Secrets of the Dark

by xXMistress ShikiXx

Rating: M

Summery: Ciel Phantomhive is a broken soul, wounded beyond repair. When an accident is misunderstood, he is sent to a mental hospital. It's there that he meets Sebastian Michiaelis the one person who makes him feel anything at all.

Warnings: M/M relationships. Very dark themes including rape, suicidal thoughts, self harm, ect. Hurt/Comfort. Please DO NOT READ if any of these elements may disturb you.

Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel

Note: This fic is AU from Kuroshitsuji. Sebastian is not a demon. Everyone is human. It is set in modern day. I've also changed Ciel's past a bit. It was never really explained in depth as far as I know, so I kinda took my own turn on it. I'm going to try and keep most of the characters in character, but I can't guarantee that they will always act perfectly. Another thing, I've done quite a bit of research into psychology and such for this fic. I'm fairly knowledgeable about mental hospitals too, as I've actually been in one. Some things may be a bit off though so forgive me if they are. ^-^

A/N: Hello, and welcome to my story. I hope you enjoy!~

Please do take notice of the warnings I have posted. This fic will deal with very dark themes. All of them are terrible things that no one should never have to deal with. However, there will be lots of comfort as most of this fic is based on Sebby helping Ciel deal with his past. Though if any themes I've mentioned may disturb you then please don't read. I don't mean to upset anyone with them. *Honest*

Also, I've decided to take a new pov for this story. It's one I rarely see in fanfiction. I can't recall what it's called exactly, maybe present tense or something. XD I though it might be interesting to right this way, so readers will be pulled into the story more. I apologize if some sentences are short...but I thought it might be realistic since no one really talks or thinks in long paragraph sentences anyway. Regardless, it's my first time writing like this, so some feedback might be nice.

I will try and update this story as often as possible, but I can't guarantee a specific time frame between chaps. It really comes down to how much time I have at the moment and the inspiration I have. =)

This is more or less a prologue, as it's just explaining how he got into this situation. It will also be the shortest chapter that will reside in this fic. The others will be much longer, I promise. =)

So, I hope you enjoy this fic~

Ps: I cannot stress the warnings for this fic enough! Please, if you are disturbed or upset by any of them, than please please DO NOT READ. This story is solely something I came up with. Given Ciel's past, I thought it might be interesting to delve into it a bit more and explore what someone might resort to having been through it. *nods*

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji in no way belongs to me. They belong to the wonderful Yana Toboso. I borrow her characters without permission but with affection.~ I just love them all so much! 0w0

This fic is purely for entertainment purposes. No money is being made from it at all.

~Shiki

Prologue

Hands grip my thin wrists like a vice and I let out a choked whimper at the pain. I don't dare to make a sound louder than that in fear of being punished. Cold metal replaces the hands and a click tells me I am chained here for the time being. The man shakes the chains hanging between my hands harshly, making sure there wasn't any chance of me somehow getting out of them. The chains rattle a song of hopelessness as the man lets go and leaves, his boots clacking against the hard concrete floor. I curl into my body as much as I can and let the tears fall from my eyes in a silent rain. Here, alone in this dark cell is the only place I can freely let out my sorrow. I learned that the hard way, and I have the bruises to show for it. I curl up even tighter and close my eyes; hoping that when I open them again that this place would be gone and I will be home with my parents.

My eyes flicker open and I sigh in relief as the familiar white ceiling fans out above me. I roll over onto my side and breathe in deeply as I take in the surroundings of my room. Oh how I cherish them. Each and every one. When I wake up from terrible nightmares like this recent one, they all bring me back down to reality and hold me there. But that's the extent of what they do. They can't make my past go away, or fend off the next night's memories that will plague my dreams.

