My mind kept drifting. My insides felt as if they had emptied of all thoughts and emotions. I felt like I was in a dreamlike state as I left my room, wandering the palace like a ghost in the dead of the night. 

I stroked my hand along the wooden panelling on the walls, gazing beyond the window. I was thankful that the corridor was empty. I turned when I heard the sound of a tiny click and saw a man in the requisite black uniform for the Guard leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. The click had sounded from his silver lighter which he now slipped into his pocket, puffs of smoke emanated from his mouth as he lowered the lit cigarette from between his lips.

I took a sharp breath, an idea forming in my mind and turned towards the left, making my way to the smaller kitchen located on my floor. It was late and I didn't expect to see too many people in the kitchen. I entered the large metallic doors, eyeing the long, empty counters and the massive door which led to the storage at the back of the room. A few servants roamed around, lazy conversation floating between them while others talked and laughed. None of them paid attention to me expect a curious glance that I chose to ignore.

As the bastard to the royal family, most people at the palace tended to avoid me, which to me, felt blissful. 

I spotted a silver lighter on the counter and grabbed it, slipping it into my pocket. Smoking inside the kitchen area wasn't allowed, maybe I was doing a favour by nicking the lighter anyway.

I slipped out of the kitchen and quickly made my way back to my room, shutting the door carefully behind me.

I sat on the bed, my legs planted firmly on the ground as if still struggling to root in reality. I reached for my pocket, taking out the silver lighter and gazing at it carefully. I hadn't smoked for a few months now, ever since I had left Stonewall. But now, my desire with the lighter was something else. Perhaps more destructive, but infinitely more satisfying.

I couldn't believe what I had done. What I had put my father through. The way I had yelled at him. Even hurt him physically when I was younger. There was no way I deserved his kindness. There was no way I deserved his patience. A repulsive sense of vehemence engulfed me. I detested myself. My entire existence. Every breath I took felt like a waste of precious air.

I clicked the lighter as it came to life and stared at the bright, orange-yellow flames. The dark blue at its core, setting the tongues of fire alight. I brought it closer to my face, gazing at the way the fire burnt steadily. Slowly, I drew my index finger on my other hand towards it, moving it closer and closer to the fire. I stopped breathing, losing control of my actions.

The fire would punish me as I deserved. The scalding would be my atonement.

My skin singed, screaming in burning pain as the tongues of flame ravaged it viciously. Ruthlessly. With much less cruelty than I deserved. I knew that for my skin to actually burn, I would need a time limit for at least a minute. But I did have an entire day.

I grit my teeth as the pain intensified, scalding my skin. I watched, satisfied as the yellow flickered along my finger, burning it. Scalding it till angry red patches were visible through the haze of flames.

The intense pain sent jolts of agony to my very core, a sense of satisfaction flooding through me. I was disgusted with myself. Yearning to burn my entire skin off. I wondered if a lighter flame would be enough for that? Perhaps.

I gasped in alarm when the door to my room opened. I cursed under my breath, disbelieving that I had forgotten to lock it in my haze. I quickly clicked the lighter off, throwing it behind me on the mattress and hiding it from view as my heart froze in terror the full force of the stinging pain from my burnt finger now coursing through my entire body.

"Zeke?" My dad gazed at me from the doorway, his face pale.

"D-d-"

I couldn't get myself to speak, terror flooding each of my cells. He strode over quickly to me and I leaned backwards, trying to nonchalantly hide the lighter. He leaned over and grabbed it, his eyes livid when he glared down at me. "Were you smoking again?"

"N-no," I replied honestly, knowing that the reality would be much more repulsing to him. "I j-ju-"

"Then what-" his eyes widened as realization seemed to dawn on him. He reached for my hand, pulling it towards him with a force that made me scream in pain. I quickly scrambled away from him, breathing heavily and wrenching my hand away from his vice-like grip, cradling it.

"Z-Zeke?" He no longer sounded angry, and I knew it was too late. He knew what I had done.

He sat beside me, his eyes wide and gently reached for my hand again. I gritted my teeth, averting my gaze as he studied my scalded finger.

"Did you...do this intentionally?"

I shook my head. "It was a mistake."

"Zeke-"

I wrenched my hand away from him again, scrambling into my bed and resting against the headrest, crossing my legs. I glanced away from him, my chest heavy. It wasn't the first time he had caught me trying to mutilate me somehow. But he wouldn't understand. No one could understand why I needed to do it.

No one could understand why I deserved the pain.

"Zeke," His voice was low, gentle. He moved closer to me and placed his hand in front of me, silently asking to study my hand again. I refused, unyielding.

"Why did you do this, Zeke? You promised me you wouldn't do it again."

"B-but.... Y-you h-hate m-me-" I stuttered pathetically, draining of all energy. "I d-don't- I d- didn't w-want t-to-" I couldn't speak, my stutter suddenly worsening so I couldn't form coherent words. I clicked my tongue in frustration, the pain from the burn already receding from my natural healing abilities.

"I don't hate you, Zeke. What gave you the idea?"

"B-b-because I h-hurt El-" I gasped breathlessly, struggling to string together sentences. "And I-I was r-rude you. Lef-left- I s-s-said s-s-orry-"

His eyes clouded over, sadness etched in his features which somehow made my heart ache worse. All I ever seemed to inflict on him or anyone was suffering. I couldn't understand why he was so kind to me. Just because I was his son? I knew for a fact that the link of blood was too fragile for love.

"I was angry, Zeke. And I was worried. I do not hate you. Okay?"

I averted my gaze, feeling humiliated that he had caught me again. "I know you didn't hurt him on purpose. I'm sorry I lost patience."

I remained quiet. Why was he apologizing?

"I don't want you to hurt yourself, Zeke. Do you understand that?"

I nodded, gulping. I didn't trust myself to speak. I hadn't meant to. I knew he wouldn't want me to. But it had felt like the only way out. To punish me for every disgusting, filthy thing I had done. And the other, true reason I was so ashamed to admit.

I hoped it would be enough for him to not abandon me again. I hoped it would be enough for him to not send me back to Stonewall. I wondered if I should ask him right away. But when I had earlier, he had been so angry with me and I didn't want to repeat that. 

"Elijah will be okay," he said softly. "You will return to Asteria and I promise no one will talk about this. Alright?"

My heart leapt in dreadful hope. 

I kept averting my gaze. I couldn't control my self-mutilation. It came like a feral instinct. A desire. An indomitable need that if not tended to would erase my entire existence. It felt like a physical obligation, and no matter how hard I fought against it, it kept returning like a prowling beast haunting me in my weakest moments.

"Alright. Now, you need to sleep. Rest. Can you do that? It's very late."

I nodded. I was afraid I would fall if I tried to walk anyway. I finally managed to look at him, shocked to find my body shivering despite it being warm. He rose to his feet, leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss on top of my head.

"And we will forget that this-" he lifted the lighter, the silver metal glinting evilly under the lights, "happened. Okay?"

I nodded, realizing with a jolt that pain had receded completely. My dad gave me a soft assuring smile and left the room. I opened my palm and gazed at my hand, watching the angry red patches now turn dark and almost fading against my pale skin.

It would be another secret.