Note: Uhm…Hello to you all, beautiful readers. This is Troublesome-monkey-dono signing in.
Now, I really thought I wrapped up this story a long long time ago. Truly, I thought I finished this story. But apparently I'm not yet as done as I had hoped?
So now that I'm done with college and packing all my things, a friend of mine who faithfully read all my drafts of the story found notes on the endings I drafted on the back of a couple of my old notes. I have forgotten about it and honestly, I have no idea where she even found it. However, after reading through it, she promptly visited me and smacked me in the face because apparently I was "depriving readers of a respectable ending." And after literal months of her nagging, I will be releasing the three other alternate endings that I drafted. These endings can stand on their own or they can actually be seen as one other alternate ending.
However, I feel I must address this first. You may notice that my writing may be different from when I wrote Contrition a year ago. I'm terribly sorry about that. During that time, I was in an enormous amount of stress and I used that as a leverage to pour all that nasty feelings into this tragic mess of a story. However, as I write this now, I am currently living as a sluggy potato freshly graduated and basking in the sudden nothingness of my schedule. I don't feel nearly as stressed out as I did, which will reflect these upcoming pieces. So I must apologize in advance to the sudden change in syntax and pacing you may trample on.
Ahem, on that note, thank you to all of you who faithfully read this obscure little angsty story of mine. And here is the first alternative ending to this story for you all to enjoy. Please tell me what you think and thank you again.
Alternate Ending #1 – Slipping
The cold hits Ciel before he has the time to recoil back. It begins with a steady trickle down his pale, curved back brushing past porcelain skin in small streams as they break and flow towards the ground. His pasty skin erupts in goosebumps at the first contact, his body shuddering at the cold and automatically closing himself into a ball to preserve his inner warmth. His arms immediately weave themselves around his legs, effectively cocooning himself away from the icy contact. He hears the water slosh before he feels it, finding the unwelcome torrent of cold and wet hit is face before he could utter anymore words of protest.
He lets out a groan of protest when he feels Sebastian drag a cold – icy – towelette down from his neck to his scapula, scrubbing just hard enough for him to wince at the rough material against his skin. Sebastian pays him no mind, one gentle palm on his head and the other scrubbing away at the back of his neck as though he finds a particularly nasty grime that has bested his efforts of keeping clean. Ciel spares him another whine of protest when Sebastian ignores his dismaying howls as he kneels closer in, fingers almost prattling across the top of his head as though he was too tempted to simply push Ciel's face into the icy bath in hopes the lad would suffocate to death. Perhaps it would give him just one precious moment of silence.
"Couldn't you bother to actually heat the water before you drop me in?!" Ciel finally hisses as he untangles one hand from his own embrace and effectively smacks Sebastian's wandering hands away from his body. "It's too cold!"
Sebastian pays him no mind as he sloshes the boy with another pail full of cold water and gives him a wry smile. "It at a perfectly reasonable temperature when I first called you to take your bath, Young Master. However, despite my urging you still insisted for another minute of brooding before I was forced to drag you into the tub myself." He sends him a sardonically critical stare, quipping silently that he was in no mood to entertain Ciel's mopping nor was he in any position to defend his young master's penchant of completely ignoring personal hygiene in the presence of his own noble relatives. So he does what he must, if only to preserve the already breaking image of his young charge for just a bit longer.
The scowl Ciel sends his way is neither discomforting nor terribly funny to see. Ciel was far too enveloped in his own crude world to even begin thinking of such simplicities such as personal hygiene. Disgusting as it may be, he suddenly finds that he hates taking a bath every day. It is the most time consuming activity he does now. He hates how he cannot physically make the activity go any faster than it already is. He hates how no matter how much he scrubs and rubs himself into a frenzy, Sebastian's tsking would send him right back to be 'properly washed.' As though, suddenly, there was a protocol to be followed for properly cleaning one's self. Rubbish. He hates it. God, he can't even begin to explain why he hates it.
