More than anything (Alastor X Reader)

My hell within Hell

A/N: This chapter has images of violence, gore, and blood and there is mention is S/A. If any of this may be triggering for you or is simply something you do not want to hear today, please skip to the next part. I will try my best to make the rest of the story make sense without this.

————- flashback to the beginning ————
Y/n pov:

I walked behind the bar and grabbed the whiskey, bitters, and orange peels. My 8 years of bar tending made this an easy task. Shawn was sitting on the other side of the bar, waiting patiently for his old fashioned.
I slid the glass over to him as his eyes lit up.

"What the hell did you do to this? This is the best old fashioned I've ever had!" He chuckled as he spoke.

"Sugar cubes make a big difference don't they?" I said with a soft smile.

"Well I'd be out of my damn mind if I didn't hire you. Let me show you to your room upstairs." He said standing up and beckoning me to the stairs in the back of the bar.

I knew something felt off. This was all moving so fast and it was just too... convenient. I just waived these thoughts because I had no other choice. My feet hurt so bad from the walk that the idea of sitting on a bed was too comforting. I followed him to the top of the stairs. There was a long hallway with maybe 20 doors all the way around. He led me down to the last door at the end of the hallway. As he opened the door, I suddenly wished I listened to my intuition. There was no bed, no closet, no nightstand. Only a metal table with shackles falling from the legs.

I turned to run out of this nightmare but it was no use. Before I could even turn around, I felt a sting in the back of my head. And then, darkness.

By the time I opened my eyes, the dark sky became bright. The 'sun' now at its highest point. I tried to sit up but something held me down. I moved my eyes away from the window to my body. I saw the shackles that once lay on the floor now clamped to my ankles and wrists. A thick black strap held me close to the cold table at my waist.
My eyes darted to the door as it opened and Shawn's face came into focus.

"Let me go. I won't do or say anything if you let me leave." I said with no fear. Only anger at this sick individual.

"I don't think I will precious. With your body and your bartending skills? Shit I'll have more patrons than I'll know what to do with!" He shouted at you.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of. Let me go now. I'll spare you the gory details." I spat back.

"Oh baby you still don't get it. I own you now. And I'll make sure you never forget that." He started walking towards me. The metal in his hands finally visible as he shoved the large blade into my stomach.

"So... you're just gonna kill me then? I thought I was too 'valuable'" I stuttered as the blood began to flow down my waist, pooling on my underside.

"I forgot you're new here." He continued, "Sinners can only die to an angels blade. This is not an angels blade. You will bleed, feel the pain of your body draining in blood. But you will not die." He left me there. Laughing as he locked the door behind him.

———————

I don't know how long I was laying there. My only aspect of time was where the 'sun' sat in the sky that I could see through the broken window. My best guess would be about a week. My wound never stopped bleeding. I thought my body was going to shrivel up from the loss of fluid after the first day. After I woke up, the blood was still there, stopping for a moment of relief. Only to start pouring out of my stomach again. This Sisyphean nightmare felt like it would never end.
As the sky began to turn purple at the end of the seventh day, the door opened revealing Shawn's face once again.

"I hope you enjoyed your little vacation, but it's time to work precious." He spoke with a sharp, aggressive tone.

"I — I will never work for you. You sick son of a bitch!" I screamed as loud as my drained body could handle. Spitting whatever saliva was left in my mouth straight into his face.

"Oh you fucking slut! Get up." He unlocked the chains that held me down only to tie my hands behind my back. Before making me stand straight up. He pulled the knife out of my waist only to place it in between my teeth. I impulsively bit down in an attempt to prevent the blade from cutting my mouth open.

"Not such a talker now are you? If you open your mouth, the blade will cut that pretty little face of yours as it falls. We are going to go downstairs and you are gonna make some fucking drinks!" He shoved me to the floor. Without being able to catch myself, the blade pushed further into my mouth, slicing through my lips anyways. Out of sheer fear, hunger, and dehydration. I stood up and followed him out of the door.

I went down the stairs to the familiar empty bar where I once stood. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into another stairwell which led into a much more lively club. A stage with a pole was prominent under the spotlights. He pulled me behind the bar in the corner and untied my hands. Holding them before he spoke.

"If you get any ideas, you'll sit upstairs and rot for the next month." He squeezed my wrists tighter and tighter until he finally crushed my petite bones. The pain scorned through my entire body which caused me to collapse to the floor. I wanted to cry out but the blade was still teasing my tongue as I tried to avoid anymore damage to my face.

"Get up bitch. You have customers."

————————-

I spent the next few months going in between the bar and the stage. Filling in for whoever was too "damaged" to work that night. I found that I was only one of his many victims. I soon became his favorite toy. He never missed my shows. Watching me struggle to grip the pole with my poorly healed hands. Any time I fell on stage or poured the wrong drink, he put me back upstairs to be punished. His favorite was the knife. Sometimes he would get creative though. Whips, barbed wire, hungry animals, and every now and then, the wealthy patrons of the club who paid for an "exclusive experience."

I got used to the visitors at some point. They always loved to push me into the radiator and hear my skin burn, my voice shatter as I screamed with pain. The last visitor I had complained to Shawn because I didn't scream when he pushed me into the hot metal. I couldn't feel it anymore. Maybe I did, but the constant agony became a worthless feeling. I was complacent.

Shawn was not. He always wanted more. Nothing I did was enough for him. I had the most "patricipants", the biggest crowds, the drunkest customers. But he was insatiable. The night before I escaped was the worst.

" You know your too filthy for anyone to love you now." Shawn spoke after my last show. Two men rushed the stage and grabbed me before I could finish my performance. They ripped what little clothing I had on off of me as they started arguing on whose turn it was first. My instincts took over my 'training' and I grabbed one of them by the balls and pulled them so hard that his shorts filled with blood. Shawn took care of the other one.

He dragged me upstairs after the incident and chained me up to the familiar metal table.

"That stunt up there should have proved that to you. You're nothing more than a hole to these people." He said while looking for some more tools in his drawer.
He walked back to the table holding three knives. The first went into my thigh, the second in my chest and the last into my stomach. He then took the shackles off my ankles with a dumbbell, shattering the bones inside.

I couldn't feel it though. Nothing he did surprised me at this point. It was all the same. Pain or discomfort was the only familiar friend in this place. He began undressing me from the waist down.
Whether it was the adrenaline from the stage or the rage that hid inside my complacent mind, something came over me. I was done being used. I was done not being able to feel pain. I raised my knee up as he was about to climb on top of me and hit him where it hurt. As if I was holding all of my strength in for this moment I ripped the chains from the table to push him onto the floor. I pulled the knives out of my body and used them to try and pin him to the ground. Shoving the blades through his muscles until they stuck into the wooden floor.
He was already standing up by the time I reached the end of the hallway. Pulling the knives out of him as if they were nothing but a push pin.

So I ran.