Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Pain and... pain? ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

 

A few weeks after dad had left, the bruising on my face and body had faded away, almost all of them. My right arm was still hurting like hell and deep bruising had formed on my shoulder. Jonathan still came by every day but he hadn't fucked me since the rape. He still touched me and made me give him head but at least he hadn't fucked me, giving me time to heal. I guess he understood that if he wanted to keep his toy, he had to let me recover.

 

I was currently lounging on the sofa and trying to get my arm in a position it wouldn't hurt in. I hadn't slept well in days because of the throbbing pain in my shoulder and knew that I needed to get it checked, but going to the hospital wasn't really an option.

 

I got up when I heard the door open and moved to the kitchen expecting to see Jonathan and I froze when I saw who walked into the apartment. It wasn't Jonathan, it was dad.

 

He looked around in the kitchen before locking his eyes on me and saying.

 

“This place is filthy. Clean it up.”

 

“Y-yes, sir.” I muttered and tried to keep my arm still. Dad noticed the money on the table where they still were since I had refused to touch them, and asked.

 

“What's this?”

 

“J-Jonathan l-left them.” I stuttered and dad picked up the money.

 

“Did he fuck you?”

 

His question shocked the hell out of me and when I opened my mouth to answer him, nothing came out. Apparently dad took that as a yes and huffed while pushing the money in his pocket. I didn't care; I didn't want the money anyway.

 

“Must have been a good fuck then, clean the fucking apartment, I shouldn't have to tell you to clean.” dad spat at me before disappearing into his bedroom. A second later he was back in the kitchen.

 

“Who the fuck gave you permission to go into MY bedroom!?” he yelled and just came at me without waiting for an answer.

 

“I-I'm s-sorry.” I stuttered, panicking, and backed away from him, right into the corner where there was no chance of escape.

 

“You don't fucking touch my stuff, you little piece of shit!” dad yelled and pushed me hard against the wall.

 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” I chanted with a shaky voice and closed my eyes when my legs gave out on me.

 

Dad growled at me and grabbed my arm to yank me up. I screamed from pain when he put pressure on my already hurt arm and dad frowned at me.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked and pulled on my arm again. This time I bit back any sound of pain and moved closer to dad to ease the pressure on my arm.

 

“Take your shirt off, now!” dad spat at me and to my relief let go of my arm. I pulled my arm close to my chest and started to pull my shirt off with my good arm. Dad's eyes roamed my body for a moment before zeroing in on my bruised shoulder. He grabbed my arm again and pulled it straight out in front of me, making me yelp from pain a little bit.

 

“What the hell happened?”

 

“J-Jonathan.” I said quietly and kept my head down. He was going to be so mad at me. I didn't want to get beaten by him.

 

Dad flexed my arm and I tried not to let him hear the pain I was in. He knew I was hurting, he had seen me in pain often enough to know when I was hurt. Granted, he was usually the main cause of the pain but still.

 

“What else did he do?” dad asked and I bit my lip nervously, pulling my arm close to my chest again now that he had let go of it. Dad waited for my answer for a moment before shoving me off the way and saying.

 

“Clean the fucking apartment.”

 

“Yes, sir.” I mumbled quickly and went to get the vacuum cleaner.

 

I heard dad speak on the phone, probably with Jonathan, but concentrated on vacuuming with my left hand. Not as easy as you would think. My right arm was hurting even more now that dad had yanked on it and I was getting afraid that something was seriously wrong with it. I was still vacuuming the livingroom awkwardly with my left hand when dad walked in and backhanded me hard.

 

“You little shit! I fucking told you not to cause trouble while I was gone!” he spat and shoved me out of the way.

 

“Get out of my sight, before I'll do something I'll regret.”

 

“Yes, sir.” I said quietly and turned off the vacuum cleaner before dragging it out of the livingroom. I took it back to the closet where we kept all the cleaning stuff, knowing that noise coming from me would only piss dad off even more. Instead I started cleaning the kitchen as quietly as I could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I kept away from dad for the rest of the day and went to sleep early, it was only seven pm. My shoulder was throbbing painfully and I tried to rub it carefully to ease the pain. It was getting hard to just move the arm and knew I had to do something about it. I heard a knock on our door and listened carefully how dad went to open the door. My whole body tensed when I heard Jonathan's voice. I couldn't make out what they were talking about but closed my eyes quickly when I heard steps coming closer to my door. My door slammed open and dad said.