He hates how Sebastian has the compulsive need to be there when he cleans himself. It is nothing sexual – at least he thinks though he can't be bothered to think about it – but rather it was because Sebastian just seems to think he can't do it by himself. He hates how the scents that he uses are too floral and fruity for his tastes, but he cannot find the words to refuse them because it smells far too much like her and its addicting. And most of all, he hates – detests with all of his broken wretched heart - how it takes his time away from her.
Four months. Four months since that despicable incident – accident his mind quips silently like a mournful sigh in the back of his ear – when Lizzy was tarnished and resigned to become a vegetative statue situated in a large, white canopy bed. Four months of hopelessness. Four months of dismissive silence. Four months of nothingness.
It scares Ciel, more than he would ever admit in his life because he is beginning to think that this woman, this girl in front of him is reduced to nothing more but a shell of what was once was. He's terrified to think that perhaps, perhaps Lizzy as really left that day. That somehow, confounded it all but somehow; her soul slipped past her lithe, battered remains that day and refused to settle back in. And she just left this thing here, this shell of a forgotten person that only few care over. He has a hard time swallowing that particular pill. But has he stares down at her pale, far too skinny reflection, he finds himself staring at another person.
Four months can change an immobile body. Lizzy's beautiful blonde mane has grown coarse and dry, overgrown and braided daily to keep out of her face. She's far too skinny, too little, too fragile now. She's not getting her nutrients, her proteins, her fats. She's not eating well. She's not eating at all really. And if Ciel could, he would become her stomach and intestines and blood if it meant she would gain just a pound. Her muscles turned flaccid, despite their daily exercises. She needs to move, to walk to run, to skip and to jump. Yet, Ciel despairs she could not while he – him with his nimble willow of a broken body – could do so much he wishes she could. Her beautiful skin, once soft and supple, once peppered blue and black and purple and red has finally settled into a dry ash from the lack of moister. Taking one careful, tentative finger he brushes past her lips and cringes away like a scurrying spider. Her lips are chapped far too dry. Lizzy never had chapped, dry lips. Never.
Paula tries her best to fix her, applying ointments and lotions into her skin like a ritual. Every day, she comes with a hesitant smile holding baskets of products she lathers Lizzy with as though she was a child she had the honor to protect from the harmful sun. Yet the creams, the liquids, the ointments do not work as Lizzy's skin devours everything. It absorbs, absorbs, absorbs and Ciel think that it is ravenous for more. He is desperate to please her form, despite being far too cowardly to leave her. So he implores Sebastian and Paula to search and search and search. Find her that magic elixir that brings forth all the warmth, sun, and joy back into her broken body. Find it. Find it! Find it!
There is no change. She is shriveling up in his eyes.
The sight scares him the most. It makes the color – at least what was left that showed tale-tell signs of his humanity – wash away from his face as the blood pools into his heart as though it was trying to convince him to go on. He must, he must go on and continue to live if only to watch her awaken from this cruel faith.
He'll do it. He shall stay and rot in this hell for her, if only to watch her open those eyes again and allow him a taste of the heaven he's found himself deprived of.
Sometimes, Ciel forgets that he is in this cursed, rotten hell of a life he's made for himself. Sometimes, when he settles in a surprisingly warm bath – as he conceded earlier to Sebastian's demands than usual – and lulls himself to sleep in a cocoon of warmth as Sebastian tries to tame his overgrown hair dripping around his disturbed cranium.
In these moments for silence, he finds himself wondering of what ifs and if thens. As Sebastian finally pulls him from the water and dresses him, impeccably he might add, he wonders idly of what his schedules is today and if he actually managed to keep in track of this month's goals. He wonders idly what is for breakfast or brunch, what was blown up in the kitchen, and what chandelier must be replaced this time due to Meyrin's ministrations. He wonders what miserable flowers, cut far too close to the bud, did Finny attempt to display in the dinner table. He wonders if Snake found a respectable place to house his snakes because they are certainly not allowed under the dinner table. He even wonders how Tanaka, bless that old fool, was doing this morning as he knew his arthritis often made the man wince despite his best ways of concealing his pain. He needs to ask Sebastian to make the man some herbal tea that may remedy his pain until they can get that doctor he's been eyeing from Switzerland of all confounded places.
