Mystic Messenger L-L-Love!!! <3 {OLD}

Saeren x Reader

Your POV:

Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours. Hours become days. Days become months. Months become years.

It's been 6 years since the beatings started. My dad hated me, for an unknown reason. Whenever I try and ask him, he brushes it off or gets super angry.

He beat me, cut me, locks me in my room for days, starves me, ties me up somewhere. He treats me like shit.

Even after he did all these things, I never cried. Not once. I refuse to let this douche bag make me cry. Even if I'm being hurt physically and mentally, crying is just a weakness.

I lay on the floor, exhausted from a beating. Being hit repeatedly may hurt the skin, but it hurts the heart so much more. Knowing that you are not wanted by your own father.

My arms and legs are bruised, but I will keep walking.

A knock comes at my door.

I try and get up but my legs give out beneath me. My father is asleep in his room. Thank the lord.

I try again to get up, this time resting my arms on the counter to hold me up. I slowly bring my hands to my hair, trying to put it back down nicely for who ever is here. I can't let them suspect anything.

Even though I would like to get away from him. I don't know what he would do if he knew I was trying to escape.

I limp to the door, and open it. It reveals a tear streaked boy around my age. His face is scratched up.

"C-Can I p-please come in?..." he asks. "I-It's so...c-cold out here."

It's currently winter and it's blowing hard winds and painful flakes of snow. This boy only has a t shirt and shorts on, as well as a pair of small tennies, to small for his feet.

"Y-Yes. C-come in, just please be quiet." I whisper to him. I can't let my dad know he is here. He could assume something like I'm trying to escape or something.

He walks in, shivering.

I grab his hand and lead him to my room. But first I grab him a sandwich. He looks so skinny.

We walk up to my room, across the hall from my father.

He sits on the floor, but I'm confused. There's a bed and a chair he could sit on but why the floor?

"Here, sit on the bed." I say, petting the bed in front of me.

He hesitantly gets up and sits on the bed. I am about to get him a blanket when I notice the cuts and bruises on his arms.

Is this kid....like me?...

I shake my head and grab him a blanket. I wrap it around him and he immediately wraps it around himself. His nose and ears are red, and he sniffles because of his runny nose.

I go grab some bandages and come back. I grab his arm gently but he flinched and tugs it away.

"It's okay....I know what you are going through." I whisper to him.

I wrap up the cuts on his arm and hug him.

"What's your name?" He asks me.

"Y/N."

"What's yours?" I ask.

"Saeren."