Arthur's POV
I lay there crying as I stare wide eyed at Alfred. I knew this would happen. Ever since I had that surgery and Alfred passed that comment on how the doctor had been excessive with his "touching", I knew he was going to do something bad.
Alfred stares at the gash in my stomach, his face devoid of the insanity it held only moments before. Is he finished? Now the only emotion I can see in his deep blue eyes is confusion. Poor lad. He looks up at me with an expression I can only describe as that of a lost puppy. The kind of puppy that is so weak and scared from running around for who knows how long that it can only tilt its head and gaze at you through the corner of its eyes as you walk by it on your way to work.
~ooOoo~
Alfred's POV
I tear my eyes away from his tear stained face to the gash in his stomach. It's still bleeding. It's not that deep of a cut. I can tell because when I stick my finger in it, it only goes to about the first knuckle. And yet he is still screaming like it's the end of the world. He's definitely over reacting. He never acted like this with that doctor. I pull my finger out and glare at him. He sniffles and whimpers and stares back at me, his whole body trembling. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that he must think I'm crazy. The way he keeps look at me and struggling weakly against the ties, he wants to get away from me. That won't do. He has to stay with me, and it has to be because he wants to. I scoot myself back onto his lap and lie down over him, kissing his cheek to try and soothe him some. He sniffles some more and stares at me with an unreadable look in his gorgeous green eyes before he blinks and more tears stream down his face. I put my hands on either side of his face and gently wipe away the newly formed tears, earning a whimper of pain from Arthur and finish of my caring act by kissing each eyelid and smiling halfheartedly at him.
~ooOoo~
Arthur's POV
Alfred reaches above my head and cuts the rope that is binding my hand to the headboard with his now bloody knife and catches my arm once it's released so it doesn't slam into the tiny table next to the bed, laying it across my chest. After repeating this oddly caring action with my other hand and removing the rope that was still tightly secured around my wrist he scoots off me and walks into the bathroom without a single word. Immediately I begin to sit up to untie my feet but I'm stopped short by the pain and drop back onto the bed with a loud scream. My eyes shoot to the bathroom where Alfred had gone to, afraid that he would come back and hurt me again for trying to escape, but he never comes out. His suddenly normal behavior is scaring me terribly but I have no choice but to wait for him to come back and hope that he plans on helping me. I can feel my mind slipping as I try and put myself on his level. Why did he do this? What possessed him to want to do this to me? That's it. Possessiveness. I'm his and no one else's and he can do as he pleases with me because I love him and he loves me. That's where his mind is at. Suddenly I don't regret taking that psychology course. So I'm going to have to play along. It's not a lie anyway. Of course I love Alfred, and I am his. I don't mind his overprotective ways or his slightly creepy methods of taking care of me. So what if he likes to choose what I eat and what I wear and where I go. It's just how he shows his love right? Oh God…
I'm in trouble.
~ooOoo~
Alfred's POV
I rummage through the cabinets taking my time to gather all of the supplies I need to take care of Arthur. Now that I took care of that obsessive urge to cut him open that I had since "that day", I feel like taking care of him like I do when he cuts himself when trying to cook one of his disgustingly unhealthy meals. He's too good to eat so unhealthily. I can, but he needs to watch his health and yet he still insists on eating like a college student. I stop for a moment and click my tongue at the thought of Arthurs eating habits. Oh well. Since he doesn't take care of himself the way he should, I'll just keep doing it for him. I turn my head and stare at the door for a moment when I hear a pained scream from Arthur in the other room. He must have tried to get up. Silly boy. In the back of my mind I know that I should be rushing to help him, but for some reason I'm acting as if it's me that is lying on the bed with my stomach cut open. If Arthur had done this to himself, I would have grabbed him immediately and carried him bridal style like the hero I am and run him to the nearest hospital, whereas if I had done this to myself I would have lazily taken my time and bandaged myself up whenever I got around to it. I know I should be rushing. Time is of the essence when your beautiful boyfriend is lying in bed bleeding his little heart out, but I just can't do it. But Arthur was mine right? So he can wait, because I did this to him and not anyone else. It's okay because it was me.
I finally walk out of the bathroom, supplies in hand and I plaster a smile on my face as I hurriedly drop the things onto the bed and untie his feet, catching his ankles so they don't hit the foot board. We wouldn't want any bruises on those pretty little feet now would we? I'm taking care of him now, so I'm going to avoid hurting him any further.
~ooOoo~
Arthur's POV
Alfred drags a chair to the side of the bed where I'm still laying, too weak to move and leans over me placing a chaste kiss on my lips, then begins gently tending to my wounds. As I watch Alfred dab away at the blood with a towel through blurry eyes, I begin to realize that with the more blood I loose, the more my mind is slipping. But I can't find it in me to care. My sweet, handsome, loving boyfriend lightly raises up my hips and wraps the bandage tightly around the area he had cut into before. He's so wonderful to me. What am I thinking? When Alfred finishes fixing me up he sits me up and pulls me into his lap, stroking my hair comfortingly. I look up at his face and see the same forced smile is spread across his lips. I sigh and place my head in the crook of his neck and place a kiss to his shoulder. He hums happily in content and gives my body a little squeeze sending waves of pain through me. But it's okay, because it's him. He doesn't mean it when he abuses me, just like I don't mean it when I abuse myself. Bad eating habits and cutting my fingers are just accidents. Silly little accidents made by silly old me. I'm not doing it on purpose and he doesn't mean anything by the things he does to me. I know because he's told me so. And it's true because it's him and he always insists that it is. So it's definitely true. No doubts.
Right?