And perhaps most of all, he wonders where Lizzy is. She's probably in her room, primping and priming about to make herself look 'pretty' as she says. Personally, Ciel prefers Lizzy bare faced, dressed plainly with her hair limp and flopping behind her. She looked far more human and far Lizzier than she ever was in his eyes. And she's beautiful regardless. Of course, has there ever been a time where she was not?
He dismisses that thought almost bashfully as he finally opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. And he's rather surprised to see cream walls, white wood, marble and wood. This isn't his manor. His minds clicks regrettably slow and he makes it a point not to embarrass himself any further as Sebastian finishes his look by placing his eye patch on carefully as though he had just completed yet another work of art. And perhaps he had, trying to make a regretfully broken boy look terribly unbroken and primped to puppet his way into society as a functional young adult. Truly, he has set a busted masterpiece.
The question flies out of his mouth before he can get a true hold of himself. "Where is Lizzy?" he asks aloud as he crosses the threshold and flounces out of Lizzy's bathroom, hearing the satisfying click of his heels against marble floors.
"Young Master –" Sebastian begins, scurrying after him in haste without making too much of a mess at his wake. Except even Sebastian is too slow as Ciel drinks in the sight of her in the bed, allowing reality and all its cruel glory wash upon him once more.
"Oh," a breathy whisper leaves his dulling mouth as he stares. There she is. There she is in all her glory – emaciated, shriveling and dying all at once.
Oh.
"Ciel –"
"Of course," Ciel catches himself quickly from slipping, mouth twitching and threatening to lower downwards into a permanent frown before he hitches out a shaky breath and begins again. "Yes, of course. Lizzy…she needs to do her exercises soon."
Ciel finds that he hates the night the most. The darkness of the night sky brings forth another sense of fright far more lethal than the dose he tampers with on a daily basis. It is in the night, when he finally succumbs into a fitful sleep where nightmares pepper his tired mind. In some twisted, achingly bizarre and satisfying way, he has grown accustomed to the bombardment he receives each night. As he pushes their beds together and curls himself around her lithe, little from he dreams of fragmented forms and ghostly smiles. He dreams of her cries, shouts and disgust. He dreams of her vibrant, vibrant emerald eyes piercing through him until finally, finally it succumbs into the darkness and he is left alone. He is left pitifully alone. The darkness is suffocating. It is maddening. And he feels like he's dying.
He almost always wakes up screaming. He screams bloody murder, unable to control his own vocal cords until his voice is a hoarse, cracked, shattered thing tinged with the taste of blood and regret. As his body bold upright, twisting sheets and blankets to pool around his waist, he almost always searches blindly for her as he tries to catch his labored breathing. Anguish. It is the rush of that terrible emotion that makes him tremble even more as his shaking hands blindly search for hers, grasping her close to his chest and pressing sweet kisses against her white, cold knuckles.
There is cold irrational fear churning inside him, filling every corner of his body until he is twisting and curling away from the familiar, cold numbness that sneaks into his core and ascending and descending to and fro through his blood until it finally holds a grip on his poor beating heart. He's not sure how much he can take of it, being swallowed by fear, but his wrecked body seems to weather another blow as it shivers and tingles in cold sweat. His chest tightens, his legs turn into jelly and he grabs hold into her one hand and curls it fully into his own palms like a lifeline. Bloodshot eyes take in the expanse of her dark bedroom which was splattered with shadows and inked with cruel unforgiving silence.
Yet, he notices none of these as he can only be certain about two things. He cannot live without her and he must live to see her. So he tries to rewire his brain to operate the simple tasks such as breathing and speaking. Except he always finds that his lungs are too taut, his airway is too narrow, he is producing far too much mucus and saliva and he has lost any sense of ability to coherently form a sentence. He doesn't need to talk though. He just needs to check.
