Sebastian lays there for a long time, an amount he doesn't bother to count. But one thing does stay on his mind.
I should just fucking kill myself. It would make Annabelle hurt a whole lot less, plus the fact that he couldn't fuck everything up again that way. Maybe he should do it…
He finally sits up, looking around at the room he's in, it looks like a really shitty kitchen. Maybe there's a knife or something he can cut himself with, maybe he'd lose enough blood by doing that.
As he stands up, he feels his gut clench and he winces loudly. He thinks about laying back down on the floor, but he knows it wouldn't do much to actually help him kill himself. And then he stupidly remembers what Annabelle has said, to not hurt himself or she would… She never actually stated that she would do anything to him if he hurt himself, she just said she didn't like it. He could easily do it for control. But she said she wanted control over him, and that only she could do anything to him.
Still, maybe he just wants to know where everything is located. The food, the knives, the medicine, anything he may need in the future. So, he begins his search, looking in the fridge to see what food he can eat— a carton of eggs, bread, bag of apples, a knife— a knife? She's a killer, that must be nothing out of the ordinary for someone who wants to kill people. He tries to brush past it, but something hangs heavy in his chest. He stares at the knife, reaching in and touching the blade. He doesn't mean to but he cuts his finger slightly. Shit, what wasn't the goal. He quickly brings his finger to his mouth, licking the blood off and hoping it stops soon.
He moves to the cabinets, jars of this and that and everything else he doesn't care about until he finds another two knives. They've all been very big. Bigger than any normal kitchen knife he's ever seen or used. She probably brought them for killing purposes and cops never caught on to it. Maybe he can blame them a different time, but for now he doesn't give a shit. He needs some pain meds and he needs them now, maybe he can overdose on those and she wouldn't be any the wiser. She clearly doesn't love him, she said she wanted to, not that she did. And he fucked everything up, like he always does.
He keeps searching through the cabinets, never finding anything to help with his pain. And his finger hasn't stopped bleeding, but at least almost everything else is covered in blood so he's not likely to get caught. He could hypothetically ask Annabelle for some pain meds, but he already hurt himself trying to please her and he's sure she wants him to be hurt right now.
He wants to be hurt too, but he'd rather it be self induced so it feels like he has some sort of control. Maybe if he begged he could get something to help, or maybe he could hurt himself and she'd pity him. Maybe he could run away and get some help, it's not like she's with him and watching him right now. But he doesn't want to leave, he wants to be hurt and he wants her to be in love with him. There's no possible way for him to trick her though.
God, even thinking about her gets him hard. He wants to let her absolutely rail him, fuck him until his dick falls off and he bleeds out. It's a terrible idea, probably second to ever coming into this godforsaken house, but he agonizingly walks up the stairs. He ignores the pictures on the walls again, he'd probably cum if he looked at them and thought about Annabelle. He'll probably cum when he sees her. He doesn't care.
He peeks into every doorless room and hopes to see Annabelle, he hopes to see the only person who has ever had the potential to love him like he's a real person. As he looks into one of the lest rooms and feels himself cum onto his pants again. He hates that he keeps doing it but he's too high on adrenaline and testosterone to think about it before falling to his knees.
Annabelle doesn't even flinch, she probably heard him come up the stairs, groaning and panting like a dog ready to fuck. "What the fuck do you want?" She asks slowly as she turns around from a painting.
"Please," Sebastian begs loudly, "I will do anything to make sure you're happy and that I am doing everything you need, just fuck me til I can't think."
She glares at him, giving him a long look up and down. "You're hard."
"Very."
"And you want me to fuck you."
He stands up, approaching her slowly, "Please, fuck me til neither of us can think and-"
"Sit."
He falls to his knees again, obeying quickly.
"Now take your shirt off."
Again, he obeys, pulling his shirt off, but he feels a tug on his side. He can feel the stitches tearing. He tries to adjust himself but he can't do it enough to take his shirt off. He huffs, trying again, but the stitches pull on his side more. "I can't get it off without pulling the stitches…" he mumbles weakly.
She pulls his shirt down, arms going down with it. "I said to take your shirt off."
He doesn't hesitate like last time. "Yes ma'am."
She lets out a giggle, grabbing him by the neck with more force than she ever had before. "Not Ma'am. I'd prefer something more… casual. Lovey-dovey and all that. Kay?"
