𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘋 | 𝘈.𝘏. ✔️

• Three

Chapter Three: When You Are Young Them Assume You Know Nothing

Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, blood, graphic content.

It was an understatement to say you didn't know what was in store for you. You barely got into the house before you were slammed against a wall with a groan. Axels hand gripped your throat tightly so there was no air circulating at all.

"Who were you with, hm?" he spat calmly.

"I w-was in-" you gasped for a breath, "-the bathroom."

His eyes looked crazy, rage pumping his blood, making decisions for him. He wasn't acting rationally, he never really was. The fear you felt was like nothing from before. You truly thought this is how you would die, in the hands of a man who made your skin bruise to the bone.

"You're such a fucking liar!" he screamed, "Do you know how pathetic that is?! Someone didn't raise you right, you listen to me!"

Tears streamed down your face, "I'm not lying, please!"

A hard slap came across your face, stringing your wet skin. The rings he wore made the pain worse and broke the skin, blood now mixing with the salty tears. "Who were you with Y/N?!"

"I was in t-the bathroom" you repeated. Your eyes fluttered closed, suddenly you became tired and ready to give out. "I'm not lying" you whispered more to yourself.

"Yes you are! Do you think I can't see through your lies?!"

You shook your head no as quickly as you could. Suddenly he dropped you onto the floor, your hands catching you just in time, not before he lands a kick in your ribs. Blow after blow, you wanted to die. You thought that anything would be better than this, the pain was so overwhelming.

Another kick.

Another slap.

Another punch.

"Stop, please!" you cried.

"DON'T LIE TO ME! I KNOW YOU!"

No he doesn't, you kept repeating in your head. His hands grip your waist, pulling you off the floor despite the broken ribs pulsing in pain. In seconds, he threw you into a mirror on the wall, shattering the glass. Shards cut you repeatedly, you were becoming numb to the pain. Everywhere was bleeding, your hands, your stomach, your face, even your legs. There wasn't any time to recover before he grabbed a shard of glass, slicing it down your arm just to earn a scream that never came.

The lack of response was setting him off, when you didn't scream he didn't find pleasure. You learned that quickly. You stopped pleading for him to stop, didn't cry, you sat there and allowed him to use you as a punching bag over and over. You thought that maybe if he got his rage out now, you wouldn't have to worry later.

Usually each beating came with a gift the next day. Even him being nice and loving. Some days he wouldn't make you make him dinner or take care of him like a child. When he was really nice, he let you pick out your own clothes for the week.

It seemed worth it if you could get a break for a little while. "I don't even know why I keep you around," another kick, "you're baggage I have to drag around. Worthless shit that I have to deal with."

Insults didn't bother you. It was the physical pain that you suffered from in silence. Of course you were emotionally tired but not more than your body. Some bruises tended to stick to the bone, every step hurt, every breath.

Blood pooped your mouth and you weren't sure how much longer you could stay awake. His energy was wearing down slowly but surely, the kicks becoming less powerful and the punches with less force. Pain still erupted with each touch but you could handle this enough to get by. It felt as though your ribs were broken but you weren't sure or if you were just working yourself up.