𝗠𝗛𝗔 |𝗢𝗻𝗲-𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀|

𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗦

Gen Fic x Female Reader!

Song
Mad Hatter. Melanie Martinez

WARNING
Mentions of child abuse (parental/guardian), violence, gore, sexual abuse, killing, knives

Pls read at your own risk!

˜"*°•.•°*"˜

The clock was ticking. I knew I didn't have much time left until I heard the sickening sound of that stupid alarm. I watched as the minutes turned to seconds, but, in reality, it felt more like hours had gone by as I continued to stare at what was happening in front of me. The room I had been trapped in for years—I think—was cold and damp. The floors were made of cement, trapping whatever temperature it was in the dirt outside while the floor absorbed the moisture it had to offer.

There weren't any windows and the closest light source was a few meters away, close to the wooden stairs that would lead me to my freedom, but unfortunately, I was chained to the wall, shackles attaching my wrist and ankles to the wall, but leaving me enough room to lay on my mattress that would never pass a health inspection. The smell that once bothered me was now just a distant memory, something that my brain had learned to tune out, along with everything else that happened down here.

Yep, one of the many joys of being me: A quirkless loser with a deadbeat guardian.

I hated complaining about things, though, I really do, but sometimes you can't stop the thoughts from coming... and before you even realize it you're complaining about the situation. The thing that sucks the most about this situation is that I spent the majority of my life, praying—hoping—that a hero would break the doors to this house, beat the person who's had me locked down here and come rescue me from this prison, but as the years went by and as the clock ticked more and more, I started losing faith in society's heroes. I realized that when there are supervillains out in the world, causing chaos in the streets where the whole world could see. A measly girl locked up in some basement—hidden from the public's eye—wasn't a priority.

The wooden door at the top of the stairs slowly opened, a creaking noise following its movements. Was it really that hard to either oil the hinges or just replace the door entirely? Loud, heavy footsteps followed, shortly after, causing the muscles in my body to tense up. You would think that after so long I would just get used to the routine we've developed, but I guess not. I quickly pulled myself together, preparing myself for the events to come. Maybe if I laid down it would make it go quicker? Or if I pretended to sleep, maybe? My nose wrinkled in disgust as I smelt the new smell entering the room. I knew that I was nose-blind to most things in this room, but the stench of alcohol will always stick with me.

I shut my eyes tight as I tried relaxing, listening to the sound of the clock as the hands continued to tick away. I felt their hands on me as they continued to punch my body, not caring about the effects that this could possibly cause in the future. Once they got bored of their hands, they would start using their feet, kicking me in every spot that they would reach, at the time. I could feel my body jerk, small groans escaping my lips as I tried protecting my stomach and head to the best of my abilities without making it obvious that I was up. I counted every blow they landed on me, trying to time it with the ticking sound of the clock.

1.

2.

3.

...

"Don't worry, child. You're safe, now." The man in front of me placed a hand on my shoulder.

The rain was heavy that night and I could barely see two feet in front of me. The streets were dead, and not a single hero was in sight... which was normal, considering we were on the poorer side of the city. I looked around my surrounding, I had no idea how I got here... maybe it was because of the adrenaline rushing through my veins. The last thing I remember was them on top of me and my cold body on the floor... everything after that was blank.