Shazam: A Fallen Hero [Billy Batson x Reader]

Four

Y/Ns POV:

I stayed at Billy's and Freddy's one more night. It's now Sunday, and I had to go home before my father would be there

"Are you sure you can't just come to school with us tomorrow?" Darla asked me as she hugged me.

"Maybe I can meet up with you guys on the corner in the morning. But no, I can't stay another night." I told her apologetically.

Her smile grew, "Okay! See you tomorrow!" She squealed.

"Bye." I smiled back as I walked out the door.

I began my walk back to my house. The closer I got, the more I was dreading to go.

After a few minutes, I turned the corner to my street. I looked in the driveway and was horrified.

Why is he home early?

I got to the door as fast as possible. I slowly opened the door and quietly made my way inside. I quietly stepped up the stairs. I was halfway up, "Where do you think you're going?"

I stopped and turned around, "Just upstairs." I answered.

"Mhm. Where the hell were you? I thought I told you to be here when I got home." He growled.

"I had to go to the store." I lied.

"I find that hard to believe." He crossed his arms, "You know how I feel when you lie to me."

I looked down at my feet, knowing that there was no point in lying. He would see right through them, even if it was the truth. It would only make things worse, "I'm sorry, sir." That would be my final lie of the day. I wasn't sorry. I had the time of my life while he was gone. I was finally happy, and now that was gone, too.

"Get upstairs." He growled at me while pointing finger.

⚠️ WARNING: Abuse ⚠️

I sighed and continued up the steps. I stopped and waited for him to come up as well. He quickly grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to, what he called, the beating room. We had it in our old apartment in New York. He must have set it up again while I wasn't here.

I looked around and noticed that something was missing, "Where's the punching bag?" I asked. Usually I would hold the punching bag. It hurt beachside he would punch it so hard that it would hit me.

He fastened some straps along the wrists of some boxing gloves, "Don't be silly now. You're the punching bag."

I gasped. My father was a boxer in high school. He said he gave it up to be with my mother, but when she died, he picked it up again. Said it always got his anger out.

Within two seconds, I felt a hard hit land on my right cheek. I stumbled back, but stayed on my feet. Another came on the other side of my face. And then an uppercut caused me to fly back against the wall.

"Get up." Father barked. I stayed where I was on the floor. He kicked me in the stomach, "You Damn thing, I said get up!" He kept kicking me.

I slowly was able to get up. I used the wall behind me for support. He punched me by my already swollen eye, "Now, do yo want to tell me where the hell you were?" He punched me again when I stayed silent.

"At a friend's house. We had a class project—" I was unable to finish, as he landed another punch, this time near my jaw.

"I thought I told you, you couldn't go to someone's house!" He snapped. He took off one of his boxing gloves and put his free hand around my throat, blacking my airway.