Two updates in a week! I am on a roll and on track to keep my promise of updating at least one chapter of my stories a week. I hope you guys enjoy this nonsense chapter, though to me, it makes perfect sense.

I sport a bandage around my eye as I am told callously that my right eye will forever be damaged and useless. I reach to touch the cloth that covers my battle scar, and I quietly swear to myself that I will inflict an equally or worse detrimental injury to that bastard.

And yes, I am semi-blind but that does not make us on equal footing as he had said while puncturing my eye. No. I hold all the pieces. In my clutches, I see his frangible brother, who will remain Sebastian's Achilles heel. I see these endless lines of accomplices that I can use for my benefit and dispose when they are no longer needed. Yes, I am winning. This is just a minor setback.

Until it works in my favor as my visits to Sebastian will be every day of the week. More exposure to him will allow me to torture him and discover more of his weakness. I don't just want to ruin him. I want to destroy any possible attempt of him rebuilding his life after I am done with him. I want to obliterate his will to life, and I need more leverage to succeed in that.

I am given a two-day grace period to recover after my "attempt" of self-mutilation. These imbeciles are all fooled by Sebastian, and if I could, I would pity them for being so figuratively blind to his true, sadistic nature. Since I don't feel that emotion, instead, I hate them for their idiocy and ignorance. But they will see what he truly is when I done with him. A sniveling, pathetic, inadequate human being I will derive him to be when I am through.

When I see him again, he adorns a mask unperturbed by recent and future events. It seems like he is waiting for my reaction, and I disappoint him by not giving him one. I give him a dull and bored look with my lone emphasizing my nonchalant-ness. I just sit down across from him.

As if a see-saw, he stands as soon as I sit. He crosses over to me, and I force my body to not tense at his abrupt proximity. He grabs my arm and raises it to the table and lays it there. My shackled hands twitch in the reflex to close them in fist, but I override the installed behavior with might alone. I feign relaxation though I am past being wary of his unexpected actions.

His fingers caress my arm, and I cannot prevent the goosebumps from forming though I command my body to stop the process. I glance at his face sluggishly, as if it is too much of a bother to give him a fraction of enthusiasm in my movements.

His expression is bare of any indication of why he is touching me, but his eyes tell me something they are not supposed to. It is lust. Or maybe attraction. Whatever it really is, I know that this is weakness in some kind of fashion, and I won't forget it.

I am not lost in his gaze, but I do not feel the needle enter my veins until he pulls out the metal rod. He ceases all contact as he exits the room with the used tool and reenters without it. He then smoothly slides into his chair gracefully. Infuriatingly.

"What did you inject me with?" I ask, breaking the silence that had spanned too long for my liking. However, what I dislike more is that it is I who had to break it in the first place.

"A sedative. I am to issue you one before our secessions, you know, just in case you were to repeat an action like the other day," he explains, and I growl at his ease.

"Shouldn't have they issued it to you since you are the risk in this room?" I question harshly.

He purses his lips slightly, maybe hiding a smile when he says, "Semantics."

I glare. He smiles. And it is quiet.

"How's the eye?"

"Fucked." I slur at him. "Just like you will be."

"What a mouth on you, Ciel. So vulgar you are." He gets up, and for some reason, my heart pumps unevenly. He moves closer to me, and he tips my chin upwards. My breath is shaky as it passes my opened lips. "So utterly disgusting." He presses his lips against mine, and my one eye widens. He slips his tongue in mouth as if it belonged there. As if this were natural.

I'm heated all over as he toys with my unresponsive tongue with his. The sedative does nothing to calm my heart nor hormones as he nips at my bottom lip. I am much too hyper-sensitive to his actions than I'd like to admit, but just like my goosebumps, my body naturally responds to him against my wishes.

He pulls away and a strand of saliva clings to him as my body yearns to. Repulsed by that and the spittle that connects us, I hazily lash out one of my legs at his, but I do not make contact with him. I am stitched to my seat with threads of want that I cannot move even a little.

He gives me a peck, and he straightens out. He walks to the door, and without looking back, he leaves me. With my body unresponsive to my whims and no explanations, he makes his escape, and I begin to wonder if this exchange even occurred. I must be drugged by morphine or Vicodin to the point that I am loopy with the side effects. This is a mere illusion. Except it is not. Because I am erect in the sweats we are allotted in this prison.