 

“Get up.”

 

He didn't give me time to obey but yanked me off the thin mattress, this time luckily by my good arm, before dragging me to the livingroom.

 

“He's fucking useless to me to me if he can't use his arm. You fucked him up, you fix him.” dad spat at Jonathan and shoved me towards the other man. I fell on my knees between them and Jonathan helped me up.

 

“Alright, calm down, David. It's just a sprain.” Jonathan said and pushed me towards the door.

 

“He's a fucking cripple. Fix it. I need him to fight and Steve won't let him if he can't fucking move his arm.” dad said and I bit my lip nervously. So he was going to put me up for a fight. Jonathan sighed and opened the door for me.

 

“Right, I'll take care of it.” he said and we left. Jonathan kept his hand on my shoulder when we walked down the stairs and asked.

 

“How's your arm really?”

 

I didn't know what to say and Jonathan stopped to have a better look at me. He took hold of my arm and pulled it up, making me wince from pain.

 

“So it still hurts.” he said and I nodded quietly. He sighed and let go of my arm before pushing me forward again. Once we got into his car and he pulled off the curb, I dared to ask.

 

“J-Jonathan?”

 

“What?”

 

“W-where are we g-going” I asked nervously and fidgeted with the hem of my shirt nervously.

 

“To get your arm checked. You should have told me it still hurt.” Jonathan said and I bit my lip nervously.

 

“I-I'm s-sorry.” I stuttered and looked away from him. I didn't want to go to the hospital. Did dad know he was taking me to the hospital? Hospital meant questions. And questions were never good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jonathan parked the car as close to the hospital doors as possible and I followed him inside reluctantly. Just before the door he turned to look at me sharply and pointed a finger at me.

 

“One wrong word and I'll beat you up myself, got it? Your dad doesn't want the social workers asking questions and neither do I so you keep you mouth fucking shut if they ask you how you sprained your arm, got it?”

 

“Y-yes, sir.” I stuttered, like I was going to tell anyone I hurt my arm because I didn't stay still when he was fucking me. No way in hell.

 

“Good. When they ask, tell them you got into a fight or something.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And fucking stop calling me `sir'!” Jonathan spat and pulled me forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two hours later we were finally out of the hospital. My arm was now supported against my chest with a sling and I had been prescribed antibiotics and painkillers to help with the pain and swelling. My arm had been x-rayed as well but thankfully nothing had been broken, just like I had already figured out by myself earlier. The doctor hadn't asked any questions really, to my huge relief; apparently it wasn't all that common for guys my age to have sprains.

 

When we got back to our apartment, dad took one look at me and before starting to yell.

 

“What the fuck!?”

 

“He has to keep his arm still for a few weeks at least. It's not broken, just sprained. He got antibiotics and painkillers.” Jonathan said calmly and I just stared at the floor quietly, trying not to provoke dad.

 

“Few weeks?! Fuck that! I need to pay rent before that!” dad spat and turned his burning eyes on me.

 

“You little shit. Can't you do anything right?” he asked and tears burned in my eyes.

 

“Jon, you can go now. I expect you to pay his fucking medical bill since you're the one who fucked him up.” dad said and apparently Jonathan nodded in agreement behind me since he left without another word.

 

Once Jonathan was gone, dad turned his eyes on me and said.

 

“I was going to put you in a fight to get the rest of the rent money but you just had to go and fuck up, didn't you? I've had it with you, I'm calling Simmons.”

 

I paled at his words and my head shot up instantly. No.

 

Dad grabbed the phone and I stared at him in panic. He dialed the numbed and I finally got my mouth open.

 

“No! Dad, please! Please don't make me go there! I'll get the money! Please, I'll get the money!” I begged and fell on my knees in front of him.

 

“Please don't make me go there!” I sobbed and dad just looked down on me like I was a piece of trash stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

 

“Pull yourself together, you little shit. You have no one to blame but yourself.” he spat at me and kicked me away from him. I took a ragged breath and forced myself to stop crying. I held in the sobs but silent tears kept falling down my cheeks. He was sending me to him. He was sending me to the Cave.