The Pain, Redux(Ivy x Abused Male Reader Rewrite)

3: Circulation system, or whatever it is. Blood system

Monday came, which you viewed only as a blessing, for the break it brought from your parents.

  The weekend had been like most others, with your parents using various tools to hit you, from spatulas to belts to a chain. You had a large number of new cuts, all probably capable of opening at the slightest offense.

  As if that wasn't difficult enough, your parents don't care about your grades, only if you went to school so they couldn't be charged with Truancy. This meant that convincing them that you had to stay at school late was harder than the beatings you endured. But you managed to do it.

  Now, it was very early in the morning on Monday, and you were in the laundry room, trying to treat the bloodstains on your clothes without drawing attention. A few weeks back, you're parents bought what seemed to be a glue stick-like product that treated stains, and you were using it as best you possibly could. After a bit of this, you sighed. No way you could do this before your parents got up.

  You eventually returned to the garage, where you carefully put on your school uniform. Walking out of to the kitchen, you looked at the time. About 6:30. Early enough to the point where your parents might get up, and not enough time to raid the kitchen again. You nodded to yourself before going back to grab your bag and shoes, putting them on. You then put four frozen waffles into the toaster, and started a pot of coffee. Not bothering to let it finish, you walked outside. If your parents were so desperate for food from you, they may as well grab it themselves.

  As you walked, the early morning cold numbed your wounds, letting you breathe a bit easier. Passing a stranger's driveway, you stole a newspaper, still in the plastic blue bag, and put it in your backpack. You looked down as you walked, and almost missed something. You stopped to look at it. It was a dirty white glove, you lowered yourself to the ground to take a better look at it. It was covered in dirt in some places, white on the others, and one of those that let you put it on both hands, depending on which way you did it. You grabbed it, shoving it into your back pocket. Maybe you could wash it when you came home, maybe use it to clean your wounds.

It was about a minute after that, that you arrived at school, and were suddenly grateful for long sleeves. The cuts on your hand had nearly faded, but your arms made you look like an emo kid. The bruise on the back of your neck was partially, but not fully healed. But there was a small crowd of people in the front area of the school, chatting and waiting for the doors to open. You nervously swallowed and walked as far away from the people as you could get. After reaching a respectable distance, you sat down, picking at your sleeves. Your parents would probably be mad at you for leaving early. You sighed and looked down into your lap. Then you heard the doors open.

Getting up, you walked inside the school, avoiding the gaze of any other students. You eventually reached your locker, and got ready.

The day passed as normally, and before you knew it, your last hour was ending. As the bell rang, your teacher yelled out.

"Have a nice day everyone! Remember if you're staying after school!" Then you remembered. You had to be in the lecture room. With Ivy. You groaned in defeat as students passed you. You eventually got up, and started walking to the room in question.

  The lecture room was a room that looked like it was used for conferences rather than teaching. The teacher's desk sat in front of a whiteboard, with a somewhat large circular area with a table, then the first row of seats. It formed maybe a third of a circle, then, like a staircase, each row was higher up than the last.

  Ivy was sitting in a chair in the second row, her feet propped up on the desk. A few pieces of paper, a textbook, and some colored pencils lay on a circular table in the middle of the room. Ivy just tapped away on her phone.

  "Well?" She spoke up when you looked at her. You sighed, and sat at the table, looking at the rubric, and opening the textbook.

Bonk

  The fifth ball of crumpled paper bumped off of your head as you worked. All you had was a basic plan of the project, but already, Ivy had wasted more than twice as much paper as you. Almost at a steady beat, paper balls hit parts of your body, making a pile on the floor. It would've been irritating, but you would take it over going home any day. You looked up at the clock to see that an hour had passed. You stood up to leave.

  "Where are you going?" Ivy asked from her position.

  "Home." You responded. A pen hit you in the head.

  "What about the project?" Ivy pretended to aim at you with a pair of scissors.

  "We have two weeks." An eraser hit you.

  "Fine. You better take care of that mess you made at the table." You looked at the table, covered in crumpled balls of paper, and sighed, starting to clean up.

  As expected, Ivy decided to make it difficult for you by throwing paper, erasers, and writing utensils at you, which you could only pick up. You gathered as much crumpled paper as you could from the floor and table, and put all of it into a recycling bin. After that, you gathered the other items Ivy threw, and simply placed them on the table, before grabbing the stuff you used, before going to leave.

  "Hey Brat!" Ivy yelled. You turned towards her to see something flying at your face. Pure instinct and reflex made you violently go from standing to ducking as a paper ball flew over your head. You waited for something to shatter and glass to fall on you, before you realized where you were. You paused for a moment, looked at Ivy, who was smirking, and ran out the door.

You had run to your locker, put your stuff away, grabbed the newspaper you stole, and ran home without your backpack, letting you go significantly faster. After about 10 minutes of running, you arrived home, winded. You panted heavily, your lungs rattling like a box of rocks. You coughed, spitting out a massive glob of mucus in the process. Before going to the front step, you took another newspaper off your driveway. Satisfied with it,you grabbed the doorknob and walked inside.

You barely shut the door when you were nailed in the head by an empty beer bottle.

"Why the hell did you give us a cold breakfast!?" Your father yelled. You stayed silent, pressing your hands on your head, where you were hit. You get something hit you on the back.

"Well!?" He yelled. You whimpered from the pain. He kicked you.

"Go make dinner. Then go to bed." You nodded, stumbling into the kitchen, trying not to bleed on the linoleum floor. Then came the painstaking task of cooking.

After much longer than it should've taken, the table was set, and you were in the garage, arranging the newspapers you got into a makeshift bed. When it was done, you did the only thing you could, laying down and closing your eyes.

~ASnazzyGuy

~1283 Words