I had the idea for this story out of the blue today, and it just soft of grew as I began to write it. Yes, it appears to be second person POV, but it is NOT referring to the reader. You'll see what I mean. there is a specific character Len is referring to when he says "you". You'll see that it is sort of just representing how big of a part of Len's life this person is. This is sort of an odd pairing and I mean, I am still RinXLen forever, but I sort of like this different idea. If this starts out confusing, thats how it was intended. But if I get enough reviews and decide to continue it, the story will all unravel in the end!

By the way, those reading my story, I Am Not Useless, I am halfway finished with Chapter 4. It should be up soon! :)

My head snaps up at a sound I hear every morning. The lurch of a door opening. The door to my home, and my prison. The place you've trapped me inside. Yet I don't wish to leave it. Part of me thinks it's because I have nowhere else to go. But another part is swayed by a habitual loyalty. Because I am tied to you. I think this was initially your decision. Then, at some point, the choice became mine.

Hearing your footsteps growing closer by the second, I start to see your form walking towards me. I've become quite accustomed to seeing through the darkness. I no longer have to strain my eyes, which are already bloodshot after many sleepless nights. A pillow, sheets, a bed- those are all things that have been long blurred in my memories, and replaced by cold stone floor, musty smells, and hours of discomfort. When morning comes, however, I find comfort in your beautiful face.

Finally reaching me, you crouch down in front of me, and begin tracing my narrow face with your long, warm slender fingers. I smile sweetly for you, converting all of the pain in my body into joy. You smile back, a smile that I am familiar with. A smile that means you are pleased. And if you are pleased, then I am fulfilling my purpose.

Your eyes are brown. A deep, dark, meaningful brown. Your skin, a creamy white. Hair that curves outwards slightly before reaching your shoulders, and that matches the hue of your eyes. Sometimes I wish I could reach up and feel a few locks between my callused fingers, but I only do what pleases you. I must not indulge in my own desires.

You examine the edge of my old, white T-shirt, finding that a bit of it is shredded at the bottom. "What is this?" You inquired with an expressionless tone.

"I believe it is from last night, Miss. From when I fell." I answer, my tone soft, laced in humility. It was my fault I had fallen. I had been weak. I had not endured for you. I am supposed to always take your pain. To take it happily, knowing that my job is being done well. Last night I had failed my job.

I look deeply into your eyes, a single tear falling down my cheek. I open my mouth, and say the words I've trained myself to say.

"I have fallen short, Miss. Please punish me however you see fit."

You close your eyes, and your hand reaches for something on the ground. My chain. As you give it a harsh yank, a small pain tremors through the swollen skin around my neck. I stand up, the clattering of my chain echoing through the frigid air of my cell. I know what comes first in this routine, so I stick out my arm before you command me to. You pull a small blade from your shirt pocket, and slowly dig it into the firm skin of my hand. Then you drag it across. Once. Twice. Two cuts. Two lines. But these are not only lines. They form a number. 11. A number that I've allowed to become way too large. A number that looks fresh and bold next to the fading 10 beside it.

Crimson blood spurts from my hand, some of it landing on your skirt. This earns me a smack across the face. I'm not sure why you are angered, though. Is it really the stain itself? Or is it the fact that whenever you look at it, you will remember my pain? No. The latter can't be true. I've wronged you. Why should I deserve your sympathy?

I stay still as you tie my hands behind my back. This itself is a punishment; that you don't trust me enough to keep still. That you doubt my unconditional loyalty to you. Why would I try to escape anyways? I asked for this myself.

You fool. You weak fool.

He spits the words at me. I can't see him usually, only sometimes in the back of my mind. His voice is somehow familiar to me. It almost sounds like mine. From what I've seen of him, I think his hair is blond like mine, and his eyes even seem to be the same shade of blue as mine. He isn't me, though. He is a monster that lives in the back of my mind. So foreign to me, yet seeming to see everything I do, and know everything about me. He confuses me, because I can't figure out who he is. I want him to go away. Perhaps this is more torture from you. Maybe him being inside me takes some of your own pain away. Maybe he used to be your burden.

You must have been beating me for minutes now, judging by the aching in my left hip and stomach, and by the moisture welling up in my eyes. Tears that only hold pain; a natural reflex. I've taught myself to ignore this pain- to distract myself. When I do that, it's all over before I know it.

My thoughts dissolve as one last lash lands on my lower torso. A small whimper escapes my mouth, followed by a clattering sound. I see your whip on the ground, and know you've cast it aside. My eyes meet yours. You pull out the blade again, but this time you use it to slash the ropes holding my hands together. It takes me a second before I register that they are free, and move them to their normal locations at my side.

You extend your hand to me, and I take it between mine. I lift it to my cracked lips, pressing them against your knuckles as a sign of respect, and of submission.

"Thank you, Miss." I say, and smile.

Why?! Why should she be thanked?! You didn't deserve that!

I shut my eyes tightly, and shake my head back and forth violently. I hope desperately that you can't hear him. He doesn't seem to understand loyalty. Only rebellion.

I open one eye slightly, and see that you appear to be confused. "What's wrong?"

A sigh of relief is all I can manage. You didn't hear him. You never do seem to.

"It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Miss." I reply, kissing my Mistress's hand once more. The same hand that tortures me. The same hand that comforts me as well. The hand that controls me.

I am happy with this chapter, though I'm still not sure where in the dark depths of my mind it came from...

LOL, just kidding! So, anyways, please give me feedback if you have time! Tell me if I should continue it or not.