Run and Don't Cry [Yandere!Alois Trancy]

One - Toxin

~

You bolted up in your bed, a cold sweat soaking your back. Hearing someone groan next to you, you remembered that Alois had made you submit to him again that night. You had become used to this...this heinous routine.

A year was a long time.

You couldn't believe it.

Claude brought you the paper every morning like you had requested. That was the only way you could tell what day it was, for your windowless, escapeless cell held no answers. Only a ticking clock and a newspaper helped you keep your sense of time.

"Now, now. Did someone have another nightmare?" Alois' voice made you alert, and you felt as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you. You didn't look at him, but meagrely nodded and Alois gave you a kiss on the cheek. "You seem to be having an awful lot of them lately, ____."

"I know," you muttered glancing at him, and they're all your fault. "I'm sorry to have woken you." Alois shook his head as he leaned his forehead against yours,

"It gives me a chance to comfort you," he noted gently, pulling you back down to the bed with your head on his chest; he ran his fingers through your hair and then kissed it. Alois had been quite tame since you quit trying to escape. You had learned, eventually, to suck it up and to deal with your cell life. You had tried and tried to escape, but you had never gotten past the panel at the top of the stairs. You had even tried to kill Alois a few times, but nothing worked. The guards were on you in a matter of seconds and ripped you away - you hadn't even made a scratch on him. "A girl so lovely as you shouldn't be having such horrible dreams - I love you, ____." You sighed, a mild twisting in your gut,

"I love you too, Alois." You were finally able to say that without stuttering. You had practiced it up and down and now it was totally flawless. There was no hint of stutter in your words, or of sadness in your voice. It was the way Alois wanted it now - truthful sounding. But you knew it could never be; you could never love Alois. Ever. And you had tried to. You figured that if you were stuck in this cell for the rest of your life, then might as well try and find some good in your captor. You could never find any. All of the goodness you used to see in Alois had been burned out. He was hallow now. He had no soul. He had no heart. To you, he was a boy of Blackness. Of Darkness. And there was no light to be found any more. Not even a speck.

Although you were convinced otherwise, you listened intently to the beating of Alois' heart. It still pounded when he touched you, and you knew that he did have some love for you. Some feeling for you. However, the attention he gave was anything but what you craved. You craved something sweeter, something lighter. Someone who sent butterflies herding through your stomach. Any butterflies you had for Alois in the beginning were lost now. They were dead. Just stones that now created dread and weight in the pit of your stomach. You never thought you'd ever feel living butterflies again. For Alois was the only man to touch you. Alois, Claude, Thomas, Timber and Canterbury were the only males to ever see you; none of them gave off the feeling you craved. If anything, the butlers frightened you and some times more so than Alois did. Most times, though, they offered more comfort than their master. The triplets, who were your guards most of the time, would talk to you. You'd even read books to them because they seemed like they got bored.

You did this with Claude on occasion, when he allowed you. He'd bring classics he hadn't heard for a while, and, though your voice seemed like it grated in his ears most of the time, he let you read to him. Hannah, though, was your greatest companion in the manor. Being the maid assigned to you by Alois, she spent the most time with you. You two gossiped like school girls when the mood suited you. Or you'd read to her while she braided your hair, which had grown quit long in the past year. Sometimes you'd try to teach her chess, but it never seemed like she understood it or that she wanted to. More often than not, when you got lonely, Hannah let you tell her stories of life before Alois. You told her stories of your parents, and of the friends you had, and of your adventures in America. She always seemed to enjoy them; unfortunately, she always got called away just when you were starting to feel like a person. That was something else you had discovered over the last year - you weren't a person here. You were an object, a prize - a trophy that had been put on display. You didn't have feelings, you didn't need light or fresh air.