Why must sin taste so bitterly sweet (fyozai)

Chapter 10

Tw for descriptions of self injury
(Not proof read x)

Fyodor kept his eyes glued to the far corner of the cell as he sat beside Osamu the next morning.

Its eyes had not left his face since he'd entered the cramped space, its jam covered bread and tankard of water lying forgotten about in front of it.

He could feel its eyes almost burning into his skin. He could just feel the questions bubbling away in its mind.

He simply continued to stare off into the distance, just waiting for the sinner to ask him and for him to end up snapping at it unfairly all over again.

Instead, curiously, he felt the burning subside.

He glanced over at Osamu as he felt this, watching as it began to eat its bread and sip away at its drink, searing its face into his mind. It wouldn't be long before he would never be able to gaze upon its mesmerising form again. He'd have to commit as much as he could to memory (along with the numerous rough sketches he'd made in the back of his notebook).

"The time is coming, is it not?" Fyodor startles at the words as the sinner turns to look him in the eye.

"It is, dear sinner."

Osamu pauses for a moment. "Do you not find me strange, Fyodor?" It muttered as it averted its eyes to look out at the pitiful view offered by the tiny window of the cell.

"However do you mean Osamu?" Fyodor asked in slight amusement.

The sinner turned to face him once again. "I am to die, most likely within the next few days. Do you not find the way I'm behaving strange at all?"

"Of course I do." Fyodor responded, "That is exactly why I am so fascinated by you Osamu. You do not act like any of the other sinners that have occupied this little cell before you. You don't scream or cry or even fight. You just sit there as you always do, with that same look in your eyes every time."

A smile settled on the sinner's face, the new expression sending yet another shiver wracking through Fyodor's body.

"I suppose I do, don't I?" Osamu replied "I see no point in screaming or fighting, nor do I feel the need to. It is as you say, I am a sinner, a sinner who does not belong in this world. It was inevitable really, for me to be cleansed from it with how I am desecrating your 'God's' creation with my continued existence. If it had not been by you and your people, it would likely have been by my own hands."

Fyodor felt a grin of his own spreading across his face.

"You truly are the image of sin Osamu you know."

The sinner offered him a light chuckle in response. "Oh, and what happened to your face?"

Fyodor shook his head. "I had committed an act of sin against our Lord. My father simply carried out his will accordingly." He explained as he brushed his gloved fingers against the bruise absentmindedly.

The sinner reached out its hand towards his face, seemingly in an instinctive attempt at comfort.

Its hand drew nearer and nearer until its fingertips brushed softly against Fyodor's cheek, sending a rush of electrical sparks reeling through the soft flesh.

It felt right.

Correct.

Comforting.

The simple touch was electrifying against Fyodor's skin as his mind sat yearning for more, instinctually drawing him closer to the hand until Fyodor finally caught up to what his body was doing.

He abruptly jerked himself away from the tainted hand, sitting there staring in disbelief for a good few moments before dragging himself up to his feet.

Osamu looked as akin to a deer in headlights as it could with its blank eyes, with guilt clearly lying within them. It was well aware of his aversion to its touch and the reasoning behind it.

It simply sat there, staring ahead blankly as it awaited the incoming fist that was surely coming its way.

It was surprised when it looked up to find Fyodor simply gathering its restraints, as he usually would in complete silence.

Osamu simply watched him in shock as he fastened the restraints and then left to the surface without another word.

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Fyodor made his way back through the village with quick, brisk steps.

There was no denying it this time.

No getting around it.

What he had just done was a sin.

Plain and simple.

An unforgivable sin.

There was no excuse for what he had just so foolishly allowed himself to indulge in.

And so as he got back to the sanctity of his bedroom and pulled once again his silver blade from his desk drawer, he could already feel a deep sense of resolve settling upon his shoulders.

He knew what he'd have to do.

This offence was much much greater than the last he'd committed.

And, of course, he must be punished accordingly if he wishes to ever regain his Lord's favour.

As he dug the blade into his skin this time, he made sure that it sunk in deeper than it had before.

He watched carefully as the sharp instrument sliced through the stringy muscle tissue he'd dug it into and sent blood gushing down his arm as beads of liquid had no time to even begin to form.

He lifted the blade away for just a moment as his breathing grew heavier and sweat began to collect around his brow.

It didn't take long before he drove it back in.

Digging it sharply into the sides of the tissue he'd exposed.

Fyodor reached down to quickly shove the cotton of his shirt in-between his clenched teeth, hoping to silence the pained moans and winces his body was reacting with as he continued with the task at hand.

By the end of it, Fyodor's body was drenched with cold sweat and he wasn't quite sure whether or not there was any clear skin on his left arm that remained free of their Lord's symbol.

Though it was rather hard to tell with the layer of blood soaking every inch of it.

His head felt as if it were filled with cotton wool, all fuzzy and light, as he reached around for something to wipe away the blood.

He ended up managing to find his night shirt and unfortunately that ended up taking on the bright crimson stain as he sloppily wiped it across his arm.

Even as his vision began to blur, he could see that he'd managed it about five times in total.

It was enough.

He was sure that the Lord would be satisfied.

He hoped that he was.

With that swelling feeling of satisfaction in his mind, Fyodor's vision went black as he allowed himself to finally fall limply against his bed.