So he brings a fearful gaze to her pale, ashen face and almost throws himself at her in all of his haste. His face hovers dangerously close to hers, skirting close to chest. He hardly notices, rejoicing at the feeling of warm breath and small sighs that emanate from her little form. He waits, prolonging his agony for more of those precious moments when he feels her little breath fan across his shivering cheek. Slowly, silently he huddles even closer as shaking fingers dance up her dainty wrist and press hard against her pulse.
Oh, she's alive. She's alive. She's still alive.
The relief hits him in waves and he could only let out a groan as the adrenaline that pumped his system begins to wane and he could finally learn to breathe once more. He doesn't even feel his body giving out beneath him as his skinny jelly legs give into the tired pulses of relief that pump through him. Sagging, he literally falls on top of her small still frame and simply buries his sweating face against the crook of her neck.
This close proximity is enough to for him to finally feel the rise and fall of her chest. It is enough. Glancing up to peer into her face, he slowly picks himself away from truly crushing her. Her face hasn't changed expression, always blank and serene as though she was simply sleeping away despite the lack of warmth her usual face presented. Still, as he brings himself to her side, he does not dare depart for her presence. He was too afraid to leave her, feeling the need to press his skin against hers in fear that somehow she would depart from him if he does. So he stays and he breaths, trying to calm himself enough as he watches her form.
It is also in his close proximity he finds that he could study her face without complain. While pale and unassuming, he finds the little things he barely noticed before. He finds the beauty mark hidden behind her left earlobe utter adorable and he fingers it gently wondering why he never noticed it before. He finds that her baby hairs, cute blonde independent and stubbornly pushing up to be endearing to look at. And on more than particular occasion, his attention is stuck on her lips. He finds it odd that it's so unnaturally dry because he has never once seen Elizabeth without pretty pink pouty kissable lips. Now, the annoyance of it all was staring at him right in the face. It can actually happen.
Before he closes his eyes, he curls his digits around hers and sighs. He has to do something about that abomination soon.
The answer surprisingly comes from Lizzy herself. He finds it randomly three days later when he is left to his own ministrations, with Sebastian off trying to run the business and salvaging the Manor and the Midford family trying to keep false appearances for appearance's sake. Idly, he finds himself looking through her nightstand drawers for a bottle of ink or some sort when he stumbles upon a book decorated in lace, pink fabric and pressed flowers. It is her journal perhaps, probably from her childhood judging from the messy lettering and doodles that littered the pages. He is far too bashful to really delve in them, fearing that he has crossed a boundary that Lizzy would be appalled he would even dare look at. Still, he finds within those pages a hastily written recipe she merely called Lip Scrub. The ingredients are rudimentary, but judging from the hearts she had drawn on she seemed to enjoy using it.
So perhaps he could employ it now. Bitterly, he peers up to the excuse of skin that is left on Lizzy's lips. He almost always fights the need to simply pick at the drying, breaking skin so he would be rid of such an annoyance but he refrains knowing full well that he would make his poor fiancée bleed. He inquires Paula about it when she flounces in, somehow managing to delight her all the more as she prattled on about how it was quite useful, tasted rather yummy, and – oh how could she ever forget about such thing when Lady Elizabeth always…
He stops hearing her after a few moments of her drabble, staring almost pitifully at her form and waits patiently for her to finish. While he always praised Paula for having the time, patience and energy to entertain Lizzy as she grew he also forgot how alike the two were. Paula, however, seemed nothing more than a washed-out version of an entirely different entity in Ciel's eyes and he would rather be entertaining a prattling Lizzy than he would a prattling Paula. And while that thought seemed completely cruel and irrational, merely wishing the ill fate of his beloved on another, he will not apologize for it. Not when he feels himself starved for her to the point where he is willing to fix her dwindling appearance so it appeared more as if she were well and still very much with him. Consequently, he keeps his mouth firmly closed because he knew that Lizzy adored Paula to pieces and this perhaps were one of the few times he's seen the woman visibly smile and be excited in months. Thus, he let her be as she finally jumped up giddily from where she was and ran down the hallway to the kitchens were she may acquire the ingredients he asked for.
