{I wrote this last year, but, for some reason, never uploaded it. I rediscovered it today and decided to do so. Hope you guys enjoy it!}

Punished

The metal was cold between his fingers. No matter how long he held it or what it came in contact with it was always, to him, cold. Colder than the marble floor his bare feet stood on, colder than the frost coating the windowpanes of his house, colder than the ice blue gaze of his eyes as he looked at himself in the mirror.

Gozaburo had ingrained into his adopted son from an early age the concept that if you were a member of the Kaiba family you did not, under any circumstances, fail. The bruises Seto had received when he brought home poor marks from school had healed, as had the broken bones from the time Gozaburo had tossed him over the railing of the majestic staircase in the mansion's foyer. However, Seto Kaiba still remembered that if you failed, punishment had to happen.

With his long, fragile looking fingers, Seto unbuttoned his pristine white shirt and slid it off of his body. It fluttered to the floor in a heap that would result in wrinkles, but the young CEO left it there. He was too busy inspecting his left forearm with fascination.

Each of his failures since Gozaburo's death were inscribed into his arm like tally marks. The marks had healed well, leaving thin, hard to see scars. Seto knew they were there, though. He could see each of them as clearly as if he'd tattooed them in red ink instead of slicing his skin open. Gingerly, he traced his fingertips over the scars. The earliest ones, he knew, were closest to the crook of his elbow and he could remember vividly the events that led to him self-mutilating for the first time.

Seto had discovered this method of punishment by accident. Shortly after Yugi had defeated him for the first time, Seto was riffling through some paperwork in his office and feeling like an absolute failure. Unexpectedly, as these things happen, he felt the sting of the paper slicing his skin. Also, just as unexpectedly, the pain of the cut made him feel better. He had messed up and now he was punished, at least a little.

That night he went into the kitchen and chose a knife from the cutlery drawer. He'd held his forearm over the bathtub and slit it in one clean stroke. The blood welled up and out from the cut, dripping down to dye the white marble of the tub a violent red. Inwardly, Seto felt release. His error had been fully punished, he felt, and all was right in the world. On the other hand, Seto logically knew that what he'd done was neither safe nor the proper way to deal with his emotions. He promised himself that he'd never do it again, mostly because he mistakenly believed that his days of failure were past.

However, Seto Kaiba hadn't planned for the kidnapping of his brother. Once he found out about it, he was wracked with remorse. 'If only I hadn't gone off to sulk,' he thought bitterly, 'then Mokuba would still be safe instead of being in Pegasus' clutches.' The letter opener in his desk helped him get over the guilt. Although his sense of logic rebelled, Seto's emotions fully approved of the sense of catharsis the self-mutilation gave him. This time, as he watched the blood wash down the drain, he realized that he'd constantly be drawn back to this action whenever he seriously erred. 'Since there's nobody to throw me down the stairs,' he reasoned, 'I guess I'll just have to punish myself.'

Presently, Seto was facing his most immense failure. Kaiba Corporation's profits were suffering immeasurably due to the struggling global economy. The latest product, which had been designed personally by Seto Kaiba, had been nothing more than a total flop. The losses were so great that the corporation would certainly have to downsize dramatically and could potentially have to file for bankruptcy, should the current situation not right itself.

Therefore, Seto had retreated again to his bathroom to discipline himself. As he settled himself over the bathtub, he mentally marked out where he'd sink in the blade, approximately half an inch above his wrist bone. After a moment of hesitation and anticipation, Seto made the razor blade bite into his skin. The cut was smooth, like always, and it stung, also like the norm. For some self-mutilators, the pain of the cut induced a numbness, but for Seto the pain was the point of the process.

Seto hissed at the stinging in his arm as he slumped against the tub. 'With this I am punished,' he thought dimly as the blood dripped down into the tub and swirled, as was his intent, down the drain with the help of a little water. Once the blood congealed, he'd clean the wound out and put a bandage over it. He'd wear long sleeves until the cut healed and no one would be aware of what he'd done. It was an ideal arrangement.

Or at least it was until Mokuba suddenly burst into the bathroom. Seto's brother was young, but not so young that he couldn't connect the razor blade dangling from his older brother's fingers with the blood dripping into the tub. "Seto?"

'Fuck.'