Am I... The Villian? {~Book One~} {~2021-2022~}

Chapter Eleven: {~Flashbacks~}

{~08/10/2021~}
{~Unedited~}
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Ever Enough
{~Book; One~}
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WARNING: ⚠️
{~This chapter contains, Panic Attack, mentions of abuse, self harm, child abuse, torture, blood, if I missed any please tell me~}

{~Previously On~}

Third Person Pov~
The kids head bobbed, body shifting slightly so he was on his side, curled up in a tight ball. Silence once more fell upon the room as the lights dimmed and the older scientist said his farewells. Leaving Peter once more alone in the dreadful silence that fell upon that very room he was currently resting in.

As soon as the door shut the boy slipped out of the bed and onto the cool floor. It wasn't odd for him to favour such a hard surface over a squishy one. The boy didn't like new things as he wasn't familiar with them. That being so, he decided to go back to what he knew. He decided to go back to something that reassured him he was still alive. Despite everything that had happened... Peter was still alive. In a way at least.

Curling even further on himself, he allowed his eyes to press together once more, allowing the all to familiar darkness to wash over him.

{~A few years prior~}

Third Person Pov~
  Peter's winced as the chains along his wrists were yanked, the rough metal having carved away at his skin, sinking its sharp and rigged edges into the boys wrists. Staggering forwards, the boy followed the men's suit like a well trained attack dog, one that was disciplined into acting as so. Having been beaten when acting out of character, having been abused when speaking without demanded too. The boy was nothing more then an attack dog, trained to follow others every order.

Peter allowed his closed eyes to flicker open, the black splotches turning to blurred, coloured ones. Breathing in the kid let lose a few tears, hand tightening around his wrist, squeezing aggressively as he done so. The kid couldn't see the build up of scars currently, though he was more then capable of feeling them. The rough skin that wrapped itself around the boys wrists were caused by the constant abuse to them. Rather it was chains or leather straps, it was always something that added onto the pre-existing scars. The very ones that never had the chance to fully heal.

  The kid continued to blindly stumble forwards, wincing as the cuffs were yanked again, wincing as the bright hallway lights shone aggressively towards him, almost like warning flares that dared him to continue forwards. The boy didn't want to, though his wants weren't valued in such a place. He was nothing more then a slave to those around him. He knew that, he was aware of the cold and hard truth of reality.

Peter shivered violently at the memory, his eyes pressed together as he let lose heavy breaths. One that were shaky and dry to the sound, almost like the boy was trying to fight back the sobs that threatened to spill his chapped and scarred lips.

  Another yank, the boy winced like always, the blood dripped from his wrists and fell to the floor in heavy amounts. The thick substance practically oozing out of his wrists by this point. Dripping, dripping, and dripping. The sound of the chains rattling and blood sloshing around filled the air, the sound of Peter's filthy feet dragging behind one another, slipping slightly on the seemingly endless amounts of blood. Peter swayed from foot to foot, body shaking violently with each step. The kid let lose a heavy breath, one that was filled with pain and he stumbled once again under the influence of a harsh yank.