Disclaimer: I don't own the myth or Bleach. Any points of clarification can be found below the chapter in my Author's Notes.

Warning: The first scene contains somewhat explicit torture. As in flogging and severe whipping as well as physical abuse. I would not recommend reading the first section if you are weak of heart.

Important Note: To all my Anonymous readers, I didn't realize until very recently that anonymous reviews were disabled. I didn't mean to snub you guys in any way and I apologize if you were rudely rejected when attempting to leave some feedback.

Eros and Psyche
-By the candlelight-

She closes her eyes and pretends the world away.

There's the sickening snap of rope on skin and she presses her lids all the more tightly shut. Her hands scrabble desperately to block the sound from her ears even as she curls into herself. Her imagination is terrible and flashes of welts and bleeding cuts dot her mind's canvas. She shakes them away and denies everything up until the last moment when Gin's spider-like fingers run across her cheek.

"What's the matter?" He coos and the words slide through the gaps between her fingers so effortlessly. "Is little Rukia not feeling well?"

"You get the fuck away from her, Ichimaru." Renji's voice is hoarse and ragged from the flogging and his labored breathing echoes within the room. "Don't touch her like that."

"You're not in a position to make any demands, now are ya, Abarai?" Gin's voice is lazy and threatening at the same time, his lips curving up into a sardonic expression at Renji's pain. ""Sides, last I checked, you still had twenty welts owed to me." His dirty nails trace over her cheek deceptively soft, before dragging jagged lines. She refuses to scream though; it'll only make him feel better about himself.

"I'll…I'll pay his debts, Gin." She whispers into the hallowed darkness of the room and turns her sight away from the window. There's no point in dreaming of a freedom when there's no chance of ever being freed. "Twenty, right?" She asks, and she knows that the number should be closer to two, but she's not in control here. She's never in control. An hour, she thinks forlornly, an hour of listening to Renji's harsh breathing and muted cries of pain, an hour of listening to the rope make contact with skin. An hour of sitting idly by, unable to do anything.

"She doesn't mean it, Gin. She doesn't know what she's saying," Renji pleads in the background, desperation lacing his words. She hopes she'll never hear him pleading and begging for her sake anymore. She doesn't deserve his kindness.

Ichimaru's expression is falsely contemplative, a finger tapping on her forehead in tune with her heartbeat. "But she offered, an' y'know…it ain't nice ta refuse a lady anythin'." He gloats and yanks her up to a standing position. She lurches as he drags her over to Renji and looks down, unable to confront her childhood friend's bewildered expression.

"Why?" His expression says to her and she musters up enough energy to smile brokenly.

"Because it's the only thing I can do for you. Don't look back, Renji." She takes off her shirt with practiced movements, leaving her scarred back open to the chilling air. Maybe, once upon a time ago, her skin was soft and smooth to the touch, but now…it is rough with welts and half-healed cuts. There are burns from candle wax on her shoulder blades and bruises in the shape of fingerprints on her hip from where Gin grabs her in his fits of fury. She's thankful that he hasn't yet managed to actually do anything to her, but the feel of his fingers on her bared back is chilling and somewhere in the room, Renji is shaking his head in despair.

She wants to turn around and tell the red-haired idiot to get out, to leave, so that she can show up later and pretend that everything went just fine. She wants to turn around and yell at him to look anywhere but at her until she's blue in the face. But Gin's insistent grip on her shoulder prevents her from doing anything. "Ya got a good friend 'ere, Renji. Better thank 'er later." He mocks and steps back, the rope sliding on the cement floor with ominous intent. She stiffens, bracing herself as best as she can for the blow that will inevitably come.

She isn't prepared for the brutality of the rope skinning her back open. There's a trail of burning fire down her back and tears form in her eyes. She grits her teeth and bites her lip until blood dribbles down her chin in a weak trail. Nineteen left, she thinks painfully, and screams as the rope is withdrawn and then brought back down on her slender frame for a second time. Renji's words of protest are drowned by her anguished cries as the rope draws blood again and again, her mind counting down the numbers slowly. Her knees shake and she staggers a moment. Gin rights her soon enough, slamming her head against the wall with enough force to nearly have her black out.

