Disclaimer: Clearly I am not a Japanese coorperation

Warning: violence and abuse

A/N: I actually rather like this chapter

Arthur pated my back once and demanded I stop clinging to him.

I did, of course, smiling in pure glee at his return.

The feeling in my stomach had gone away, Arthur made everything better- even when he wasn't trying.

The day went on quietly. Arthur was unpacking his belongings in his room, and I was 'reading' in the livingroom.

If only I could remember howlong you're supposed to wait before turning the page when fake reading...

I watched Arthur intently as he entered the room.

He was truely amazing.

He made himself tea and sat at the table, silently sipping it.

"Alfred, come here."

I walked over, an eagerness gracing my step as went.

I stopped, looking up at him with bright, loving eyes.

The same eyes were screwed shut a moment later, a strangled cry tearing it's way from my throat as my back was scored with whatever steaming tea didn't hit my face.

I clawed at my face, as if it would prevent the severe pain of the boiling liquid sizzling my skin.

I could feel blood mixing with the substance, making it thicker and slightly cooler.

The wind was knocked from my lungs, and all screaming stopped as Arthur sat attop my torso, his nimble fingers curled around my neck.

I gasped for air as his fingers constricted my breathing, my dirty nails digging into his forearms rather than my face.

Now my eyes were wide, staring at his cold ones as I struggled for air.

"Alfie, why was there an indian headdress in your closet?"

The nickname confused me more than the question, and it showed through the confused squeak I made- a plea for mercy, as well as my life.

I didn't know if he wanted an answer, it was clear he already knew it.

I gasped and writhed beneath him, until finally, there was a bit of air.

I swallowed it greedily, unsure when I would get more.

"I'm disappointed in you Alfred, this isn't how I raised you."

One hand removed itself from my neck in favor of caressing my cheek.

I wasn't sure when the tea had stopped burning my face.

The reality was, it hadn't, but air was much more precious.

I stayed still and tried to steady my breathing as his free hand wandered.

It moved from my cheek, to my chest, my hip...

I gasped- the inside of my thigh.

I closed my eyes, unable to look into Arthur's. Not when the looked so...so ferral...so playful...so mischiveous...so angry...so...

so dangerous.

I closed my eyes and just tried to breath.

His hand was making breathing difficult, but not impossible.

"I'm dissappointed you."

He repeated himself, his hand resting on my hip.

I recognized the movement of his hand.

It had seemed to repeat before in beatings when I was younger.

But for some reason my mind was registering it as sexual.

Of course, at this point, I had only known the basics of sexuality, running on what Arthur had provided me with over the years.

I was scared.

I had no idea why, but I was so scared.

It wasn't the suffocation, because I had been able to deal with it.

The hallow feeling was back.

That's what it was.

Guilt.

I knew I deserved this punishment.

"Are you listening to me Alfred?"

I nodded. I always listened to Arthur.

He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to my feet.

I was too worn to scream, so I stood. Simply stood.

"We'll discuss this in the morning. Now go to bed."

As I laid awake in my bed, stairing at nothing.

I rolled over and began to drift off, and I couldn't help but feel Arthur's hands on me.

On my cheek, my chest, my hip, my thigh.

The familiar touches were driving me mad, and I didn't know why.

I fell asleep thinking maybe I'd ask France, teh said he was a 'hounddog' anyway, whatever that is.

But I couldn't help but notice, a small splash of red blood, not too high on the wall.

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