The Sayuri I knew—the woman I thought I loved—crumbled into nothing but a cruel facade.
My life turned into hell.
I was a fool....A fool to not notice.
A fool to believe life could be different.
The wedding night was supposed to mark the beginning of something new. Instead, it was the start of my worst nightmare.
The wine had a strange aftertaste, but I brushed it off.
By the time my limbs grew heavy, and my vision swam, it was too late.
When I woke up, I wasn't in our home.
I was somewhere else.
A stone room.
No windows.
Rusted chains bolted into the floor. The air smelled of iron and rot.
The first thing I saw was her, sitting beside me, watching.
Her eyes were filled with something that almost looked like relief.
"You're awake... Thank God. I thought I might've given you too much."
She reached out, fingers trailing down my cheek, but I flinched. Something in her expression twisted at that.
"Don't do that," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Don't pull away. It hurts when you do that."
She wasn't lying.
She really looked like she was in pain.
Like my rejection was tearing her apart.
"I love you, Hayato," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "More than anything."
Then, she pressed a blade to my skin and cut.
It wasn't a deep wound—just enough to make me hiss in pain.
Just enough to make my blood bead and drip down my arm.
I didn't understand.... Not then.
But she did.
"Hurting you… it makes it easier," she said, almost to herself. "Being away from you is unbearable. It hurts so...so much. "
"But if I do this... If I make you mine completely... The pain fades."
I couldn't move. Couldn't react. The drug was still in my system.
All I could do was watch as she lifted my hand—my own hand—to her lips.
And then she bit.
I felt my flesh tear between her teeth.
I felt the wetness of blood as she ripped it away.
And then—
She swallowed.
My stomach lurched. I wanted to scream.
To vomit. But she only smiled, licking the blood from her lips.
"Now, we're even closer."
That was the beginning.
She was a doctor.
A skilled one.
She knew exactly how to cut, how to hurt, without letting me die.
I should have bled out a hundred times over, but she always brought me back, stitching me together with the same hands that tore me apart.
But she wasn't always in control.
Six months in, she snapped.
I had refused to say it.
"I love you."
The words lodged in my throat, no matter how many times she demanded them.
So she took a metal hairpin—thin, sharp, rusted at the tip—and stabbed it into my wrist.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"Say it, Hayato."
I clenched my jaw.
"Say it."
My fingers twitched, useless against the restraints.
"Say it—say it—say it—"
She didn't stop.
She wouldn't stop.
Pain blurred into indifference.
My vision went black at the edges. My blood soaked into the mattress, dripping down onto the cold stone floor.
Still, I didn't say it.
And she kept going.
My hand was unusable after that.
She didn't amputate it, but I lost all feeling beyond my wrist. My fingers, my palm—nothing. A dead limb attached to my body, a cruel reminder of what she had done.
Ever since that day, she wouldn't step inside my room for weeks.
She sat outside instead, whispering apologies over and over, like a broken record.
"I'm sorry, Hayato… I lost control… I never wanted to hurt you like that…"
I should've felt something. Rage. Hatred. Despair.
But all I felt was empty.
She only entered after I had fallen asleep, leaving behind fresh bandages, medicine, and water. She never woke me, never spoke to me directly during those nights. But I knew she was there.
A servant fed me instead.
I never looked at them. I couldn't. I couldn't muster the strength to turn my head, to meet their eyes, to beg for death.
Not that I was allowed that.
The servant who came was always different every two days. Never the same face twice. Never the same voice.
And their eyes…
There was fear in them.
She killed them afterward. That was the only conclusion that made sense.
The knowledge should have horrified me. Maybe it did, once. But after months in this hell, after watching her carve into my flesh like it was nothing, after seeing her lick the blood from her fingers with a sick, lovesick smile—
It barely felt real anymore.
But the weeks passed.
And my wrists healed.
I wished they never did.
Because it only seemed to get worse from there.
I thought compliance would contain her.
That if I obeyed, if I played along, she wouldn't lose control as often.
That I could manage her.
I was wrong.
Most of her psychotic breaks passed harmlessly at first.
If I said the right things, if I held her the way she wanted, if I whispered I love you in a voice that didn't crack, she would calm down.
The moments where she lost herself in a frenzy—slamming plates against the walls, digging her nails into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably—those could be managed.
But then, one night, as she sat on my lap, resting her forehead against mine, her fingers gently tracing my cheek, she sighed.
"You don't understand, Hayato…" she murmured, her breath warm against my lips. "It hurts me so so much...?"
Her hands trailed lower, and before I could react, a sharp pain blossomed across my ribs.
I inhaled sharply, my body tensing as I felt the cold bite of steel pressing against my skin.
"Sayuri—"
"Shh," she hushed, pressing a delicate kiss against my jaw. "Just listen."
The scalpel in her hand trembled slightly.
"When I'm away from you, it feels like I can't breathe. "
"Like something inside me is missing. But when I hurt you… I feel alive again."
Her voice cracked, and she let out a shaky laugh mixed with tears streaming down her face.
"Isn't that funny? I love you so much it's painful… And the only way I can feel whole is by making you feel that pain too."
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
I sat there, frozen, as she let the scalpel trail lightly down my chest, leaving behind a thin, stinging line.
The same hands that had once cupped my face so tenderly now held my pain like it was something precious.
"You love me too, don't you, Hayato?" she whispered, tilting her head. "Say it."
My lips felt like lead.
"…I love you, Sayuri."
It was humiliating.
Dehumanizing.
But I had learned.
The less I resisted, the less she lost herself.
At some point, my hair had grown long enough to cover my face, shielding my eyes when I whispered the words she wanted to hear.
"I love you, Sayuri."
"Good boy," she purred, running her fingers through my hair. "See? This is so much better, isn't it?"
It wasn't.....But eventually…
She freed me from being tied down like a dog.
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Power Stones and Reviews please