I slip out from under the covers and pad to the door that leads to my adjoining bathroom. Once there I stand in front of the mirror and take in my newest appearance. Messy navy blue hair falls in mops around my head, deep; sunken blue eyes mock me as they stare me down through the mirror. I frown at the fragile, broken figure that stands before me wishing there was a way to repair the damage done by those men. I shake my head and tear away, turning the knob of the shower. I strip and step in, shivering at the icy cold water. The knob is far away from the warm section but I make no effort to turn it. The water cuts through me and makes me feel alive. Something I rarely feel these days.

I scrub through my hair twice and rinse my body three times, lingering on the brand mark on my chest. I scrub furiously at it until it begins to sting, but it refuses to leave my skin. I finally give up and shut off the water. I linger there for a moment, then step out and grab a towel, drying myself off. I wander back out into my bedroom, dropping the towel mindlessly onto the floor, and hastily grab clothes out of my closet.

However, I do not put them on. Instead, I fling them to an unknown corner of the room and grab a small box nestled on a shelf behind the clothes. I slide down to the floor, holding the box close to my chest. I pull the box away and open it, revealing a soft velvety cushion. On it rests a ring. Silver, with a deep blue gem nestled in its setting. It's the only thing I have left of my parents. I run my fingers over the ring, trying to memorize every part of it, so that I will never forget it. I can't afford to forget the one thing that means anything to me.

But this is not the purpose of me pulling out the box. I take the ring out, along with the velvet and stare at a new flash of silver, previously hidden beneath the cushion. It's a small razor. But it's still sharp enough to get the job done. It had taken a lot of work to smuggle this to my room with the ever watchful eyes of the caretakers. I'm glad I have it though. It's the only thing that seems to relieve some of the pain. Make it disappear, if only for a little while.

I take it out, and discard the box, holding the metal skillfully. I know every inch of this blade. Which areas are the sharpest. Which areas will cut the deepest. I know exactly how much pressure to apply as it cuts through my skin. Enough to make it hurt terribly, but not enough for it to permanently scar. Of course through my testing, I had made a couple mistakes and cut a wound a little too deep. I run my fingers over the light scar now.

I narrow my eyes and bring the blade to my chest, right over the brand mark. Sometimes I think that if I cut deep enough, maybe I'll be able to finally be rid of the horrid thing. But I know it's impossible without bleeding to death. Perhaps this would be a better option for me? Death? No. I know I want the pain. I don't want to escape from it.

I lean back and give a laugh. How hypocritical of me. I'm cutting to get rid of pain that I don't want anymore, yet I don't want to die so I can feel pain. I imagine how I must look. Crazy probably. Sitting on the floor with a razor in my hand and a laugh bubbling out from between my lips.

I stop and frown when I hear footsteps outside my door. My body tenses, then relaxes as I realize it was just one of the others heading down for breakfast. They won't bother if I don't go out yet. However, the caretakers are a different matter. They are obligated to check on me if I don't go down soon. I know they would rather not, and I really wish they didn't, but I know I have to hurry this up if I don't want to get caught.

I wince, then sigh as I sink the blade into the brand. I watch idly as the blood runs down my body, decorating it in crimson strands. I give a few long cuts then stop, wiping the blood off of the razor and off of myself. I reach back into the closet and pull out a roll of bandages. I wrap one around me and throw the rest back onto the shelf. I place the razor back into the bottom of the box, placing the velvet and the ring back on top of it.

I put the box back safely on the shelf, next to the bandages and close the closet door. I stand up, a little light headed, and go to retrieve the clothes I had carelessly thrown. I slip them on, checking multiple times to make sure no blood had soaked through anything, and open my door. It clicks closed behind me and I wander off down the hallway to the stairs.

Breakfast is disgusting. The grainy eggs the caretakers shovel onto my plate are bland and squirm unpleasantly as they slip down my throat. The toast is black and burnt, and the milk is somewhat sour. It takes all I have to resist the urge to throw it back up. I eat it all without a sound, and when one of them asks me if I want more, I say yes, and eat all that too.

