hitching as her nails raked down my chest, drawing thin red lines in their wake.
"Please, Sayuri… don't stop."
She froze.
Her wide eyes—so full of twisted devotion—searched my face, desperate, hungry.
"You really mean that?" she breathed, fingers trembling against my skin. "You really want this?"
I smiled.
"Of course."
Her hands tightened, her nails digging deeper, but this time, I didn't wince.
I laughed.
A breathless, manic sound that spilled from my lips like a hymn, a love song composed of agony and delirium.
She exhaled shakily, her grip softening, almost tender. "Oh, my love… my love… you finally understand."
I did....Or at least, I let myself believe I did.
That night, we didn't sleep.
She sat by my side for hours, whispering to me about how much she had needed me, how much it hurt when I resisted, when I didn't love her the way she loved me.
I traced the scars she left on me with my fingers, eyes dark with devotion.
"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I was so blind before. But I see now, Sayuri. I see everything."
She wept.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and salty, as she pulled me into a trembling embrace. "I just wanted us to be happy," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I just wanted you to love me the way I love you."
I held her close, fingers tightening in her hair.
And I whispered the words that sealed my fate.
"I do, Sayuri."
"I love you."
Her sobs turned into laughter, hysterical and broken.
She kissed me, bit down until I tasted blood, and I let her.
I kissed her back.
I let myself sink deeper.
I let the madness take me....
And then the perfect opportunity came.
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Power Stones and Reviews please