Overcoming Demons (G/t)

Chapter One

GiantessRuby here's the story you've been waiting for!

Kenneth curled into himself in the darkness of his closet, hiding behind what little clothing he owned. He could hear clattering, footsteps echoing around the one story, two-bedroom house. Angry shouts reverberated off the walls. 

"Where are you, you worthless little shit?!" An agitated male voice rang out, and the more it shouted the more furious it grew.

Fear swelled in the thirteen-year-olds chest. He hadn't meant to break the window, he was just outside playing before it started pouring down rain. He hadn't meant for the ball to fly in the opposite direction and send glass everywhere. It was an accident.

The footsteps drew closer to where he was hiding and he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob that managed to escape. The steps ceased, but he knew what was coming next. 

The door of the closet ripped open, and a harsh hand grabbed his arm and yanked him out with enough force to send him face first on the floor. Another hand forced him to meet a pair of angry, hate-filled eyes. His foster father's face was burning red with pure anger, the hand around his arm tightening to the point he knew it would be bruised. "You think you can hide?!"

Kenneth whimpered and sobbed, trying to pull his arm away and escape the man's grasp. "P-Please! I'm sorry!" He cried out loudly, only to receive a sharp kick in his side.

"Shut it! Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?! You are going to work until you can manage to fix that window yourself! Get out of here! Go!" The male pointed towards the door. "And I don't want to see your damned face here until you can pay for the repairs!"

"I-It's raining, a-and it's cold, please," Kenneth pleaded, his voice choked with fear, pained tears dripping down his face. He yelped and again cried out in pain as he was backhanded across the face, his 'father's' ring leaving a dark red scratch across his face that began to bead with blood.

"Don't talk back to me, boy! I said go," the voice changed to dangerously calm, the murderous glint remaining in his eyes as he glared at the young teenager. 

Kenny wasn't going to risk it. He couldn't. The beatings were already harsh enough as it was. 

Forcing himself to his feet, he ignored the pain coursing through his side where the boot had landed. He wouldn't be surprised if a rib was cracked. Before the man could say another word, he bolted, running as fast as his legs would allow him to through the house and out the front door. 

The freezing cold rain pattered on his face and head as he ran, his bare feet clapping noisily on the ground as he ran. The rain was coming down so hard that within the first minute his entire body was soaked and even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to tell whether the droplets on his face were drops of rain or his endlessly falling tears.

Kenneth ran for what to him felt like hours when in truth, it had only been ten minutes. His ribs ached the entire way, and he'd fallen a few times which cut up his hands. He darted around the corner of an alley, slamming his back against a dumpster as his body racked with each sob he heaved. Why? Why did they have to hurt him that way? His foster mother and father both. Everyone knew what they were doing, but no one was brave enough to step up and tell anyone. And they'd managed to convince most people that Kenny was just a pathological liar. 

He removed his closest friend from his pocket and flicked it open, the rusty blade unable to even glint in the light of the streetlamp nearby. His hand clutched the handle tightly, though he was shaking like a leaf from both the cold and his fear. 

Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, he looked at the other scabbed over cuts on his arm. Before, they were just a way to distract himself. But now, he couldn't take it. He had to get out. 

Taking the blade, he stuck the all too familiar tip into his arm and started carving up words longways into his arm. Worthless. Burden. Words that would forever echo in his mind. They say if you commit suicide, you go to Hell. At this point, Kenneth figured even Hell itself was better than the life he was currently living.

Blood ran down his arms, pooling on the floor faster than he'd anticipated. He'd done it. He was getting out.

A sharp pinch in the other side of his arm made him squeak in surprise, and he turned to see a figure with a needle stuck into his arm. The coat this person was wearing hid their face, their form, so he couldn't tell if it was a male or female until they spoke. Even after only a few seconds, his vision became blurry. Was it the cuts at last taking the final toll on his body?

"Hush now, relax. Let your body relax," the figure murmured. It was definitely female. She sounded vaguely familiar, but now he just felt too tired to even care. 

His body grew increasingly heavy. The knife that was in his hand clattered to the pavement, his hands stinging from the cuts on them. "Wh-What...are you doing to me?" He muttered out a question as the woman pulled him into a gentle embrace. Kenny didn't feel like fighting. His body lobbed against her, and arms encircled him and blood started to soak the sleeves of her tan trenchcoat. 

"It's alright. You're safe," the woman spoke in a strangely sweet voice before the world around him disappeared and he lost consciousness.