Some of the other kids are watching me as if they are relieved I am eating most of it so they don't have too. One even offers me her portion when the caretakers aren't looking. I smile and shove it down my throat. She seems satisfied. Probably some once rich kid who wasn't used to eating anything like this.

But, that was once me I tell myself. At one time, I would've never dreamed of eating any of this. That time is all but burnt away. I sit still as a rock as the rest of the kids fight to finish their meal. You are required to finish or you miss the next two meals. Something my body doesn't need. Not with my habit.

When everyone has managed to finish and keep down breakfast, save for the girl whose portion I ate, the caretakers all give us our schedules for the day. The first thing on my list is cleaning. I shiver. It's not that I hate cleaning other people's rooms. It's the fact that I swear animals have better hygiene than half the older boys here. My nose is scrunching already.

The act of cleaning also invokes terrible memories within me. I've cleaned enough in my lifetime. Oh how I sometimes wish for the luxurious life of the rich where I can slowly wither away in peace, trapped within my own personal hell. I trudge after the other three unfortunate souls who have cleaning duty with me. I recognize one of them, an older boy with long dark hair and narrow eyes. I don't know his name, but I'm sure he hates me. He's looking at me with those scrutinizing eyes of his as he hands me a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaning spray.

An older girl gets the vacuum and another boy gets nothing. I suppose he's supposed to help me, but he doesn't because I think he hates me too. Whatever. I like being alone better anyway. It's probably good that I don't have friends here, or they would surely notice how I am always the last one to breakfast and the last one to go to sleep. For the most part I am ignored, and I am left to carry out my habit in peace.

I start on the first floor, entering the first room I see. I work like a zombie, slow and lazy, missing many smears of dirt. I would probably get caught later, but I don't really care. There isn't anything these people can do to make my life worse. I am almost finished with the room when the dark haired boy with narrow eyes enters. I turn. "Can I help you?"

He glances around the room and runs a finger across a nearby desk. It comes away covered in dust. His eyes narrow even more if that's possible. "Have you even cleaned this room Phantomhive?"

"Yes." I mumble.

"You have not! Start again!" He orders. I make no effort to move back to the start and begin cleaning once more. He crosses the room in a couple strides and squats down next to me. He places his hand on my back and I flinch harshly under his touch. "Start. Again." He hisses and gives a shove, pushing my face to the ground.

"Alright." My voice is barely audible but he seems to have heard it. He leaves without another word.

I hate it here. I wonder if going back to that place would be better than staying here. I realize that's not true. Anywhere is better than that place. Even here. Besides, I have my razor. I can cope. My hand involuntarily goes to the place where my brand would be underneath my clothing. I clench my teeth so hard it hurts. If it weren't for them, then I would be with my parents, living in our nice large house, far away from every one of these people. My eyes feel wet and I curse them for betraying me like this. I cannot cry. I will not cry. It's a sign of weakness, and I most definitely won't let anyone here see me weak.

I quickly clean the room again, making sure to leave it extra shiny for him. When I'm finished, I actually smile at my handiwork. There's no way he can possible accuse it of being dirty now. I slip out of the room and head up the stairs. There are more rooms on the first floor, but right now, all I want to do is be alone in my room.

I manage to get to my room without bumping into anyone, and I close the door behind me. I swallow nervously. There is no lock on my door. I will have to be fast if I don't want anyone to discover me. I slide down to the floor, my back against it, and that's when the first tear falls. I curse my weakness. I curse this place. I curse my life, and whatever gods have been making it like this. Why couldn't I have just died in the same fire that killed my parents? What greater being had thought it was a better idea to keep me alive? Probably the devil himself.

I press hard against my brand mark and I whimper at the stinging it sends through me. I press even harder as my mind begins to race, burying me in its despair. I growl softly. It isn't enough. It doesn't hurt enough. My mind is still flinging my past every which way, and no matter how hard I press, it doesn't stop.

