Newt x reader

Chapter Forty- Five

You've never experienced pain like this before. Handcuffed to leg the table in the kitchen you're forced to take everything your father wants to give you. And that's a lot. And it's only been a few hours.

Currently he's passed out on the couch in the next room over, and you're desperately trying to find a way out. His phone is on the counter out of reach and you have no idea where your phone is, a gift from Newt. Probably thrown in some dumpster on the way. And you can't get the handcuffs off of you for anything.

Your wrists are rubbed raw trying to squeeze your hands out, so much to the point that they're starting to bleed, bringing tears into your eyes.

You've tried lifting up the table to slide the handcuffs out, but no luck. The table is either too heavy or nailed to the floor, but either way you're not going to lift it. At least not in this position.

You try dragging the table to your phone, and it still won't budge. You truly are stuck.

..........

Crying and bleeding, you have a bloody nose, cuts all over your arms, legs, and stomach. The metallic taste of blood in your mouth, and you're pretty sure your ankle is broken.

You're lost. It's hopeless. This is your life now, until your father is done with you and finally kills you.

You're never going to see Newt again. Never cuddle up next to him on the couch, taste his lips, have his hands in your hair, it's all over. You are going to die.

...........

One of your father's new favorite things to do to you is burning.

Holding the flame closer and closer to your skin, finally touching it. Watching the tears pour come out of your eyes, seeing the burn mark.

It's worse than it's ever been before.

"You took everything from me." He says, holding his lighter by your cheek, you squirm away, trying desperately to keep the heat from your face.

"You coward! Own up to your mistakes!" He spits in your face.

"It was the best thing I've ever done." You say, looking up at him, finally done. Finally ready to stand up for yourself.

"What did you say?" He says, almost calmly. The calm before the storm.

"It's something I should have done a long time ago," you bite your lip, preparing for what's going to come, looking up at him defiantly.

He slaps your face, and it stings a bit, but nothing compared to what comes next.

He pulls a small pack of matches out of his pocket, maybe a dozen matches or so, and lights them all, and drops the pack on your leg.

You scream. You can't help it, your flesh burning, no relief, you're desperately trying to shake the matches off, but no luck. Your father makes sure of that.

Eventually, after so much pain, you blow out or knock off all the matches, and you huddle on the floor, sobbing harder than you ever have, a large section of your tonight red and blistering.

"Pathetic." Your father says one more time before turning his back and leaning you to cry.