Nikki: Well this is a depressing one for you people. I don't know what made me think of this but something did so enjoy. Or cry. Whatever floats your boat.

Discaimer: Does it look like I'm a rich person who makes millions off of Ciel Phantomhive's ass? No? Didn't think so.

Torture Time

Prologue

My room is dark…pitch black. It looks…dead to everyone who enters, except me.

My name is Ciel Phantomhive; I am a 16 year old male. I love the dark and I am afraid of the light.

…And this is my story.

Chapter 1

I wake up with the sun flashing brightly through my bluish-black curtains. I frown at the thought of the day before me. My body feels limp and I feel like groaning. I don't though, because I am scared that if I do they will know where I am.

I know they can't find me anymore (they have been in jail for 3 years) but I won't putting what they did to me six years ago behind me. Either way I'm not pushing my luck. You can never be sure of what-or who- is waiting for you out there.

It's 6:52 in the morning here in Brooklyn, New York. I would go back to sleep but decide against it. I can't go to sleep unless I bawl my eyes out until I pass out. Not to mention, I really do not want my body to be wracked by convulsions because of my nightmares so early in the morning. Even if I could sleep, my mom is coming to wake me up in about 8 minutes, so it doesn't matter.

My schedule is the same every day. My mom will wake me at 7:00 sharp; I will get dressed; eat breakfast in my room by myself, then go to my three-hour homeschooling session. My mornings are always the same and I like it that way.

I know what you guys are thinking. Why am I homeschooled instead of going to public school like the friends used to have? Well, I'm a special case. I used to go to public school…that is before the incident, I did. Afterwards I never was the same. Everyone says that I became distant and socially awkward. That I grew more and more separate; my parents got worried about my social skills and took me out. My hope of ever being normal again was ruined because of… them.

What happened to my old friends? I don't think they know me anymore. They probably think I'm dead. I wouldn't be surprised if they thought I was.

I can feel tears well up in my eyes at the thought. My friends believe I'm dead because we needed a story. Everyone knows what happened to me, so my parents said that they tormented me and I killed myself. At least that's the story the 'rents made up.

The tears are now threatening to fall from my eyes. Though before they do, someone starts knocking on my door and it takes the place of my one track mind. I wipe the tears out my eyes and I shuffle out of bed.

I open the door and my mom is there in her robe and with some pancakes on a tray.

"Good morning, honey. How are you?" My mother says in a sickly sweet voice.

I slap a smile on my face and mutter," I'm good. What am I learning today?" She pushes me aside and enters my room. She knows from experience that I will not let her in unless she forced me to.

She looks at me and mentions nothing about my possible puffy cerulean eyes. "In history you will be learning about the revolution. In math, calculus. In science, chemistry." She states handing over the plate and a bottle of aunt Jemima's syrup.

I just nod but internally I groan at the schedule, history seemed to be interesting (it is my favorite class). Math and science though is just…blegh. I don't even want to think about my least favorite classes.

My mom exits the room and I go to the window. I rarely go outside but today does look promising. It's cloudy and the sky looks about ready to slam down a big helping of rain. No one goes outside in the rain, its common sense. When no one is around is what I love best… except writing. I like writing just a little bit better.

I munch on my pancakes, once in a while I will pour a thick glob of syrup into my mouth.

If my friend Lizzy saw me right now she would probably say, "You sugar-a-holic. If you keep eating like that you're going to get fat." I keep chomping on the cakes until I finish them.

I walk three floors down to the pastel colored kitchen and dining room. And, like always my mother is waiting for me there. My dad is at work today…I think but he barely is here anyway. If you didn't know my family you would think my parents were divorced. Mom snatches the plate from my hands and quickly scrubs the dish back to its spotless quality it was until I got through with it. I seat myself at the table and glance at the walls. The reason why the walls always draw my attention is because nothing hangs from them.

The walls are bare; no family portraits, no baby pictures, nothing. I never likedpictures so we had very few of them of myself. Then the ones we did own were burned by them. They thought it would be funny, hilarious even. (The same way I found it plenty amusing when they got put behind bars.) I thought it was some sick joke. They burned my parent's memories and killed me at the same time. What a wonderful way to ruin a family, don't you think?

"Ciel, honey?" Mom calls for me. I realize she has a sense of urgency and concern in her tone. I'm clenching my fists so hard red crescents are forming on my palms and my jaw is aching from the strain of gritting my teeth.

I pause for a moment to compose myself. My jaw and fists relax. I face my mother, feigning innocence.

"Yes, mom? What's wrong?"

"Are you okay? You seem to be spacing out a lot lately." She wipes her hands on a towel hanging from a rack and presses her palm to my forehead.

I wince at the contact, my breathing becomes labored and I start to form a tight fist once again. I feel like slapping her hands away and yelling at her not to touch me. Though in the back of my mind I have a sliver of sanity I haven't lost yet and it speaks to me (maybe I have lost all of my sanity). It tells me: she is your mother; she will not hurt you. The thought soothes me enough to let her check my temperature for two seconds.

"You don't seem to have a fever. Are you positive you are feeling okay?" My mother's eyebrows are furrowed and her small nose is scrunched up in worry.

"I'm fine, mom." I throw another smile at her and continue, "I'm going to go to my room and change. I'll be done by the time Angela gets here."

I disappear from the room before she can protest or say anything. Angela is my tutor and she is 24 and an okay person. Though she is a bit on the coo-coo side she makes everything fun. She has been my tutor since before the Incident.

