Chapter Text
I'm scared to get close
and hate being alone.
I long for that feeling
to not feel at all.
the higher I get
the lower I'll sink
I cant drown my demons
they know how to swim.
George flinched as Toto unbuckled his belt, the sight of the gleaming silver buckle sending pure terror through Russells veins.
Of course he was used to this.
He remembers the whistling sound of the belt moving seamlessly through the air,
the sharp crack as it came in contact with flesh,
and soon later the excruciating burn it came with.
He soon learned to stifle his screams,
clamp a hand to his mouth , hard enough to leave a mark.
Yet how many times he had endured the merciless beatings the pure rush of horror always hit the same.
George scrambled away from the older man , sinking to the floor as his back hit the cold walls of the barren room.
Succumbing himself to desperation he allowed himself to beg, the words coming out in a throaty rasp.
“Please Toto ill be b-better” he pleaded cowering under his shadow.
The man above him raised the belt in warning and a small whimper escaped George.
Fuck. He made a mistake.
“Address me as master” The answering voice snarled, its rough accent severing the words into a jagged, clipped tone.
George lowered his gaze, his heart beating erratically.
“Sorry master” he forced the words out through his shallow breaths.
“Never good enough” Toto mused in a measured voice that dripped with venom.
Russells gaze began to blur and his eyelashes clumped with tears. Never good enough.
Never obedient.
Never the best.
Never willing.
Always not enough.
George felt his thought drift into sadness.
He was never enough.
Maybe he deserved it all…
The sharp crack broke through his brief haze of thoughts.
At first George was confused , unsure of what was happening, until his brain caught up with his body and a sharp pain blossomed through his front.
Instincts took over and he felt himself curling up into a small ball, trying his best to shield himself.
Yet the rushing tangs of agony kept coming, the welder mercilessly landing blow after blow. George unwilling trembled as dark spots began to cloud his vision.His eyelids fluttered ,and he felt a pang of relief.
Maybe he could fall asleep and never wake up.
His breath slowed as unconsciousness took over his senses, pulling him down into a dark sea of sleep.
---
When George awoke it was in panic.
His eyelids flickered before opening steadily, pupils finding the white ceiling above him.
He almost forgot what happened.
Almost.
Until he looked down and say the crimson spots of red splattered over the floor like rose petals.
Muscle memory caused George to scan the room, pupils dilated.
The room was the same one he was beaten in.
Void of furniture, white walls,ceiling and floors.
George reconsigned the room as his cell.
Nothing good ever happened here, only punishments.
But small pang of hopefulness found its way to his heart upon seeing Toto wasn't in the room anymore, only to fade to dread.
dreading the next punishment.
George couldn't even remember why he received them.
Maybe he stared in Toto's eyes when talking to him?
Maybe he talked back to much?
Or stayed silent?
Whatever George seemed to do was always wrong.
George had adapted over time.
He used to fight back.
Scream in fury.
Now he only endured it.
Because he was always wrong.
Never
Good
Enough.
Hysteria cracked through the numb mask of Georges thoughts and he looked down again realizing he was still bleeding.
Fuck.
A tired ache had settled in his bones and bruises had blossomed along his body, adorning him in purple marks. Paper thin red cuts snaked across his skin like rivers, and old scars had been replaced with new.
George looked horrible, and felt it too.
However after weeks- maybe months, of enduring this George's body had adapted to it.
Of course it still hurt, but not as much as the first few times.
The same could not be said about his mental state.
His body was enduring it, but his mind was shattering.
Some days he felt numb, to tired to cry.
Others he cried, falling asleep on a floor wet with tears.
At first he had hope.
Maybe someone would find him.
But that was soon gone.
The only way he was escaping was by a coffin.
And Toto was smart.
He was clever enough to torture till he blacked out, but never death.
Toto played with him, like a wolf would do with a sheep.
Sharp footsteps sounded and George sluggishly turned his head to the door, a steel monstrous thing. The footsteps stopped and George tilted his head, ears straining to hear the distinctive click of the locks opening.
The door swung open and from his point on the ground George could vaguely make out a set of feet approach him, before stopping, bending down and smacking a plate on the ground with a hard thud that made George flinch.
Eventually the person left, shutting the door with a departing slam.
George lay there for a while debating what he should do.
After a few minutes of evaluating he rose to his knees, wincing in protests and his wounds sreamed in agony.
However he continued to rise.
I've felt worse, George grimly thought.
Now on all fours he crawled slowly to the plate.
The porcelain shape held a bland tasteless meal.
George however was focused on something else, a small folded piece of paper, neatly sitting beside the plate.
Hands shaking, he grabbed at it, unfolding it with clumsy hands.
Do not eat this food or their will be consequences
- Master
George stared at the plate.
It was the only food he had been given.
For a long time, he didn't move. His stomach cramped with hunger, but the warning beside the plate kept him frozen.
Eventually, he pushed the food away.
The first few hours weren't difficult. His body still had enough energy to keep him moving, and he spent most of the time sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up.
By the following day, the hunger had become harder to ignore.
His stomach felt hollow, occasionally tightening painfully before settling again. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed repeatedly in an attempt to ease it.
He tried standing.
His legs immediately felt unsteady.
George caught himself against the wall, remaining there until the dizziness passed. Even that small movement had left him exhausted.
He lowered himself back onto the floor.
The room seemed strangely quiet.
His thoughts were becoming sluggish. It took longer to concentrate, and simple things required effort. He found himself staring at the same spot on the wall for several minutes without realizing how much time had passed.
His body felt heavy despite how little he was moving.
When he finally looked at the plate again, the food had gone cold.
His stomach twisted at the sight.
For one brief moment, he considered eating it.
Then his eyes returned to the note.
His hand trembled as he pushed the plate farther away.
George rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
He was exhausted.
Not the ordinary kind of tiredness that sleep could fix.
But a deeper aching pain.