He nods stiffly against her hand before she lets go. "Yes, my Love." He tries again as he attempts to tug his shirt off again.
She hums, tugging his shirt down again. "Getting better, for sure. But not good enough."
He feels himself tear up. But not good enough. "Darling." He grits out, looking her in the eye.
Her smile drops. "Head down. You don't get to look at me as if you have control over any of this."
He still hasn't had any water but he can still cry, it's such an odd thing, how feelings work. They make you cry and wail, laugh and sing, scream and punch, no matter any sort of logic. It doesn't make any sense, and yet he still feels his eyes well up and his vision go blurry. A few tears slide down his face and fall to the ground, but it doesn't matter, he needs to obey her or she'll never fuck him again. She'd probably kill him if he didn't obey.
He tugs his shirt off quickly, trying to ignore the pain he feels when his stitches tear and blood spills from his gut. "Fuck."
He looks to Annabelle in fear, but there's no sympathy in her eyes, only glee. She leans down to him and grabs his chin. "Good boy. Now we can fuck til neither of us can think and there's nothing but moans filling the air.
"Thank god-"
"No no," she corrects quickly. "Thank me."
"Thank you."
"Good." And then she's back on top of him, bringing him down to the ground and herself against his chest. "We'll patch you up later, don't worry about that right now."
She kisses him hard, bringing her hands to his hair and pulling. Sebastian moans but keeps his hands on the ground. She has control, all the control she will ever need from him. Pulling away, she smiles. "What a good boy, not taking any initiative." She rings his hands back up to her breasts. "Cum all you want, by the way, I could care less."
And he lets himself go, pants getting wetter by the second as she goes back to kissing him and biting his lips til they bleed.
They lay there for a long time, kissing and pulling hair and cumming and doing everything they could ever want, except actually having sex. Annabelle doesn't ever tell him to take his pants off, so Sebastian thinks against the idea of actually doing it.
Once she's finally done, she pushes off of him. She sees the blood still slightly oozing from his gut and walks off saying, "I'll get the stuff to stitch you back up. Don't move."
And god, he wants to move really bad, to tug off his pants and wait for her to come back so they can actually fuck, but he knows he's not going to get it yet, he knows she's going to move at whatever pace she feels like whether he likes it or not. So, he tries his best to sit still and calm his brain down so he stops being so hard.
She comes back a few moments later and sits on top of his pelvis, inserting the thread into the needle and looking into his eyes. "This is going to hurt, try not to flinch when it does." And with that she quickly puts the needle into his skin.
She was right, it hurts like hell. The needle is probably way too dull to actually be used to stick skin, and yet she's still doing it, putting far too much pressure on his gut and pulling it through. He tries not to flinch but he does, groaning in agony as he pulls his sleeve up to his face and bites it to shut himself up.
She looks at him, seeing him and pain and feeling her nipples get hard. She wants to see him hurt more, see him cry in pain and scream in agony. She wants to stab him over and over again and again and patch him up every single time. She wants to hurt him and make sure he can never leave her, but she knows if she does it too many times he'll die and she'll either have to find a new play thing or die along with him. She needs to stop letting her lust and glee get in the way, but that's pretty hard to do when her first ever play thing just wants to keep fucking her til he dies. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible way to go, but she doesn't particularly want to die just yet.
She finishes the stitches and gets off of him, leaning down and pulling him up. He groans once again but she tries to ignore it. "Go sit somewhere and entertain yourself. I want to finish my painting."
He goes to leave, but before he does he turns around to her. He sees what she's making, the walls of the house around them and the beginnings of someone laying against the wall in pain, whilst someone else leans over them. She's painting the two of them the first time they met. Sure, she was trying to kill him, but it feels a little bit romantic. The thought that she cares enough to actually paint him makes it feel like he's someone. "Um.. I just want to say that.. Thank you."
She turns to look at him, confused. "For what?"
"For… for caring more than anyone else ever has." He mumbles, beginning to walk out of the room.
She quickly stands up, walking over to him and grabbing his wrist. "Stop." And he does. She turns him around, cupping his face and dragging her thumb over his bite mark ridden lips. "Thank you for obeying this time. That's what I needed from you. You've learned that quickly, so thank you."
He grabs her waist, pushing his forehead against hers. "I love you."
"I know you do."