(A/N: Look at this! Another chapter! Wowies!
This chapter has some warnings attached to it, it contains abuse (most of this chapter is a flashback) so be warned.)
He was sore. His body was burning for rest, for relaxing. He needed to calm down. He needed to relax. To stop running but he couldn't. His muscles screamed at him to stop, but his brain and his feet just made sure he kept going. He wasn't going back. He had to keep going. Away from the hurt. Away from the pain. No more of it. He couldn't handle it. No more. He couldn't let himself get even more broken than he was. But his body couldn't anymore and he fell to the ground, instantly curling himself up into a ball, wishing the rest of the world away. Not caring what happened to him anymore. He could die there and that would be okay. It would stop the pain. He'd be free.
A hand on his upper arm snapped him out of his thoughts, curling more into himself and wanting to hide. Not wanting to know who was there. Not wanting to accept that he'd been found…again. But as he was yanked roughly to his feet his eyes had to see who it was and he started to cry, struggling weakly against him. "Think you could get away, whore? You know running off just gets you in trouble." He hissed into his ear. "I…I…wasn't running away. Just…j-just exercising." Dolph pitifully replied, cowering away from him as best he could. This was not good. "Don't lie to me, slut!" He barely had any time to flinch from the words before he felt a hand across his face, hard enough to cry out in pain, and if the other man hadn't had his hold still tightly on him he knew he would've fallen to the ground. He whimpered and hid his face, looking at the ground. That would bruise. But what didn't bruise these days? "Apologise!" he hissed, shaking him a little bit. "I'm sorry." He whispered, slumped, defeated. No point in fighting. That just made it worse. Best to go along with it. Be complacent. "Oh you fucking will be! Now get in the car and shut your mouth." Face still downturned he nodded, getting into the other man's car and curling up, staring out the window and doing as asked, not making a sound. Just watching the city whirl past as he got taken to the house that was meant to be his home. Back to his cage.
He didn't fight as he was led back inside, as he was forced into their bedroom, handcuff snapped onto his wrist, other end to a leg of their bed, unable to move, trapped on the ground, still not fighting as a strong hand connected with his face again. Whimpering from the latest blow, he watched the bigger man leave and head off somewhere else in the house, leaving him there shaking, waiting for more, for his punishment. The message was pretty clear. You aren't going anywhere. The tears that had started earlier hadn't stopped, and he doubted they would. Weakly he struggled against his constraint, wondering how long he would have to wait. How long he would be left here like this.
He was awakened from a fitful uncomfortable sleep as he felt the bed moving as he got into bed, he whimpered, hoping for some form of acknowledgment, to possibly be let onto the bed, even if he was trapped up there it would be better than the uncomfortable floor. Even if being up there brought another kind of danger. But no acknowledgment was given, not even a shut up. Curling up into himself he whimpered again, trying to get comfortable and trying to hide himself as much as he could. As soon as he heard peaceful snores coming from above him on the bed, he let sobs escape him. Stuck here…trapped here. Again. Stupid, stupid. Trying to leave was stupid, should've thought that through. So dumb…He continued to sob, shaking gently and knowing by now that he wouldn't be leaving this position for a while, and knowing that there would be no comfortable way to be curled up here. He would have to endure this, he deserved to be punished.
The rumbling of his stomach woke him up, eyes blinking warily into the light from the new day. He tried to move and was relieved to find that he could. The cuff around his wrist gone, leaving only an ugly red mark from being on too tight. Cautiously he stood up. This couldn't be it. He couldn't have gotten away with one night cuffed to the bed. There had to be more. He wondered over to the door, limping slightly, his muscles still screaming after his long run yesterday, and tried to open it. It didn't budge. Feeling panic bubble up in him a bit, he tried again, trying desperately to get the door to open but it wouldn't. Clawing at his throat to try help himself breathe he burst over to the window, trying desperately to open that instead. Any form of escape. Anything. But nothing. Trapped in the room. He banged at the door, calling out for him. But nothing. Shaking gently he curled up on the bed. Not this again. He preferred being cuffed to the bed. He hated this more. Much more. He felt more confined like this. He knew he couldn't get away. He was completely trapped.
Hours of pacing went by; panic only growing stronger the longer he was confined in the room, the longer he was left alone with his thoughts the worse it became. He wasn't sure how long it had been. How long he'd been in here. It was a while and his stomach was still growling, his muscles were still aching and his throat was feeling far too dry than normal. He wondered if the other had had enough of him. That he was just going to leave him in here, leave him to die. He wouldn't be surprised. He couldn't blame him. He would get sick of him disobeying his rules all the time too. He whimpered as he banged at the door. He didn't want to die in here! He had his family! His job! He couldn't die in here! He almost wanted to die in here. No! He didn't want to die in here! But it would be so nice. No! No dying! The door knob making noise knocked him out of it, taking a few steps away and back towards a wall, watching it as it jiggled and eventually moved away as the whole door moved. Before his brain could even think about trying to escape, run out the door, it was shut behind him. Dolph blinked at him, a strangled noise leaving him. Fear. He thought it was fear. "On the bed." Dolph shook his head and tried to melt into the wall. The dying in this room would be better. He approached him, looking gentle, but he knew it was a lie. He flinched away when he felt his fingers on his face, whimpering although the gesture was gentle and sweet as his fingers trailed along his face. It felt disgusting. "You need to be punished. Be a good boy for me, baby." More tears gathered and fell and he nodded very faintly, letting out a shaky breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. "Good boy." He whispered, ghosting a kiss over his lips, Dolph had to fight his instinct to flinch away. "Bed." The soft voice would've been convincing, but he knew. Shaking he nodded again, he slinked to the bed, curling up on it and letting himself tune out to the world as the other man approached him. Being dead would most definitely be better.
