Note: I'm going to warn you right off the back. This is kind of... messed up. I was listening to Evanescence and wanted to write something. And apparently, my fingers and mind collaboratively decided to type this up. Once again, I'm warning you that this isn't nice and fluffy. Dark themes (although not too explicitly written), and of course, shonen ai. Thank you for reading.

ooooo

Even with the scarf tied around them, I can still see the eyes behind them. They never judged me, they never had a single bad thought about me, they saw me in the purest of lights. In those eyes, anything I could have done would be forgiven. Can those eyes still forgive me for what I've done now? Can they still look past this hideousness that's taken over me and find some semblance of beauty?

It's because of those eyes that it has come to this. I am not beautiful, not pure, but those eyes make me feel so. Those eyes make me feel like any sin I may commit can be omitted from my character and I can be clean once more, I can redeem my purity again. But I know that's not true, I'm not worth everything those eyes see. And it angers me that only I can see it, while everyone else pretends. They all pretend they cannot see the grime on my skin, the blood covering my hands, and the filth that litters my insides.

But he doesn't. He never pretends, but he forgives me with his eyes. He takes everything about me - the truth, the lies, the stubborn man, the crying child - and he takes it all in with his gentle expressions. The sadism takes a hold over me and I want to burn that smile off his face. I want to slash at those gentle eyes, filled with so much trust and love, it's suffocating. I yearn for that feeling of when I destroy everything about him.

The blindfold over his eyes can't hide them or hide the salty tears that mix with the grime on his face. I reach out, as I have so many times tonight, and dig my sharpened nail against his arms, admiring the deep red mark it leaves behind.

His arms, pulled above his head, seem slimmer than they were before. They are his body's only support to not fall down to the ground. The rigid ropes around his wrists are eating into his skin. The muscles he once had were diminishing from the lack of use, the bones of his ribs trying to claw out from his exposed chest. His naked body is cold to the touch, and if it wasn't for his shallow breathing, he would seem dead. The color of his skin no longer belongs to the opened fields and brilliant sun, just an ashen, ghostly white, covered in dirt and dried blood. The red strings tied around his mouth bruise at the corners, soiled further by the saliva that slowly drips out. His hair is lifeless, the yellow golden hue dulled down in the darkened room.

And as I look at him, I can't help the smile that filters across my face. He's beautiful.

He's still beautiful, everything about him is still so pure, no matter what I do. No matter how many cuts, bruises, burns I can inflict into his skin, he remains so pure. No doubt from that damned fox's healing efforts. But deep inside him, how does he still remain so innocent, even with all the demented emotions I've poured into him, claiming his body as my own countless times. Have I reached his heart yet? Have i devoured him completely that every inch of his flesh has been touched by me and every drop of sanity he has is lost to my voice. I want it so that I become the reason for every breath he takes.

I glance over at the bloodied kunai, sitting innocently on the floor beside him. I stretch out to grab it, deliberately letting the sharp metal scrape against the concrete floor. He doesn't react anymore from the noise, doesn't tense up in anticipation of the pain. He's tired, so very tired. I raise the blade and slash it against his thighs, marveling at the beautiful red slipping from the cuts. I lick his blood, the metallic taste filled my taste buds in its bitter sweetness. Within seconds, the wounds start to close up once more, the skin perfectly sewn back together, as if my actions never existed.

I get angry from this, and lash out over and over again, ignoring the blood splattering out onto my face. His skin is even paler, but the marks immediately heal again and he is once more untouched. I scream out in frustration, hating the fact that he still looks untouched, unclaimed.

So I take him again. I thrust deep within him, reveling in the way his face reacts. Silent screams rack through his body, his voice unable to escape. He no longer bleeds, his body finally used to me. Or maybe there's just too much blood around us, I can no longer tell. I grab at his hips with all my strength, aggressively forcing myself into him over and over again. I lean over and bury my teeth in his neck, the sweet nectar of his essence slipping between my lips. He feels so good, so wrong. Everything about this is so wrong. And I love it. I hear his throaty moan and I lose control.

And I want to say it.

I love him so much. I love him so much I hate him. And I hate him so much that I love him.

I need to see those eyes, hear that voice, feel those lips. I need to fill my senses with him. I hastily scratch at the red strings tied around his mouth, watching the opened wounds slowly start to close. I gently stroke the dark purple bruises along his hips and feel the warmth slowly seep back into his flesh. Then I'm eye to eye with the blindfold, my lips hovering over his.

I lean enough for our lips to touch, that sensation alone pulling something human out of me. My heart beats, the notion startling myself at the intensity of this moment. It's not fierce, it's not abusive, just a gentle touch of lips. Nothing about this moment mirrors what had happened moments ago. The anger and the aggression I harbored are now just a memory.

