Taming Fire (Rescue Bots, Heatwave x Female! Reader)

Chapter One: Suffocating

Shards of broken glass glittered in the filtered sunlight, like tiny daggers littering the floor. Drops of red trickled down your pale skin, dripping gently onto your legs and staining the cloth. Your breaths were coming out in ragged gasps. It felt like something was squeezing your chest, trapping you, refusing to allow you to gasp in fresh oxygen.

Pressing your throbbing skull against the side of the cool kitchen counter, you placed a finger gently in the gash across your temple, shuddering at the warm, sickly feeling of blood. Everything hurt. Your eyes were irritated and cheeks itchy from the tears you had cried. Now you felt so empty, so exhausted.

Heaving yourself to your feet, you swayed, feeling bile rise up in the back of your throat. Using the wall for support, you managed to slowly and agonizingly shuffle your way to the bathroom, pushing open the door and stumbling into the counter. You grimaced at the aching pain in your ribs before opening a cabinet and pulling out the medical kit, opening the lid. With practiced ease, you wiped down your stinging injuries with soap and water and applied gauze and tape to slow the bleeding. Rummaging around in the cupboard some more, you took out some ibuprofen, filling a nearby glass with water and throwing the two pills back.

Sliding down to the cool tile slowly, you rested your bandaged head in your arms, feeling your skinny body shake in misery.

You were (Y/N) (L/N). You had been dating your boyfriend, Grant, for four years now. He had been the light of your life. The beam of hope in your lonely and repetitive existence. If only you had avoided him. Turned away from his charming grin and friendly face.

How could a person be so dreadfully different on the inside?

You felt as if your heart was constricting. Gasping for breath, you croaked, no longer able to sob.

Grant had turned out a heartless, rageful human being, with his empty grey eyes and snarled words. He had lured you in like a moth drawn to a flame. None of his touches were soft and loving like they were supposed to be. He only touched you in order to beat you black and blue.

The two of you had been living in a small town located on an island off the coast of Maine. Miserably, you stayed within a crummy apartment at the edge of the downtown area of Griffin Rock, isolated from the cheerful and go-lucky citizens around you. You rarely left the house, besides to shop for essentials.

Grant refused to allow you to have contact with others unless it was absolutely necessary. Any people close to you were bound to notice your bruises and injuries-- they would grow suspicious. You had grown distant with your remaining family members and few friends. You were forced to sever all ties. There was nobody close to you except Grant. Although Grant caused you such intense pain, he also took care of you. He gave you somewhere to live, food to eat, clothes to wear. You had nothing left besides him. How could you run away?

---

The sound of a door closing had you jolting awake and surging to your feet. Pain exploded in your ribs and your head pounded like a drum, but you forced yourself to move, shuffling out of the bathroom. You didn't know how long you had laid passed out on the tile floor, but Grant had already come home. He rarely came home so soon after a fight, usually preferring to stew in a dingy bar or waste his money gambling with other patrons. You had learned long ago not to complain about his addiction, but instead to keep silent and stay out of his way until he wanted you to speak to him.

Pressing yourself against the wall, you peered over by the front door where Grant was kicking the snow off of his boots and tossing his coat onto a chair. Grumbling darkly under his breath he threw open the fridge, grabbed a couple of beers, and trudged his way over to the couch. You missed his bright-eyed look and contagious energy that he first displayed when you began dating. Where had that gone?