"Three left, Rukia-chan!" He says, a smile in his voice, and she refuses to shudder for him—he doesn't deserve that from her.

The blood is hot and heavy as it follows the curve of her spine, dripping sluggishly onto the cold floor and she hisses, nails digging into callused palms. She ignores the open-mouthed shock written on Renji's face and the way Gin's smile stretches from ear to ear. She ignores the goosebumps rising on her exposed torso and the hairs rising on the back of her neck. White everything out, she knows, she has to white everything out if she wants to remain quiet for the last three brutal strikes. It's always the most painful towards the end.

One. She opens her mouth in a soundless scream, feeling the skin peel off until there's only raw and bleeding flesh left behind. Her hands swing limply by her side and she curses in her mind, knowing her silence will only make the last two blows all the more harsh.

Two. Her vocal chords strain against her throat, tender vein lines of blue and green standing out in sharp relief against planes of bone. And still no sound from her mouth. "What's the matter, Rukia-chan? Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles even though she knows he's angry at her for withholding her pained shrieks. Renji's eyes are closed, she can tell from the corner of her eyes, and thanks a nonexistent deity for forcing his eyes shut. She doesn't want him feeling guilty over this later on, when he bandages the raw welts and deep rope burns on her skin.

Three. The last one brings her to her knees, kneecaps colliding harshly with the unforgiving floor. That will leave bruises later on, but she's already moving to put on her shirt soundlessly, slipping the material over her head. The fabric instantly turns deep crimson and when she looks over her shoulder at the motionless rope, she's sickened to see her own blood sprayed over the makeshift whip. She doesn't look closer though, knowing that she'll only see tiny pieces of her skin clinging onto the threads of the rope.

"Aw, that wasn't any fun." Gin complains, but allows her to lean on Renji's shoulder and limp out of the dreaded room. "Don't forget! You ain't getting' dinner t'night, the both of ya!"

His mocking laughter follows them long after the door closes shut with a note of finality.

"I have never seen such a horrific display of pollution before," Yamamoto declares with a wrinkled brow. The pictures playing on the slideshow flash before the Board's eyes, highlighting tons upon tons of gas exhaust and plumes of smoke belched out of outdated factories. "My God! China's a mess!" He adds as a picture of a cloudy Beijing flashes before the room's occupants. Clouded with smoke and dust particles, there is no one in the room naïve enough to think the smoke is something natural.

"Precisely why Eco Corp would like to take over an immense project within China. We would like to request the Board's permission to completely renovate the environment, reducing pollution by as much as forty percent within the next twenty years. Valuable organisms are withering away in the face of such wasteful and careless actions." On another person, the words would've sounded passionate and earnest. But on Byakuya, the words sound flat and robotic, eloquent only in the way a stark black and white photo is eloquent.

He adjusts his tie carefully and fixes a penetrating look at the Head of the Board. "Sir, I assure you the plan will work within the time allotted." Images of violet eyes push past his vision of a cleaner globe, past stock market figures and numbers, and past intricate papers detailing environmentally friendly machines to rest at the front of his mind. His mouth dips into a disapproving frown at his own inability to concentrate and he shoves the image of a too-thin and poor girl out of his mind. He does not need to feel pity at such a time as this. She means absolutely nothing to him.

"It will require much effort upon your part, Mr. Kuchiki. You are young and I am hesitant to hand such responsibility to you. Surely you have a family? This project will drain any time that you have." Yamamoto's voice is deep and wise, but Byakuya is an aspiring man and he is impatient with the warnings.

"I have no wife and do not plan to acquire one in the near future. Please, Mr. Yamamoto, consider the environment and base your decision off of the country's well being rather than my own. I am prepared to take full responsibility for whatever may come of this project." Detached, logical. His tone is one that cannot brook any argument.