"Sa... Sa...suke...," he manages to whisper out, before he coughs out hoarsely. The binds on his arms keep him in place. My fingers dance along his scarred cheeks, amazed that they are the only scars that will ever show on his skin.

His voice reverberates in my mind, the mantra of his whisper filling my head with guilt. It's not enough. I need more of him. I can feel the sullied cotton of the blindfold in my grip, debating on my next movement. If I do this, I will see his eyes once more. Maybe they will be broken, scared and lost. Maybe his eyes will not hold a shred of love for me. Maybe his eyes will finally hold nothing but hatred for me. Will he be disgusted for what I've done? Will he feel the betrayal? Will his eyes slip into the darkness just as I have?

Excitement runs through my veins as I slip my shaking fingers into the knot behind his head, the tearing of the cloth echoes loudly in the empty room. It floats down so innocently to the floor, unbeknownst to the evil deeds it had aided in.

And it was a mistake because those blue eyes are shining at me, the light in them blinding me. That look in the eyes, that damn familiar look is still there. And for everything that I've done, he's forgiven me. If anything, there is only understanding and sadness in his eyes.

If only he could look at me with hatred, if only he would acknowledge this ugliness as me, I could start to accept it. But because he looks at me with those open eyes, those accepting eyes, I hang onto this glimmer of hope. That hope tells me that I can be saved. Naruto, can you save me?

I let out a yell, throwing the used kunai. He can't hold up his body any more and falls to the floor. Just lying there on the filthy floor, he smiles. He looks like an angel, a soiled, raped angel. The severed rope still clings to his wrists, but now it is harmless. I can no longer keep him captive because no matter what I do, his eyes will never change. No matter how much I try to hide them, try to distort them, they will keep me in their gaze.

There's a sensation in my face, a wetness on my cheeks. I never knew I was still capable of crying. Even as I wipe at them, they refuse to stop, my vision blurring over from the tears. It is then that I feel his arms around me. His shrunken frame still as warm as I remember. He's holding me, as if nothing has been ruined, as if nothing has changed. I crumble down into his embrace, my own arms moving in the familiar motion. How many times has he held me like this where I cling to him?

I let go of everything and my world spins. I slump against his fragile frame, my harsh breathing mirroring his pounding heart. The pounding heart reassures me that this is real. He is here with me.

I think about on the days of the past when it felt like the world was just the two of us. Back then,I could smile like I was truly happy. And it was because of him. Somewhere along the lines of our friendship, I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I was captivated by his very being, everything about him intrigued me. It wasn't long before my very being yearned for him. Then I started to want to touch him. I desired his writhing body below mine. I wanted to ravage his naked form.

I knew the others could see the desire in my eyes. It was the only emotion I couldn't conceal. They were disgusted. But I was free to desire whoever I wanted.

But then I'd see him with others, the amiable touches, the innocent touches, the harmless hugs. Rage filled my blood, images of taking him right then and there in front of everyone played in my mind. Then they would know who he belonged to. I was startled by my thoughts then, blaming them on hormones.

To distract my thoughts,I found myself in bed with all different people each night, all of them blonde. In the midst of the sex, I found myself imagining it was him. Imagined that I was shoving myself into him, over and over again. That it was his naked body below me. And before I knew it, my hands were at their throats, their eyes filled with horror. I'd let go and scream at them to leave. It happened over and over again, so I stopped. I drove my attention to missions, requesting harder and harder ones, until I was soaked in the blood of my enemies.

But the thoughts of taking him so brutally, bloodying him and devouring him whole continued to rage through my head. I wanted to make him cry, I wanted to make him scream for me to stop. I wanted to ruin every last bit of innocence he had.

I was horrified. I was terrified of my thoughts, and even more so of what I would do. I knew what I was capable of and being so close to him, I wasn't sure how much self-control I had left. I started to lose myself then, the last threads of my sanity slipping from my grasp. He was too close. So close to me that it would've been so easy to just take him and envelope him in this madness of mine. So I did.

I'm not sure when, but somewhere in this lunacy of mine, I was drowning in my obsession with this man. And he knows it so well. He knows that, without him, there would be no me. He is my everything, my soulmate, my reason, and my innocence. He is my weakness. And I will never let him go.

So I ask you, Naruto, who is really the slave here?

ooooo

Note: Well then. That was... yeah. I'm not sure if I'm more disturbed that I thought of this or took the time to write this, but the deed has been done and I am sharing it with you all. If you found this piece to be terrible, please say so, then I can refrain from attempting something like this again. If you liked it, then kudos to you. Thank you again for reading.