Blondie
Flashback 1
I am posting this really short flashback because I have a longer chapter that I am currently writing, so it might be a short wait until I can upload chapter 3. Forgive my delay, but please accept this nibble of whump.
(also if anyone wants to tell me how to actually write whump, that would be great, because what am I doing???)
He had been a bad boy. He had forgotten to take Nora out on a walk. That was his job, to help take care of the dogs, and he wasn’t even any good for it.
Because of his stupidity, Nora had gotten so worked up from not taking her walk that she managed to jump the fence and bite Moonshine, a young male Rottweiler, just barely old enough to be considered an adult. The dog is probably going to die, which in turn, will cost Master a lot of money. So of course, Master is furious.
“Master, please!” Blondie begs as he is dragged by his hair, snarled and greasy from being unwashed. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please Master!”
Master stops to pull Blondie’s head back and winds up to slap the boy hard enough it feels more like a sharp punch. “Shut up!” He barks like Nora. “You yap more than that bitch!”
“Please!” Blondie tries again, relentless. “I’ll be good!”
“No, you won't!” Master lifts him by the hair and tosses him back onto the linoleum floor. “You’ve never been good! You’re a waste of goddamn money, that’s what you are. I was told you’d be a prized asset, but look at you! Hair the color of piss and you’re nothing but skin and bones.”
Master paces for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what exactly he wants to do with the young man. He spots a grill lighter on the counter and picks it up, marching over to the shaking pet he had thrown to the floor. Blondie knows this. He knows what his punishment is. He knows he deserves his punishment but his body has a visceral reaction of protest when he recalls the pain from the last time his behavior warranted the punishment.
“Come here.” Master spits and grabs the young man’s arm by the elbow. He drags him up to sit and bruises him with his grip, flicking the lighter on once...twice...three times...until it a tiny flame flickers to life. It looks almost gentle, but Blondie knows better than to trust its lure. It bites.
“No!” Blondie squirms from the man’s grip, and Master is forced to wrestle his frail body to the ground. He pins his chest down with a heavy knee that feels like it might suffocate him. “No! Please! Please! PLEASE! I’ll be good!”
He hears the lighter click again, out of his view this time, and feels something warm, which turns into something hot, which turns into something cold, which then sends a bolt of pain over the rest of his skin. It travels in a wave, through his arms, up his shoulders, on the back of his neck, and it makes his scalp feel like he wants to dive head first into ice water. It’s just a single spot, on the sensitive underside of his forearm, but master keeps the lighter to that skin, and all Blondie can do is let out a high pitched squeal.
His arms react on their own. His legs take over, and he begins to fight back the weight on top of him. With a burst of energy, Blondie shoves Master with both his arms and feet. The pain shooting through his skin fires signals to his brain, and he can’t help but fight. When he sees Master getting up from the ground, his adrenaline fades away to fear, and from the look he sees in Master’s eyes, Blondie knows he should run. He wants to run. His brain wants him to run. Everything in his body tells him it would be best to leave now before anything else could happen to him, but Blondie’s eyes seem to open, and he realizes how bad he’s been.
This time, he doesn’t fight the punch that comes to his stomach. He doesn’t try to dodge the kick that follows afterwards. When Master grabs the kitchen knife and drags Blondie over to the table, he doesn’t even seem to notice. But when Master grabs his arm by the wrist and stabs the blade of the knife through Blondie’s hand, all the way through the meat, the bones, and the tendons like it was little more than a steak, he lets out a strangled noise, not even something that could be considered a sob, and feels his stomach churn at the sight.
There is a knife in his hand.
There is a knife in his hand.
He can feel the metal embedded into his palm so deeply that it is actually wedged into the table top as well. He has been stabbed to the table, like a note on a cork board.
The longer Blondie stares at it, the dizzier he gets. His body runs cold with the sight, and he doesn’t even have what it takes to scream about it now. The burn on his arm, which is now pressed to the table, is hardly even a speck in his mind.
Master walks away, pleased with his punishment, and Blondie is left alone. He remains in place, kneeling at the kitchen table--pinned to it--and unsure of what to do. He does all that he can and begins to cry which quickly turns into sobs, but not just because of the pain. He knows he has been a bad boy. He knows this is what he deserves. He knows that because of his failure to listen to the simple task he had been given, Moonshine, a dog he had been growing quite fond of, is going to die.
And when the nausea begins to settle in, he feels the cold fuzziness of unconsciousness curl around him, and the floor falls out from beneath him.
Tag List:
@deluxewhump @neuro-whump @inky-whump @faewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @looptheloup @whimperwoods @burtlederp @finder-of-rings (i’m sorry if I missed anyone!)
