There wasn't really a motive for his current behavior. At least not one that he was willing to confess, to coax a word out of wobbly lips was the same as trying to pry open a metal box with no key.


He wasn't talking, nor he would talk. Not today, nor tomorrow, maybe not anytime soon.


Shadow Milk could feel the frustration seeping through sweetened words towards him bit by bit. He wondered when would Pure Vanilla finally snap, when the patience he so much claimed to have would run out, and what would happen when that inevitably happened. Because Shadow Milk knows that patience has an end.


The ancient could put back together his body as many times as he wished, however the beast just wasn't willing to speak. He did it because he wanted, because it felt good. Pulling his body apart by the seams felt good.


Shadow Milk didn't expect him to understand. Why would he, the healer, understand that he loved pain like one would love a lover? He can never comprehend such thing.


To jump down their bedroom’s balcony and break a bone or two meant he felt good. Felt nice, a feeling that bordered the euphoric, to bend what is broken and put it together in a mass of glue and sewing pins that would fall apart when he would be healed. Shadow Milk begged more times that he can count on two hands for Pure Vanilla to let the pain alone, to leave it there to rot and let the beast feel good a little more. He would beg until tears and snot would make a mess down his face, and Pure Vanilla would kiss them away everytime.


Anger. An anger so deep he would do it all over again. To stop eating, to break mirrors and using the shards to peel away layers of skin, to stick his hands into boiling water and keep it there, head going numb, to jump from high places, to smash his head until he passed out.


Shadow Milk was to be supervised to do any kind of activity, as he would find a way to hurt himself doing anything. He knew that the castle staff was fed up and hoped he would hurt himself so badly he would finally die. He knew that Pure Vanilla hoped so too.


To care for someone that only seeks destruction is the worst kind of fate. A game that would never end and that you would always lose no matter what.


The pristine skin of his body made him want to die, to tear it apart until his insides fall out and hit the floor with a violent, wet thud. Shadow Milk fantasizes to stick his hand into his viscera and squeeze, to let the contents of his stomach spurt out, the fecal matter to stick to his hands and infect the rest of his organs, to die of sepsis due to it. The healer would never understand that.


Sex was unsatisfying, his lover way too gentle, way too careful.


Shadow Milk stabbed his cervix with silverware he snuck into his nightgown and never felt more happy, blood pouring down his legs and soaking the carpet below. The panicked look Pure Vanilla gave him when he found him slumped on the floor, hand holding his tummy and the knife up his vaginal canal and fat tears down his temples, made the beast quiver in ecstasy. The inability of understanding Pure Vanilla had, punched bile up his throat, gagging onto food not fully digested, how Shadow Milk loved the sensation of acid in his mouth.


“St–” A gasp, like he realized what was happening in front of him just at that moment. “Stop!”


“You’re hurting yourself.”


“You’re hurting me.”


“What am I doing wrong?”


“Stop hurting yourself.”


“Did I do something? How can I help you? I’m trying so hard. I don’t know what to do anymore.”


“What’s wrong with you?” What’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you—


“Rape me.”


Shadow Milk scratched at his neck, stinging pain making him hiccup loudly, the gross sound of saliva in his mouth. The blood that flowed from his vagina started to dry onto the soft fabric of the carpet, on his skin, iron smell in his nose. He doesn’t know if Pure Vanilla answered his plea.


“Rape me.” Spoiled child, snot and puke grossly trickling down his upper lip towards the chin, gaze fixed onto nothing and everything.


Maggots crawling in his womb, uncomfortably wiggling into his fallopian tubes. He’s falling apart, rotting genitals, undesiredable and unlovable. He can smell the rot.


“Rape me, rape me, rape me–!” Shadow Milk screeched like an animal, he needed it, he needed it like one needs oxygen to survive. He was born for it, he was built to be broken and bent until every bone of his cracked, born to be violated until his genitalia was torn and unusable. To be beaten into submission and his mind broken to adore the threat of violence. For that is the purest form of love. The only form of love.


Oh, how the sweet face of the man in front of him scrunched into something unreadeable. Pretty, always was.


“Rapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapemerapeme—!”


Shadow Milk stabbed his thigh with a shaking hand, the silverware going deep between layers of skin, maybe touching the layer of fat, he didn’t know what to do with himself. What to do to convince the man in front of him of his need, what to do to stop this feeling. Why does he need to feel like this? Every day, every hour and minute and second without rest, the urge to feel pain so strong he prayed death to come and take him away. Why doesn’t anyone understand this need? Is it so hard to grasp this? Why doesn’t he himself get it?


Like a dying animal he started wailing, moaning, heaving. His hands punching his thighs repeatedly. His vaginal canal stinged horribly, dry blood pulling skin by all directions. He needed it to hurt more, he needed Pure Vanilla to shove his penis deep inside his ruined womb and claim it for himself, to claim Shadow Milk as a doll he only could rape and destroy, ruin beyond the possibility of a happy life. Pure Vanilla is a liar. He didn’t love him. Shadow Milk did, regrettably.


“I love you, please rape me.”


Shadow Milk would never talk of his behavior, for he himself didn’t know why.