My eyes glance towards the closet. No. I've never done it twice in one day. I've never needed too. I've gotten by with aggravating the previous wound. I look down at my chest and discover a small patch of red beginning to form. I've made it bleed again. Good. I fling my head back and try to not look at the closet where relief lies. I begin to scratch at my wrists, but my nails are so stubby that they don't do anything. A small sob escapes me and I give up.

I cross the floor to the closet and whip it open. I fling my clothes aside and pull out the box. I go to the bathroom and lock the door. At least now I won't have to worry as much about someone walking in on me. I open the box, take out the velvet cushion and the ring and reach for the razor. It's at that moment that I realize how pathetic I am. I'm hurting myself so I don't have to deal with my past right now. It won't make it go away. It won't make it stop. But I can't think of anything else to do. Not in my situation.

It hurts too damn much. I grasp the razor so tightly that my hand begins to bleed. I bring it to my wrist this time. Usually, I don't cut my wrist. There's too much potential to die and cut too deep. But I do it anyway. The razor slices at my flesh easily and my blood streams. I go for another cut, but this time it sinks much too deep. I let out a shrill cry of surprise. This pain is so much different from what I normally feel. It burns…almost unbearably so. Was this how my parents felt when they were being roasted alive?

I take out the razor and my blood begins to fall from my wrist in an endless river. I press against it with my hand. After a minute I take my hand away, but it's still flowing. I swallow in fear. What did I sever? Why wasn't it stopping? My world takes a huge dip and I'm feeling strangely nauseous. The scent of blood is everywhere. I fling open the door to the bathroom and head for the closet. A bandage. That's what I need. Once I wrap the wound it will stop.

Only, I don't make it there. I stumble on an invisible obstacle and fall to the floor. It takes the little breath I have left away, and I feel much too weak to move. I look and see that the blood from my wrist is beginning to pool around me in scary amounts. My eyes are half lidded and I wonder if I'm going to die. Maybe it would be best.

Had my parents gone to heaven? I sure hope they had. Then maybe I could see them again. That's when a real sob racks my body. I'm not going to heaven. I'm so badly tainted that heaven won't want me. I'll never see my parents again. I don't want to die. But however much I fight it, my world is slowly going black.

In the last states of my consciousness, I hear the door open and a voice scream in absolute terror. Then I no longer have the strength to stay awake and I openly embrace the darkness and drift off.

I wake up feeling like I had been hit by a train. Every part of my body seems to hurt. So many parts….that I don't even want to count them and assess my condition. I feel something over my face and I reach up to tear it away when a hand stops me. "Don't do that."

I slowly sit up, entranced by this voice. It's nothing like anything I have ever heard before. It's…..kind? Who on earth would speak to me with that kind of tone? Certainly no one at the orphanage. The owner of the voice stares at me with velvety red eyes. He is young and good looking. He's wearing a doctor's outfit. I tilt my head, feeling slightly dopy. "Who?"

"I am Sebastian Michaelis." The name rings no bells in my head. I look away and try again to grab at whatever was covering my face. Once more he stops me. I must've looked somewhat pathetic for he says, "Would you feel more comfortable if I took this off?"

I nod, and he does. I allow myself to relax just a little. "Where am I?" I ask.

"You're on a gurney." I frown. When I look around, I realize he's right. I'm sitting on a gurney in an ambulance. He is sitting on something beside me.

I'm starting to get scared. Why would I be here? "What happened?"

Sebastian furrows his eyebrows. "You don't remember?" I shake my head nervously. Maybe I don't want to remember. "Well. To put it bluntly, you just attempted suicide." Suicide….the word stings in my mind. I wouldn't. I don't want to die. My mouth drops open in a small oh. Sebastian clarifies, "You slit your wrist." I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears. I don't want to hear it. Now I remember. But….I didn't mean to….I didn't mean to cut that deep. Sebastian gently removes my hands from my head. "Are you alright?"

My teeth clench and my eyes blaze. "Don't touch me!" I hiss and slap his hand away. How dare he ask me something like that! I'm not a child! I don't need to be babied. I glare at him. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

By the look on his face I can tell he's somewhat surprised by my change of attitude, but it goes away rather quickly. "I already told you. My name is….."