The scrub was a sticky substance of honey, brown sugar and lemon juice that seemed to work magic on Lizzy's lips. Somehow, as he gently applied the concoction and massaged it in with his finger, it seemed to brush away the dry and cracked annoyance he's been pointedly staring at for the last few weeks. How glorious it was that such a small concoction, born out of pages written by a little girl could result in such beauty. When he finally wiped the sticky film away with a warm wet cloth Paula provided he instantly revels at the sight of moist, pinkish, swollen lips. Without realizing it, he quirks a tentative smile as his fingers dance along the edges of her lower lip, tracing it left and right before caressing her cupid's bow.
"There she is," he breaths out mostly to himself, forgetting quickly that Paula was still in the room with him. He keeps on caressing, wondering how it could suddenly feel so supple again. It should be impossible. It shouldn't make sense but as he caresses skin he feels silk and velvet all at once. Light fingers trace left and right and he suddenly wonders what it would feel like to have those lips against his. They have certainly kissed in the past but it was always on the cheek or the forehead, but never once did they–
He rips his hands away from her in a sudden jolt, remembering quite suddenly that he was most certainly not alone and these thoughts were far too diabolical for him to even entertain given her state. A kiss, an innocent kiss, his mind almost hisses back intent on indulging him on something engaged couples would certainly not be faulted to do. Yet, the thought disturbs him and he quickly turns away, vowing never to let his thoughts wander to that again.
The thought was all too real in his head.
He slips one night. He slips much further and much darker than he could ever think he could.
It happens a week after when he awakens once more from another broken nightmare that plagues his aching mind. It always happens in the middle of a dark, dreary cold night when even Edward dares not wander the halls because the marble and wooden floors would surely freeze his feet. He opts to visit Lizzie just after dinner and spend his hour simply telling tales and throwing the occasion half-baked insult his way. By this time Ciel does not mind the company for he has long expanded his repertoire of topics he could have chattered on about. Most of his time is now spent caring for her and reading books, so Edward's company was always welcome.
It was just in the dark desolate night when he is truly alone with Lizzy does he succumb to fears so dark he was sure that Sebastian was up in the room merely salivating over his agony. The nightmares always leave him winded, worn and torn to pieces. He's too frightened. He's always too flabbergasted to believe that this is happening and he always turns to Lizzy for comfort. By now he knows this is perhaps the most idiotic thing to do. What comfort could she possibly give when she is the source of all of his pain? What possible comfort could she physically give him when she is a breathing corpse in his grasp?
Nothing. He knows he will get nothing. But he tries anyway because it is all he has left.
"Wake up!" he cries out sullenly as he keeps a firm grasp over her shoulders and almost shakes her in his frustration. Almost because he is far too winded and weak to physically lift her and she looked far too fragile to move around with any sort of brashness. "Please wake up!" he begs once more as he fists her nightdress until he's almost pulling them away from her pale skin. "Please! I beg you! Wake up!" He is almost commanding her to wake from her coma, begging and pleading over and over again.
He can't take it anymore.
"Please….please! I'll do anything for you Lizzy! Please!" He finds himself looming dangerously over her now, straddling her hips in place and pinning her tiny body under his broken one in a desperate plight to rouse her. Understandably, she merely breathes in response.
He responds in kind with hot, bitter tears. He feels the familiar hot liquid escape his eyes and watches as they unceremoniously grace her face, dampening her clothes, neck, and face. Gritting his teeth he leans closer against her and whimpers out, "Must you torture me like this?" He presses his cheek against hers and tries to take a shaky breath. "Forgive me, please! I…I know you must hate me but spare me from his agony Lizzy! P-please?"
He knows this is her revenge. As he shakily sits up he wonders how pitiful he must look now. He knows his state more than anyone but it still manages to strike him on how much influence Lizzy is in his life. She is his sanity. His future. His life. Peering down curiously at her, he wonders slowly how he even let this happen in the first place. Here he was, straddling a comatose girl who showed not a hint of her consciousness for the last four months and he is left staring at her in a state of shock wondering how she managed to make him feel so deplorable and desperate all at once. How?