Yamamoto sighs, the very breath seemingly rattling his old frame. It is a startling contrast between the two of them, for Byakuya is in the prime of his life with a handsome face and a strong and toned body. The Board members notice the young CEO's maturity and whisper amongst themselves that he will be the one to revolutionize the world. They see him as an inspiration and as a self-sacrificing individual. "We will notify you by fax of our final decision, Mr. Kuchiki. Thank you for your time."

But little does the aged corporate leader know; the decision has already been made.

Shuuhei's expression is torn between pity and being shell-shocked. "What the hell happened?" He curses loudly, not so much a question as a bewildered demand for answers. She doesn't blame him for it; it's been a long time since she has shown up with so much blood pooling out of her thin body. He puts down his meager dinner, keen eyes noticing the way she deliberately tries to look at anywhere but the half-filled plate.

"She took the rope for me. Twenty times." Renji's voice is low and filled with self-loathing and guilt, just as she feared. He sits down with a long-suffering sigh and winces as the movement agitates his own share of injuries. "Gin was especially brutal to her today. He started taking off skin by the fifth blow and she was bleeding before he even reached ten." He buries his head in his hands and doesn't look to meet her eyes.

"Stop it." She snaps and hisses as Shuuhei begins to apply some stolen ointment or other on her back. His hands are rough but mindful as he spreads the balm over her rope burns and her two-day old candle wax burns. He wraps the bandages on her back, undoing them again as they are instantly soaked through. The process repeats itself until Shuuhei's satisfied enough that the bandages will remain clean for a decent period of time. "I did it for you so you better wipe that wimpy look off of your face. You know how much I hate it when people pity me."

"How could I possibly just brush off the fact that you fucking nearly got yourself killed over me? Rukia, there was no reason for you to do that!" Renji shouts, fists clenching as he final musters up the courage to look her in the face. It's not supposed to be like this. He's supposed to be the one protecting her, not the other way around. He doesn't want her to be his scapegoat, but she's never listened to him and she never will.

"So it's not alright for me to protect a friend? So it's not alright for me to want to save someone I care about from more pain? So it's fine if you sweep by and act the role of the hero, but it's not alright if I want to be the heroine? Well screw you Renji. I was just trying to help." She screams and shoves Shuuhei away from her as she stands up, face red with anger. There's a moment that passes where it looks like she's about to say more, but a strange look crosses her face and turns on her heel, furiously barreling her way out of the room.

"Oy, Rukia? Where are you going? Don't run around with your back like that!" He shouts, but she's already gone, the cool wind filtering through the door his only reply.

"You're a real dumbass, you know that Renji?" Shuuhei sighs and rests an elbow against the floor as he picks at the remains of his dinner.

"I know. Believe me, I know." He replies and rests his head against the wall in defeat.

She's running and her lungs are on fire, but she can't stop. Her bare feet pound on the dirt and gravel, muffled as the rocks scratch her skin and the sand makes pocket marks. She feels the distinct urge to cry, but swallows around the lump in her throat to take a deep gulp of fresh air. Pity. Sympathy. She hates these emotions as much as she hates her own inability to stand up to Gin. Away from his serpentine eyes, she can muster up the anger and the hatred and physically assault something. But when she's in front of him and his eyes are raking over her body, she can only stand and shiver. He sucks the life out of her.

The streetlamps flicker in her vision blurrily and she turns around the street corner, running and running. She doesn't know where she's going, but she just needs to get away for now. It's a moonless night and she raises a hand to scrub furiously at her eyes, killing whatever tears dare to fall. She's better than this. She knows she is. But it's like everything's building up like a typhoon inside and it's ripping her to pieces. She's running and it isn't until she skids to a sharp stop outside of a building that she realizes it's the same spot where she met that stranger earlier on.

She wonders if he'll be here like her, but brushes away the absurd notion. He probably has a place to go home to, a family, and a nice living style. He's probably well enough on money and successful. She slides down the wall of the building to the floor, breathing heavily and feeling the lack of air irritate her lungs. He's probably too good for the likes of her to even see again.