I cut him off. "No. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm an emergency psychiatrist. (1) Specifically, yours." He says.

"I don't need one."

Sebastian narrows his eyes skeptically and glances at my wrist. "The face that you just tried to end your life suggests otherwise."

"You've got this all wrong." I say.

He leans back. "Then by all means, do explain."

I try to begin, but stop. How can I explain this to him? I didn't really try to kill myself, but if I told him what really happened…I don't think that fact that I cut myself would go over too well with a psychiatrist. "I didn't…..try to kill myself…." I say weakly. My previous bite had gone. "I just….." I trailed off.

"You just?" Sebastian says calmly.

I sigh. "Never mind."

"No, no. Not never mind." Sebastian says. "Go on. You can tell me."

I shake my head forcefully. "No. It doesn't matter."

"I'm here to listen. Please tell me."

I grit my teeth. "Why would I talk to a complete stranger? No one else knows anything, so why do you think you're so special?"

"Alright then. Maybe you can talk to me about it some other time." He says.

My eyes widen. "What makes you think I'm going to see you again?"

"Well, your current guardian has agreed to admit you into a psychiatric hospital."

I stop breathing. What…..Why would they do something like this to me? I look down as I discover the answer. They just want me gone. I don't get along with anyone there. This must be their revenge for me. I take a shaky breath. "And I'm assuming you'll be my psychiatrist there?"

Sebastian nods. "May I ask your name?" He says suddenly.

I shake my head. All my anger at the situation is gone. Every last hint of it. I curl up as best as I can and try to hide my face from him. I don't want this. I want to go home. I want to be home with my parents. But…that isn't possible. I want to be in my room in the orphanage. No…I don't want that either. I don't know where I want to be. My body feels a million times heavier and I realize I want nothing more than to be alone with my razor. Make all the stress go away. It's too late to stop myself as a sob works its way out of my body.

Sebastian places a hand on my back. I flinch away and he removes it, opting to move his face closer instead. "You're going to be alright." He says. "I promise you're going to get the help you need."

That invokes something inside me. "I don't need your help." I say. My voice is dangerously quiet. Sebastian doesn't respond. "I don't need anyone's help."

"Then this isn't your lucky day."

"Damn right…."

"I can help you you know." Sebastian says. I try to rebuke with something, but he cuts me off. "If, you'll let me."

"Good luck getting me to crack." I challenge.

He doesn't react. "We've got at least a month."

I force myself not to say anything else. I've already spoken too much to him. Revealed too much. I realize this was one of the first times I've admitted to someone that I have a problem. Of course, I didn't outright say it, but I didn't exactly deny it either. Besides, if Sebastian really is some sort of mental doctor, then he should read the signs of distress easily. Maybe that's why he seems so calm.

My eyelids start to droop, and I am starting to have a hard time keeping my head up. I suppose it's because of all the blood I lost. I take a quick glance at my wrist. It's tightly bandaged, but other than that, it looks fine. It must've not been that bad if they fixed it so easily. I lean back down and roll over so I'm not facing Sebastian. He says something, but I ignore it. I'm asleep in a matter of minutes.

Sebastian dominates my dreams. Not them.

(1) In case some of you don't know what this is, an emergency psychiatrist is someone who deals with severely suicidal or violent patients in the emergency room and such. I'm not sure if they would come with an ambulance, but whatever. And apparently, according to google, they also come when people have been wandering around naked for no real reason...;3

Ah~ Forgive me for rushing this a bit. I didn't put in as much detail as it is a prologue. Gomen~ne~

Some things are meant to be vague...but if you have questions, please feel free to ask, and I will be happy to answer them for you in my next authors note. :)

See you all in the next chapter.~

~Shiki

Ps: Reviews fill my heart with rainbows...lots and lots of rainbows. ;3