Lizzy was always a pretty girl. Even now, as she continues to corrode against his better wishes she has managed to still look beautiful in his eyes. He's tried to fix her. He slathers her with lotions, scrubs and oils to make her seem more alive – just like she always was. But even when she is shriveling and drying, she manages to take his heart away. Oh he knows the hypocrisy, he is well aware of the hypocrisy of his statement but he finds that Lizzy is exactly that. She is the damn absurdity, the paradox, that he – for the life of him – could never get rid of.
Now as he stares hard at her, he shockingly finds himself leaning further and further in until he feels the softness of her breath in against his cheek. His gaze is caught automatically into her supple pink lips, scrubbed and lathered to perfection. This whole week Paula and he learned that Lizzy's body seemed to respond well to simple ingredients and they had treated it like a goddess. While her skin, always soft and firm, was not the same as before he was pleased to find it was no longer as ashy or dry. He had resolved to find a way to combat her unnatural paleness next. However, his crowning achieving would always, always be her lips. They were perfect. Curiosity hits him then, like a lightning bolt and he suddenly wonders what exactly it would feel against his.
His lips graze against hers, very softly at first as though they were touching at all. She remains still as she always does and he keeps himself at bay as though he is testing her reaction to his touch. And predictably, she does nothing but it does little to dissuade him now. Somewhere, in the back of his brain where his consciousness may or may not lay he knew that he should have stopped it there. He should have.
He couldn't even dream of doing so when his tongue darts out curiously, cautiously, and moistens her drip lips before pressing against hers more firmly. She tastes sweet; sweet like the sugar scrub he's used on her earlier. "Mmm," he lets out a throaty moan as his body goes slack and he presses himself further against her, unconsciously rocking his hips gently against hers.
He doesn't even register when his hands fly up to cup her face, one hand trailing down as his fingers take a firm hold of her chin and forces her mouth open. The softness of her mouth is almost painful for him, feeling both scorched and scathingly cold all at once. That does not stop his curious tongue from delving into her hot, slick mouth as he melds his lips against hers and devours all he can. He wants more, more, and more. Groaning, he slithers one arm under her head and tilts her head back to gain better access to her mouth.
As their saliva mixes, he is hit with another thought. She was far too delicious and his mouth couldn't even begin to leave hers now. He wanted to kiss her forever. She tasted even better than he imagined she would taste. With a sigh, he pulls back just enough to gulp oxygen to his system. The sight of a string of saliva connecting their mouths was enough to make him shiver and let out another groan. He wants more. He needed more of this. This, whatever this is, he needed more of it. Indulgent and drunk with euphoria, he satisfies his wanton curiosity of her lips and taste by diving back in without another thought. With another roll of his hips, he clings harder into her and tilts her head over so slightly so their lips aligned just as so.
Perfect. This just felt all too perfect.
His illusion is broken by a hasty pull and he lets out an indignant grunt when he feels a claw grab hold of the back of his sweater and give him a sharp tug. His mouth and caressing tongue is wrench away from hers with an audible pop and he is left winded on the hard cold floor before he could even blink.
"Just what do you think you're doing!?" a brash, throaty voice hissed above him and he trails up the hardened stance of the figure facing him to find Edward Midford towering over him looking as though the devil himself had possessed his soul. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing Phantomhive!?"
Edward doesn't think he's ever felt this furious in his entire life. He was beyond the astute definition of livid, even as he raises one hard hand and aims a well handed back hand against Ciel's shocked face. Belatedly, he realized that he's actually missed when he hits air and realizes that Ciel had merely leaned back, almost lazily to avoid his aim. In retaliation, the little cretin even does so far as blink up at him curiously before a hard set frown graces his face and he had the audacity to raise an eyebrow as he were intruding on something personal.
The little shit.
