Newsies Imagines/Preferences

♡Jack Kelly♡

(I thought of this and I was like oo. Let's write it. Also, go follow @Loud.and.Clear_We.Is.Here on Instagram. It's a private account, but as long as you're not a creep I'll let you follow. Which shouldn't be a problem for anyone of you. ⚠️TW⚠️ Mentions of torture and nudity (but not in THAT way) also, if you can't tell. I'm feeling very depression right now....hint the once again poorly written angst)

The ABC's

Jack hates bathing. It's a normal thing to just not want to take one because it's time out of your day, or just not liking them. But Jack straight up hates them. He avoids them like the plague. Occasionally you can work your magic and drag him in with you, but that doesn't change the fact your husband hates bathing.

It's not the act of taking a bath in itself. He finds the water soothing. If he can get it the right temperature he could sit for hours with his eyes closed. Becoming an adorable raisin as he relaxes.

No, it's not that. It's the physical act of seeing himself in the mirror. His toned bare chest that's littered with scars telling all kinds of stories. Each with its own painful memory he gets to relive as his eyes glaze over the reflection he sees in the piece of shiny glass.

His immaculate figure has been through a lot. It's taken punches and kicks. Whips and torture. Anything you can think of Jack's most likely felt it. Which leaves his body with an endless reminder of all of the suffering he has had to endure. It hurts to bring it up again. He can't bare to look at himself without having to squeeze his eyes shut, ball his fists, and bite his tongue to keep from yelping in agony.

He stares at himself for a moment. Letting everything that has happened to him settle in. Usually this is the point where he begins to sway. Overcome with fear. He leans forward and grips the cabinet until his knuckles turn white. Resting his weight against the only thing that can carry the heaviness of his memories. The marble counter top.

You had begged for it. When the two of you bought your apartment, you pleaded with him to let you have your marble counter top. Finally, after weeks of asking, he gave in.

That's usually when he remembers you. How beautiful you are. How your smile can light up a room. How your eyes twinkle when you laugh. How kind hearted you are with younger kids. How easily the boys are attracted to your motherly spirit. Usually he brightens enough to go on with his anti-stink ritual. But tonight seems to be different.

His mind is in such a downward spiral that if he didn't know better, he would think he's still in the refuge. The light paint of the room, you specifically asked for, becomes a dark black. The perfectly clean floor, covered with dirt and the occasional spot of blood. The spigot drips water that drives his swirling head insane. The porcelain, bowl shaped, tub is a rectangle and cast iron. The toilet is rusted, the water a mucky brown. The air is heavy and suffocating. Smelling musty with the overwhelming hint of sweat, blood, and tears.

Jack collapses to the ground. Gritting his teeth as the cool floor touches his bare back. He groans lowly at the sharp touch. If he closes his eyes he can see Snyder and his sinister grin. Standing over his crumpled body. Jeering at him.

"Oh? I'm sorry did that hurt? Well good."

"Are those tears I see? Is the Jack Kelly crying?"

"Where are those friends of yours now, Kelly? They've abandoned you. You know what you are? You're nothing to them. In fact your nothing to anyone. Nothing to them, nothing to me, nothing to your father. Allnd if your mother was alive, you'd be nothing to her. You're nothing to this world, Francis Sullivan. Nothing at all."

He puts his hands over his ears, begging for the noise to silence. To let him be. But the echoing voice of his torturer only gets louder.

"Why don't you sing it with me, Sullivan. Just like you did your little Santa Fe. F is for failure. U is for useless. N is for no one cares. That spells fun. Aren't we having fun? Maybe just to make it more fun we can do the whole alphabet."

He whimpers.

"A is for annoyance,
B is for blame-worthy
C is for chore."

Jack's hands tighten over his ears. He can't help himself. His mouth starts moving and in a barely audible whisper he begins to recite the alphabet his mind has come to believe.

"D is for deadweight,
E is for eyesore
F is for failure
G is for guilty."

He curls in a tight ball. Letting choked sobs escape his lips. Longing for your soothing touch to rid him off his anguish. To feel you run your hand through his hair and remind him that it's all okay.

"Jackie? I'm home!" You call. Your sweet voice echoing through the apartment. Jack smiles a little bit. Whining softly in reply. Loud enough the sound barely reaches your ears.

His mind is going blank as he feels his battered body being gently cradled in a pair of warm, comforting arms. A soft set of lips press a quick kiss to his forehead. A small hand pushes its way through his hair. He relaxes, beginning to feel himself getting rocked back and forth. The horrid song beginning again. This time falling smoothly from your lips.

"A is for accepted
B is for belong
C is for courageous
D is for dear, which means,"

"Greatly loved, cherished, precious, greatly valued, worth or noble." A weak voice responds.

"That's right, dear. E is for,"

"Enough."

"F is for,"

"Forgiven."

"G is for,"

"Good-looking." You giggle softly as he grins up at you a little bit. His eyes still tightly closed. His voice trails as fatigue catches up with him. He usually doesn't make it past L.

"L is for,"

"Loved."