Newt x reader

Chapter Thirty- Eight

It's been a few days since Newt left and things have been normal. Well.... As normal as they can be. You have plenty of new scrapes and bruises, but you haven't told Newt. They're not big enough to worry about, you'll tell him when he gets back. True, he'll probably be pissed, but better than worrying him.

You and Newt text all the time. You miss him so much and he misses you. And he probably also wants to make sure you're alive and unhurt. And it's only a little lie. You've been telling him that you've been going in and out of the window and your fathers mostly drunk and passed out.

That would be the case, except your father blocked the window and you can't get it open. But your father has been passed out quite a bit. He's only awake every so often, and that's where the bruises came from. But they're mild compared to what you've dealt with in the past.

Tonight you're feeling restless. Newt is busy and he won't be able to text until later, and you have nothing entertaining in your room except your phone and you're bored of that. And you're really hungry. Your body is no longer used to as little food as you get here. You were spoiled at Newt's and now you have to pay the price. You need something to eat.

You slowly open the door of your room just a crack, barely enough to see out. You don't see him. So you slowly walk out of your room, quietly and carefully to the kitchen. There are apples, and you grab a few quietly, hoping to stock up for the future.

You're grabbed from behind and turned around.

"You thought I'd forgotten about you you little rat!" He spits in your face, holding you so tightly you're unable to move.

"First you leave for weeks at a time and then you come back and steal my food? You ungrateful little wench." He throws you against the wall, and you fall to the floor. In a few quick steps, he's right above you, yanking you up from the floor.

"Stand up you little weakling!" He yells, holding you against the wall.

"Since you can't seem to learn your lesson, maybe it's time we do things a little more serious," he says, almost thoughtfully. "What should I do, you ungrateful scumbag," he says.

"I have one of your favorites," he says, pulling out his knife. You struggle to get away from him, tears beginning to force themselves out of your eyes against your will.

"Oh would you look at that," he says, wiping away one of the tears on your cheek, nicking your face in the process just enough so the blood begins to mix with the tears on your face.

"I haven't even started and we already have a few tears. You must be getting rusty, (y/n)," he says with malice, grinning.

"And since you were stealing my food, you need a more appropriate punishment. And you're weak, so we need a little more for that," he says pondering, almost teasingly.

"Oh I know," he says, grabbing your arm. And holding it out straight. Still holding the knife, he rolls your sleeve up, and moves to cut your arm.

But instead he lifts his arm up and brings it down on your forearm with force. You hear a crack, then scream. This might be the worst pain you have ever felt. Within seconds you're on the ground sobbing, holding your arm close to you, unable to think of much else but the pain.

Your father stands over you laughing. "Look at those tears," he says, crouching and roughly grabbing at your face. "I might be done, if you weren't so weak." He says, standing up, and lifting his leg. He kicks your stomach. And then again. And then again. You just lie there, sobbing. Practically whimpering for him to stop. But that doesn't work.

"Oh what was that?" He says, pausing for a moment.

"Stop. Please." You gasp out, trying to take a breath.

"Sorry I didn't hear you," he says kicking you in the head this time. You begin to see stars. You just shake your head in response.

"Good." He says, crouching by you, with his knife in his hand once more. "Cause I think you have one more lesson to learn."

He grabs your broken arm roughly, and pulls it away from your body, you bite your lip and sob as quietly as you can. Moving your arm around, you can't help but scream in pain until he looks satisfied. Finally dropping your arm, you curl into a ball on the floor. Sobbing.

He places the knife at the top of your thigh where you leg meets your hip, then in one long, slow cut, he moves down your leg. Cutting through the fabric and leaving a trail of blood all the way down your thigh. He finally stops at the kneecap.

Standing up, he looks down on you, sobbing on the floor. He spits on top of you.

"Weak." He mutters, before finally walking away, grabbing a fresh beer bottle as he goes.

You barely manage to limp to your room, taking a very long time considering the excruciating pain you're in. Once you're there, you find your phone. Dialing Newt's number, you lay on the bed, eyes closed curled up in a ball.

"Hello?"

"Help."