Growling menacingly, he could not help the shivering anger that simmers and boils in his stomach. He wants nothing more than to stomp on the boy and stab him like spitfire on a hot hearth if it meant watching the piece of shit burn. Yet, he is still sitting there looking as if he had done something wrong by pulling him away from his little sister to do more unspeakable 'things' with his mouth. He had actually found them in a compromising position in the dead of night doing nasty nasty things he was sure he had imposed on his little sister to never do with Sir Earl Phatomhive. And he was sure Lizzy, bashful innocent little Lizzy, would have been mortified and scared stiff with Ciel had come on to her like that. He was like a lapping dog, moaning in gratification by doing an act so vile that…that –
"What makes you think you even had the right to do that to her?!" he hissed out finally pulling himself taut, jaw tense and arms bought to his side. In this position, even Ciel must admit that Edward was intimidating to watch despite the obvious blush that was blooming his way into his face. "What makes you think you could take advantage of her like that you perverted excuse of a man?!"
Ciel's face settles into a hard glare of his own but he says nothing to defend himself. He knows. He knows more than anyone that he had no right to cross Lizzy's personal boundaries like that. Especially not when she was left bare and open to attack without any means to fight. He knows how twisted it is. Swallowing hard, he breaks eye contact with Edward and brings his gaze the floor. There it was, the hard feeling of shame. He had wondered, belatedly why he didn't feel it when he was moving until he was hit hard in droves with it now. It was pulsing.
"I'm sorry…," he begins only to be cut off by Edward who seemed to have gathered his thoughts.
"I don't want to hear it Phantomhive!" Edward growls back as he moves to cover Lizzy from Ciel's gaze and stomps his foot in frustration. "I told mother and father that you've been out of it and it wasn't healthy to be holed in his room all by yourself with Lizzy! I warned them that it was indecent to have you in her company and look at this! I – I – of course I'm right! Look at what you've done! You would have raped her in her damn sleep you –"
"I would not have raped her –"
"Shut the hell up Phatomhive! I am not in the mood for another damn speech and your sniffling right now you perverse little piece of shit! I am marching up right to mother and father and imploring them to have your ass dragged away from this manor once and for all! You are not allowed to be close to her ever again you p – ngh!"
Edward doesn't know what hit him until he feels clammy hands curl against his wind pipes. His words die instantly from his throat as the pressure builds and he connects the hands curling and pinching his neck dry to Ciel Phantomhive himself. In a sudden shot of adrenaline he grabs hold of Ciel's arms only to find his tight hold curl even tighter in response to his action. He lets out a choked murmur before trashing against his hold, intent on using his weight against the boy who had somehow developed super strength despite his emaciated and broken from. He doesn't understand how he's suddenly like this. He doesn't understand how Ciel is suddenly tight, a muscled form of adrenaline and misery all at once.
"…ckk…," he managed to voice out before his vocal are wiped clean when he realizes he is finally being starved of air. The thought is terrifying enough to trash wildly against this sudden spectator who is more than gleeful enough to curl tight and watch the air be pushed out of him.
"Just…," he hears Ciel's wispy voice creep into his ear, "Just who do you think you are?"
Author's Note:
Well then, I think that's a good enough time to stop. Uhm... I don't know what to say about this anymore. I almost feel like I shouldn't be writing this. At the same time, I do look at my notes and wonder why the hell I didn't include them. I don't know. Even more than that, I feel like I could have done this as a new story all together. Like a sequel? But, I hated the idea of ever separating these endings from this main story. They could probably work on their own but what is the point of even having to make a separate story for it when I reference so much from this particular piece. Perhaps it is just me rambling.
Anyway please excuse my grammar and such mistakes. Someday, I might actually look for a Beta and actually reread and edit my work. But today is not that day.
And finally, perhaps the most important announcement for my readers is this. I am most likely turning the rating to Rated M because of scenes that are happening later on in this ending that are too graphic to be just Rated T. This one of the reasons why I didn't want to go with this particular alternate ending is because of this change. I wasn't quite sure how readers would take it? But I suppose it doesn't matter now. For those who do not wanted a Rated M scene, I suppose they could stick to Chapter 6 and be done with it because that is the official ending after all.
Anyway thank you so much for reading and please review. It would mean a lot to get feedback.
