Bad Sebastian. Bad.
Yes, I've been bad.
Pu-nishment. P-unishment.
Yes, I need a punishment.
My legs shake as I cross the room and collapse into the chair by my desk. I toy with the wrapper, stretching out the moment. Prolonging this moment, leading to what I deserve and what I need. Two sides of the same blade.
Hurry. Hurry. P-punishment. Now. Now.
Yes, it's time.
I strip the wrapper away, my gaze locked on the silver glint between my fingers. I trail the blade over my fingertips. I don't cut. Not yet. I'm just feeling the sharp kiss of the edge.
Will it bring relief? Or will I dig myself another grave and fill it with shame?
Shame on you.
Yes, shame on me.
Undeserving bastard. Worthless. Unworthy.
With steady hands, I guide the blade to my left arm. This is new. I've marked my right arm and other hidden places no one sees, but not here. Not the left. But it feels right tonight.
I glide the edge over my skin, featherlight. Not deep enough to cut, but enough to sting.
Yes. This.
This is what I needed.
This is what you deserve.
True.
But just like everything else, I twist it till it bends to my will. Punishment is what I deserve, and I'm delivering it, but I'm also gaining from it. The physical pain takes away everything else, leaving me with the sting, the soon-to-be torn skin, and the promise of blood.
Punishment delivered. Punishment twisted into relieve.
I'm the winner at the end.
Even in punishment, I win.
Bad Sebastian. Twisted. Everything you touch withers.
I slide the blade lower, over my thigh, just below my underwear. This time, I don't waste time. I cut deep.
One line.
Blood.
Red skin.
Torn flesh.
Sweet, sweet blood.
Flow. Flow freely as I stay a prisoner to this mind.