I run back into my room. The walls are the same shade of blue as my eyes (dark azure with a hint of lavender mixed in). /I have an adjoined bathroom within my bedroom. I peel off my nightclothes- finally remembering that they are still on- and start to throw on random clothes from my closet.

After changing into a plain blue dress shirt and stone washed black jeans, I crawl into bed again. I am not a morning, nor am I a day person at all. I feel like falling asleep again but choose not to because I know someone could see my puffy eyes and stained cheeks if I start crying now. Also it would be best not to keep Angela waiting (God forbid I am ever late again).

I remember when I hated Angela (even more now) I did some really bad things. My mom said I spilled tomato juice on her white dress and pushed her down the stairs because I loved her once. My dad understood that I loathed her- it's a guy thing. Though the feeling is mutual, I guess, because she calls me 'filth' when she sees me. I don't mind her teaching me but she scares the schnitzels out of me when I'm late for classes.
Who cares if I ruined her dress, or broke her arm or-.

Once again my thoughts are cut off by something. It was a bird chirping loudly while perched on the tree outside my window. I hate birds (I hate all animals but no need to get technical). My parents just had to give me the room in the back. It has caused me so much trouble that stupid tree and dumb backyard.

My fists start to clench again. I close my eyes literally reliving the memories.

They break through the window. The glass window shattered and I awoke abruptly in my room. My heart raced at the sight of two guys standing in front of me. My mind questioned how they came through the window of a room on the third floor.

Then one of them speaks.

"Hello boy. Where are your mom and dad?" Goon One spoke in a bitter sweet tone.

In my moment of panic, I responded hastily without thinking.

"Mommy and daddy are not home. They are coming back tomorrow." My voice contained the last piece of innocence the Earth would ever see from me.

"Perfect." With that it was too late to realize that Goon Two was missing from his partner in crime's side.

A rag is slapped across my mouth and nose, cutting off all oxygen from entering my lungs. I try to breath in my naivety and breathe in chloroform from the dingy fabric. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I knock out like a light.

My breath is hard and I feel raw rage, at myself and at them. At myself, for telling them I was basically alone. At them since they are the cause of my pain and they had done this to me.

I sit down in the middle of my bed and clutch my knees to my chest. I'm sweating and tears are threatening to fall again. I swallow harshly but the lump in my throat won't vanish no matter how hard I try. I start to rock back and forth like a mental person would. I let out shaky breath after shaky breath and blink a few times to dismiss the tears from my eyes. The action is futile though and the blinking forces the water out of my eyes.

The tears spill out from underneath my eyelids. They don't make it any further than the bridge of my nose before I wipe them away. Even though this room is supposed to be my comfort zone and I should feel safe, I don't.

[.*.*.*.*]

After tutoring, I make a sandwich for myself. It has turkey and cheese on toasted bread because it's so simple. I like simple things; odd enough my life is anything but. Oh, the irony.

I'm tired and my limbs feel heavy. I haven't even fallen asleep yet. I'm hungry, tired and unsocial all at the same time right now. Basically I am dead at the moment.

I feel like I just ran a marathon. It's amazing because I haven't even been outside in about… I don't know… 8 months? I'm a very skinny boy with slate gray hair and ugly cerulean blue eyes. My arms and legs are sticks. They are so fragile I'm scared of breaking them by walking down the stairs.

I was a chubby boy as a kid, but everyone said I was a beautiful and rare sight to see. And look at me now. I have the worst of everything.

Well maybe not the worst. They are guys like me that are killed after someone hurt them.

I could be dead. But who cares? Since I'm already dead inside.

I kind of care but that stuff don't matter.

I'm arguing with myself. I am driving myself insane. Maybe I should see a therapist, then again therapist- the rapist.

I shudder at my own thoughts.

"I'm going to kill myself before my 21st birthday. I can tell. Why can't my life go the way I want it to?"

I almost punch the wall due to the frustration I cause myself.

Oh and did I ever mention that I have a few anger management issues?

"What am I saying? Who knows how I'm going to pass on? Whether I kill myself or others do it for me hasn't been decided.

I throw myself back on the bed and sprawl out. I start to chuckle then break out into laughter. I sound like a total madman but I guess its okay.

My laughter dies and the amused grin on my face fades. Once again I'm left to my own devices in utter silence.

I crouch onto my knees and look around as if searching for something. My mind is full of thoughts and questions, yet I have no desire to reply to them.

I try to break the pregnant silence in the room by voicing out the first thing that comes to mind.

"What do I have to live for?"

I think about it more and more. My heart tells me about Angela, my mom and my dad. My brain on the other hand says the first thing that comes to mind.

"What do I have to live for?"

I think about it more and more. My heart tells me about Angela, my mom and my dad. My brain on the other hand says, 'you have nothing. No one loves you, you are just a burden. Why live when you just cause trouble?"

I walk into my bathroom and splash frigid water on m face. I try to relieve myself of the thoughts but it doesn't work.

…Then I see the small needle; my mom must have left it here when she fixed my jeans last week.

I pick it up and twirl it around it between my pointer fingers and thumb. The sharp point glides over my skin with ease. The pain caused is a little sting… and I love the sensation. My brain craves for more and I make sure to give in to the urge.

Nikki: Yeah, so tell me what you think of the story. If it sucks, I know already. If it happens to be good, wow why don't you tell me that.

REVIEW! PLEASE, OH PLEASE!