𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙊𝙊𝙏𝙃; ʳᵒᵗᵗᵐⁿᵗ ♡

𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰; ♡

tw; attempted suicide. themes of obsession, violence, physical abuse, and kidnapping. proceed with caution!

𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼 . . .

"you've been sitting here for five minutes, and you haven't touched your dinner... you should eat."

it takes you a few blinks to come back from your dark headspace of static and noise, but you slowly return back to reality. back to the low light of the lab. his voice was like a bitter taste left on the edge of your tongue, but it awoke you from your self-induced daze.

you tugged at the cuffs on your wrist that kept you restrained to the table. your back facing the silver glow of his lab, the light enveloping you like angels scratching at the skin of your back. he noticed your discomfort at the chains and you swear there was a twitch of a smirk ghosting upon his lips.

"it's for your own good. i can't have you trying to run off again, can i?"

he doesn't wait for you to respond before adding, "because then you could get seriously injured! or somehow escape! and what would i do without you?"

you want to scoff, but the dry of your throat doesn't allow you to. so, with a voice full of coarse detest, you muttered out a quick "shut up, donatello," before regretting how shaky the words snaked out of your mouth.

he doesn't reply, only giving a dry chuckle before returning his gaze to his own desk where he continues to work on God knows what.

tonight he gave you chicken, lined with rice and vegetables that you watched his hand crafted machines chop up just minutes before.

"you should eat up, you'll need the strength for later." he doesn't look at you as he says this. but you prefer it that way.

you don't say anything, glaring at the cold metal that dug into your skin. and you don't dare to touch the food even though your stomach aches and twists like a rope, knawing at you for something to eat.

"i'll be nicer on you with the experiments tonight if you do."

you reached your free hand up to your neck and traced your fingers over the bruises and scars across your collarbone, slashes across the bone in bane. you swallowed dry air down your throat before breathing out. "you promise?"

"have i ever lied to you, darling?"

"no... but you've misled me."

"i've told you before it was for your own good." he spoke as if he was scolding a child, or more so an experiment than a person, and you hated it.

"i suppose it is only in your nature to despise me now, but you'll understand why i'm doing this eventually."

fat fucking chance.

"but enough of my ramblings. eat, please."

he gestured to the plate in front of you, the plate accompanied by water in a glass and a cheap fork. and by his tone of voice, you knew his words were a demand rather than a request. still you hesitated before picking up the utensil.

you could try again.

try to take yourself out by your own accord. though he might punish you for even thinking about it... the risk worth the promise you're not sure he would even keep in the first place.

...he probably wouldn't keep his word either way. you grasped onto the fork tightly, taking a deep breath and pulling your arm back as far as the chains would let you.

and you stabbed yourself right in the throat.

or at least, you tried.

it stung like a brief needle to the skin, and nothing more. absolutely nothing.

it wasn't even bleeding...

you hopelessly laughed at yourself, dropping the fork and feeling at your neck, begging for a wound. begging for the bitter sweet touch of blood. you hands grasped around your throat as tight as you could, tears threatening to pour out, but there was no more left to cry.

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck!

your head felt heavy and your breathing was short, but it didn't do anything to stop the beating of your heart.

he grabbed you hands, pulling them away from you as he chastised you with a dark glint in his eye that you couldn't quite catch in the moment. "you already tried that on our first night."

"don't you remember that the utensils are plastic? you don't think i'd trust you with metal or wooden ones, do you?"

"..no.."

"it didn't work the first time. did you really think it would work this time?"

"...no..."

"you poor, poor thing. we'll deal with this later."

we'll deal with this later... your breathing was harsh at the intentions his words lead to. it was uncomfortable to even blink, you felt a migraine seeping into your head.

"now, eat." you didn't have the energy to fight anymore with your stomach burning your insides at the stake.

you picked up the fork again, hesitating for a moment. but without another word, you began to eat.

the worst thing about donatello, besides your relationship with him, the experiments tested on you for his own sick work of mind... was that the cooking was good. really, really good.

but he would never touch his own work. he would always place a plate of food for you, and never for him.

he told you he didn't like to eat, he didn't need to, he claimed. he often didn't sleep, either.

fucking hypocrite.

he watched you with glee, his eyes lighting up like flames shaping burning glass. watching you indulge in the only pleasure you have besides sleep.

he smirked as you struggled to bring the fork to your lips, both from the shackle and from the feeling of past pain.

"is it good?"

you don't allow him an answer, not indulging him with more than what you're forced to.

you reached for the water and slowly drank. the cold stung your throat with relief and a painful cough.

tomorrow is another day.

you could try again.