Sobbing into his pillow, Dolph shook, trying to calm himself down. The soft touch of his hair made him feel sick, the soft kiss to his temple making a noise of fear escape him. "Such a good boy, Dolphy. Learned your lesson?" Dolph nodded, biting down on his pillow to stop himself from crying or sobbing…or maybe to stop himself screaming. "Good." He said as he kissed his cheek, his fingers trailing over his face as he got off the bed. Dolph's eyes followed him as he left the room, not shutting the door behind him but knowing that Dolph wasn't going to move for a while. He shuddered and let the tears escape, letting himself dwell in the pain. Pitiful broken sobs broke through, muffled by the pillow but refusing to be too loud. Not wanting to give that satisfaction. After a few moments dwelling alone he made himself get onto his feet, hissing in pain and limping through the room and into the living room. He looked at him, narrowing his eyes, gaze flicking to the front door, knowing that he could escape, but Dolph just slinked over to him, curling up at his feet, clinging to his legs and whimpering. He could feel his fingers going soothingly through his hair and he just sobbed some more, disgusted at how he was acting. How he was just this mans pet.
For the next week not much else changed. Day after day of punishment endured, curling up at his feet afterwards. Being a good boy. Being a good boy was always best for him. It meant that he didn't have to punish him more, and he didn't want to make him punish him more, he said he didn't like to do it, but it had to be done when it was needed. He had to be taught a lesson, had to learn that disobeying was bad. But it seemed that a week of punishment was enough this time. But probably not next time, if there was a next time. It got worse every time. Every time he did something bad the punishment was worse and worse. It had started with yelling, insults, nothing extreme, but it had escalated rather extremely. Dolph had tried to fight back once. But only once. It had been a bad mistake. His fingers absentmindedly traced his scar on his left side, no that one time had surely been a mistake. The fingers in his hair suddenly stopped. "Dolphy, I'm heading out tonight, alright? Might be gone for a couple days. You'll behave, won't you?" he asked and Dolph nodded against him, clinging tighter to him for a second, not wanting him to leave. "I'll be good." His soft voice replied, looking up at him and almost pleading with him not to go. But since when did his wishes matter? He nodded at him, getting up and ruffling his hair one last time before he left him. Alone.
He was unsure about being alone. He didn't like it. Whimpering quietly to himself, there was no one else to hear it, he did some house chores, cleaning up, doing washing, but by the end of it he was shaking. He couldn't do anything like that, shaking so much that he kept dropping everything. His fingers fumbled as he tried continue on, but he had to give up. Curling into a ball and trying to contain his shaking. But the panic at being alone exploded through him and he sobbed, trying to contain himself, trying to keep himself together. He couldn't be alone. Dear god no he couldn't be alone. He preferred being hit. He couldn't leave him alone like this. He shook, crying, needing to get out. He couldn't be alone in here. Instinct screamed at him to run, he wasn't home, he could run and he wouldn't know he was gone for ages. He could get away from him. But fear held him down. He'd already had one week. He didn't want more. He couldn't handle more. He couldn't. Anything more and he would break completely. He was already a pet. Was already less than nothing. He couldn't fall further. He couldn't let himself. More punishment…he couldn't. He couldn't. He whimpered, clutching himself tighter. But if he stayed…wouldn't he get more if he stayed? Even as he obeyed every order, he knew they would keep coming, getting harder and harder to meet the standards. He would always get punished. No matter what he did. He whimpered louder and tried to fight with himself, reason with himself. He loved him. Dolph knew he did. Dolph needed him. He would never have anyone else. Even as he shook his head to counter himself it helped his case for leaving, aches running through his body from the various beating, from the various punishments. Punishments he'd endured for the past five years. He stood back up on shaky legs, starting to pace, his head hurting, conflicted. He couldn't leave. He couldn't do it. It was bad. He'd get punished. Why would he want to leave? This was where he belonged, this was what he deserved. It wasn't worth trying to escape. He could never escape. He belonged to him now. He was nothing else but his pet. He wasn't Dolph he wasn't anything…he had to stay. But his feet were much smarter than he was and they were out the door and half way down the street before his brain had even caught up. This time he wouldn't slow down. He would keep going. He didn't care where he ended up. He had to run. He would run as far as his body would allow him. He had to go. His brain fought him but for once his body overruled it. Just letting his feet guide him, letting everything else just shut down. Wherever he went…things couldn't get much worse, not as long as he kept running.
So even after he got away that's what he kept doing. Running. He didn't have to face his problems, not if he kept going, if he trusted his feet, his instincts, to take him away. Wrestling helped. The lifestyle, moving from city to city, always on the road, different chicks each night, never tied down, not having to worry. He didn't have to be anyone but the guy he was onscreen. No past, no future. Just the present. Only running. Only work.
And that's why he was running now. Hurt…betrayed, his feet taking him away from everything. Away from Punk, away from memories, away from everything. Just running until his lungs gave out, until his feet couldn't bring him any further. He collapsed onto the pavement, lungs desperately trying to pull in air. The pavement was cold, but he didn't care. His body shook and everything wanted to explode out of him, years of torment, of punishment, of keeping everything in, of running, pretending that everything was alright when every day another piece of him fell away. He felt like screaming.
So he did.