Warnings.
DON'T READ if you simply don't like violence..or blood or torment. It can be triggering, some parts of the story.
Here, Law is a teenager suffering from past abusive treatments. AU. Heh, I just thought of it so I wanted to write it down. ;)
Self-harm, self-torture, hallucinations/imaginative and dubious mind. I guess..what other warnings could I give?
Still wanna read?
Here we go.
Chocolate.
More chocolate.
Irresistable sweets, melts in the mouth and makes everywhere sticky.
"You've been a good boy, haven't you?"
"Law.."
"You deserve more treats. Go ahead, stuff your face with candy you desire for your childish sweet tooth."
So he did, rummaged through the bottom plastic box of the refrigerator, digging and grabbing as many as he could, tearing open the wrappers and leaving them on the floor. He wasn't starved, or starving, no, he just had lunch, but somehow it didn't had any effect on his seemingly ravenous stomach.
More sweets...more sweets please?
Drowning in sugary pleasure.
Law raised his head, wiping at his mouth with a cold hand, licking his lips, he sat back on his heels to emit a huge yawn.
"Law. Get out of the kitchen, you lazy fuck."
He flinched. He quickly got on his knees, pressed the lid onto the box and pushed back the plastic box. He got up and kicked the door shut.
"Shut up. Bastard." He snarled, before whimpering, feeling a heavy presence behind him.
"Who told you to stand up? "
"On your knees."
He struggled, but his legs gave way, and his knees cracked soundly against the cold kitchen floor.
"Aah..." Tears were forming from the sharp pain.
Crawl. Reaching out with the next hand , trying to get forward without lifting any of his limbs off the ground.
"..."
Silence, such a lonely house. Not empty, but with only Law occupying the house.
For now.
"Law."
He ignored the call, and continued edging towards the study room, hoping that by then his brain would reawake itself. Either that, or he would bang his head against the piano. The unforgiving keys always rebounds back, scratching his face and forcing him out of this state.
"LAW."
"You...stop."
A footstep..?
A hand grabbing his chin..?
His head was squarely smashed into the floor.
"Uh!"
He gave in, body weaker than it actually was.
"Pa..." He panted against the floor, "Sir...please..let me go..."
"I don't want to...don't want..."
Sniffling fake tears, he rubbed his cheek on the floor, hopeful, trying to pass it off as a gesture of defeat.
Fingers slithered over his back...his spine...before slipping into his underwear and smoothing the rounded rear cheeks.
"Don't wanna...I don't...wanna do this..."
With a cry, his body was pushed onto the ground, his whole figure motionless yet brimming full of senseless energy.
"Why..me..?"
He pushed off the ground onto his knees, hands supporting his weight, elbows weak and nearly snapping with the insistent trembling.
"You know what to do."
"Quick."
"Don't waste my time."
"Your precious is at stake, darling."
He gasped, gagged on the sudden intake of cold air, got to his feet and dashed to the bathroom.
Clean bathroom, however, now ruined with splatters of vomit and the sound of helpless heaving and breathless retching.
"Uh...it hurts..." Law grabbed his chest, all the while moaning to himself, his other hand on the rim of the toilet seat to support his quivering body. Wave after wave of sharp pain hit his ribs.
Law wheezed piteously, his sight flashing black and white, slowly losing his grip to fall yet again on the floor.
Cold...wet...
No more...
"Please...no more..." Begging no one in particular, Law realised with a start.
Laughter soon turned to cackling, Law hugging his stomach in his frenzy of short-lived happiness. How pitiful, begging no one, but yourself to stop.
The deafening cackling died down, turning back to sniffles. He drew his knees to his chest, head spinning like he was having a hangover. Oh, how he wished he was having one instead of another episode. It was always different torments, but no less tormenting and painful, filled with helpless wanting and maddening headaches.
How will this one end then?
"Get up."
"The leather. Get the belt."
"Don't make me repeat myself-I don't like to wait."
He cried, dragging his weary body out of the bathroom with aching forearms, hand dirtied with spit and bits of chocolate that experienced a journey down his throat, and back up.
His nose was stuck with snot, his ears ringing, breathing uneven and quick through his mouth.
He grabbed the metal loop and pressed it onto the floor with his knees, bracing the other end of the belt against his back, his right hand grabbing the middle of the unyielding leather. His left hand was left clutching his thigh, useless without an objective.
A shirtless figure kneeling on the floor, trembling with painful anxiety and anticipation, a tearing in emotions where he felt both fear and excitement.
He had to do it, just like his Pa taught him.
Everyday procedure, you know?
The leather end of the belt swung over his shoulder, before following the same route back and landing squarely onto flesh.
Law bit his lip, fingers tearing into skin.
Whimpering?
Punished with another slash.
And another.
And another.
By twenty, he was crying, louder with each lash of the belt.
By forty, welts were raised, his head spinning even faster than just before.
More...more...more...
The unrelenting pursuit of the waving of the belt, one after another, periodically bruising the tender flesh on Law's back.
By sixty, he was howling.
By eighty, he was bleeding heavily, skin whipped right off his back.
Ninety eight.
Ninety nine.
Hundred.
"Pa..." Law breathed, eyes red and swollen. Falling, he was falling onto his front, but he did not care, for his hands were too weak to latch onto the ground.
"It's...it's done..."
Sweat, blood and saliva were slowly dripping onto the dirtied floor, from anguish, pain and mere tiredness.
"Uh...Pa..."
"Good boy."
"Go to sleep."
oops. What did I write?