"You…again." She hears, and whips her head up in disbelief…maybe even hope.

It's almost too surreal.

He has some papers to grab back in the office, which explains his presence here in front of his corporation's building. But the tiny and ragged figure sitting in front of him neither works in the building nor looks like she even belongs in the higher end of the city. Her hair is still as dirty as ever and she's gasping for breath, stirring a foreign feeling behind his ribcage.

He walks towards her, he's not sure why, and when he whispers his words, her head snaps up as if she's terrified of someone hunting her. Her glimmering violet pools are even brighter by the streetlamps and he sees the glistening of something else—tears? He shakes his head and berates himself for even caring about whether the tramp is crying or not. He wants to walk past her and enter the building, but he stops right in front of her instead, kneeling so that he's face-to-face with her. A part of him wants to demand what he's doing, but he's going on instinct alone and he's not scared yet of where this is going.

"I'm sorry," She blurts out and immediately feels like an idiot and a fool.

His smooth face is expressionless as he observes her silently, but even she can feel the question in his mind. "What are you sorry for?" He asks finally, locking gazes with her once more.

She laughs suddenly, aware of the difference between them. He is in a freshly pressed Armani suit with a Gucci watch strapped to his wrist and she is in little more than a large nightgown, dirtied with dust and smeared in some spots with mud. She tries to push herself off the wall and stand up, but her legs shake and she collapses back on the floor again. "For being here, for troubling, for bumping into you earlier." She rattles off a list, watching as his blank face takes on a more puzzled look. God, she doesn't even think she's sane anymore. The lights blink out one by one and then it's all black.

He's concerned, though he shouldn't be. Her eyes are glazed and she looks feverish in the poor lighting. Her shaking legs and the wince that comes with her collapse don't escape his attention either. Carefully slipping off his jacket, he folds it, ready to slip it around her thin shoulders before he realizes she's already unconscious. Careful fingers tip up her chin before he moves forward to take her into his arms. It would be wrong to leave her here in the chilly night with a fever, he thinks, unwilling to believe that there could possibly be a different reason behind his actions. But as Byakuya places a hand on her back (disturbed as he can feel the sharp outline of her spine stretching taut against skin) a sinking feeling fills him deep inside.

When he pulls away his fingers, he forgets how to breathe.

Her blood is all over his hand.

-Mend her broken spirit-

Author's Notes:Yet another chapter done, and it's pretty long. It's actually over 3,000 words long. Yes! I've come a long way from writing just 1,000 word long chapters and I'm really proud of that. I'm sorry for the grotesque torture scene, but I wanted to drive the point in that she's really suffering. This was written in response to a certain reader's demands for an update. The next chapter will be up in about two weeks or so, uh, maybe longer actually. Despite the darkness of this in the beginning, I assure you it will get better as the story progresses. Please drop a comment; it really does inspire me to write more!

Summary and Preview of Chapter Three:

He has seen many a disgusting sight in his life. He has seen twisted and horrific scenes before, but as she slips off her shirt for the doctor in his bedroom, even he can barely contain the impulse to look away in horror. Her back is mottled with scars, some new and some old, and ripped open with rope burns. "Who did this to you?" He asks, unable to stop the question from coming out into the open. He knows she won't want to answer and will probably lie anyways, but he wants to know—needs to know.

She doesn't turn around from her position on the bed and gives a bitter laugh that strikes a chord somewhere in his heart. "Why would you care?" She asks as the doctor runs a trembling hand down her mutilated flesh, eyes unable to do anything but stare.

He wants to say that he should care, that of course he would care. But there really isn't reason for him to care and so he stays quiet. He knows that there are some things you have to earn the right to hear, and he knows that he will most likely never earn the right to demand that answer from her.

Still, he can't help the slow burning of anger inside of him at her defeated appearance.

Summary: In which Byakuya feels righteous anger for someone other than himself and Rukia disregards her place in the world. And somewhere between everything, Life decides to make life even more unfair.