A hiss of pain escaped me as once again I felt the biting sharpness of steel's edge. I wouldn't cry out though, I refused to. The metallic smell of my own blood invaded my senses, almost causing me to lose the contents of my stomach. Not that there was much, just the piece of bread I'd been given yesterday night, which seemed a decade ago.

"Admit it," the man, my torturer, my father ordered. I kept my cracked and sore lips firmly closed. An angry growl echoed round the room, followed closely by the slamming of the door, causing me to sag in relief.

The Kira thing had gotten out of hand. The other person with a book had been going on a crazy killing spree. My father had been so stressed, as had all the team, they were near their breaking point. And I had gone and made a stupid mistake. A criminal had come on T.V. being led out of the court house. He had been charged with the rape of several under aged girls and I felt the disgust well up in me.

"He deserves to die." I hadn't realized I'd spoken out loud till my father gave me a slap round the back of the head and that look that said "hasn't there been enough killing". It would have been fine if not for the fact that half a minute after I'd said that the criminal dropped dead of a heart attack. That was all I took for my dad to snap.

Before I even realized what was happening I was tied up and blind folded, led into an unknown room. Behind me I could hear someone arguing, saying that it didn't mean anything but nobody would listen.

Since then I've been tortured and beaten. They've been careful not to kill me though. I'm not sure how long I've been here, I think it's been a month, maybe even two. I haven't admitted anything though and I never will.

I'm not completely alone though. I have someone, the one person I can love and trust. At least I think I can. I'm sure they feel the same way. As I was thinking this the door was pushed open slowly and I heard Him enter. It had to be him. He always came after.

I felt the light kisses that were placed over my wounds as a hand slowly stroked my hair, helping me to calm down and to deal with it. Keeping me sane. The lips worked their way up, gently brushing against mine. He rested his forehead against mine and whispered to me, as he had done so many times.

"I love you," he always said the same thing and I would always give the same reply.

"I love you too L."