Chapter Text
Prologue
Z A Y N
The clink of chain holding his wrists above his head tinkle with movement. Only to be violently shook every few seconds as his body lurches forward with each strike from the belt on his back. The darkened space that is their bedroom lets moonlight shine through in an ominous fashion. It scares Zayn, this place, it scares him so much. A seventh strike to his back cracks and he lets out a sob – muted by the gag in his mouth.
It was his fault this was happening, it was always his fault and he deserved it, he needed it. He’d left it nearly too late to file something for Nathan's work, left too late in the car and got stuck for too long on the way there.
He was rushing. Nathan had called him not long ago demanding Zayn bring paperwork that he’d forgotten this morning to his office, now. It was taking forever, the traffic lights seemingly played cruel tricks with him as if they knew ~ they knew ~ what would happen if he didn’t get this to him on time. He ran as fast as one could with his injuries into his boyfriend’s workplace shaking with dread as to his timing. As expected, the older man was waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and feet shoulder width apart, looking down his nose at Zayn, two minutes before his meeting. “Supper better be ready by the time I’m home.” He was warned, with a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing as if Zayn dared argue with him. A quick nod of the head saw his dismissal and he trudged back to his car. Nearly shaking because dear god, if he had been two minutes later, he’d be so dead.
So dead.
The tenth blow lands on his back and he can feel the bruises forming and small blots of blood trickling down to the backs of his legs. He’s surprised that Nathan stops there, because normally he’d get so many more, but he’s undoing the climbing clip that attaches the chains around his wrist to the length dangling down from the ceiling. He’s been forced, stretched, up onto his tiptoes the entire time and therefore loses his balance when he’s undone. Nathan kicks him to the ground and he falls face first, landing on his elbows on the hardwood floor with a ‘mrrph!’
Nathan rips him from his resting place on his elbows and pushes his wrists as far as they will go. He can feel his face being pushed into the floor more, and if this goes on any longer his nose may just break again. The padlock holding his wrists together is undone, but then Nathans sitting on his shoulder blades, keeping him immobile as he just re-wraps the chain length around his wrists and hears the mind-fucking ‘click’ of the lock. This time Nathan has bound his wrists behind his back. His shoulders are on fire and he swears they may dislocate at any moment.But then all weight is off him and his heavy arms drop to the small of his back. He is naked and cold and in pain but he can’t do anything about it.
A sickening coo comes from behind him when Nathan shackles a collar onto him, buckling it up and tugging on the chain harshly, yanking Zayn’s head back. He yanks on it again with enough power to pull him half up onto his knees and wraps another length of chain around his waist, using a second lock to tightly secure it around him and attach his wrists down. A third is shoved under him again but this time it goes around his chest and upper arms. Wrapping around him once, twice, thrice. He can hear another lock click him in place and feel the excess chain trail down his spine to attach with his wrists. He is fully incapable of any escape now and he whimpers. He doesn’t like this, not one bit at all. He hates this and he hates himself and please-just stop!
Everything goes silent for a bit, and the tension is eating at him. He turns his head and tries to ask Nathan, please stop, Nathan! A low moan comes from above him and he squirms in discomfort. "You’re a good boy aren't you?" A hand is now on his hip, squeezing with punishing force. He tries to mumble out the same thing he does every night and lets out a small sob. A muffled ”please don't."
There’s a tug of collar that nearly cuts off his breathing. "You're my little bitch aren't you?" And Zayn knows he has no choice but to nod. Fresh tears spill down his face.
"Up on your knees." He shuffles forward. His back painful and knees weak from working on them the majority of the day. A smack lands on him and he yelps. But then Nathan slams into him, with no prep and no lube and it takes everything for him to not scream.
His body is propelled forward in violent thrusts, the skin of his thighs are burning and his near emaciated body can't cope with this. He's forced to the floor again where Nathan just goes harder. Pants and uh uh uh falls from his lips and Zayn turns to face the floor. Squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for it to be over.
It's over not long after that. Nathan always came a little embarrassingly quick but he makes no move to remove himself from Zayn’s tortured body. When he does through Zayn can feel the blood and semen trickling down the backs of his thighs.
"Never do that again Zayn. Do you hear me?" Nathans voice is threatening. At first Zayn can only nod with the gag still in his mouth but then Nathan's removed it and expecting an answer. "N-never. I'm so-sorry."
Nathan pats his head, in the way a dog owner might for their trained pup and it makes Zayn feel sick. He feels the locks give way. But Nathan makes no move to unwrap the chain. Instead he puts the key down and leaves Zayn to unravel, and then put it all in the box.
The Box. The box that contained extortionate amounts of rope, chain, locks with keys, a cock ring and other devices. It's the box filled with things to satisfy Nathan's fetishes and methods for punishment. Zayn hates the box. Zayn hates a lot of things beside the box. Himself, most of all. He's such a fucking mess, swears by it and deserves everything that Nathan does to him.
He's been with Nathan for what now? Year and a half? Two years? Something like that.
He got off the hook tonight. He was lucky with how Nathan dealt with him. He aches and there’s literally a pain in his ass that spreads up his back and blood trickles down his thighs. He’s itching for his razor and the bathroom, it never matters how much pain he’s in, he needs it and he needs it now.
The front door slams shut and Zayn knows that means Nathan’s going out drinking again tonight. He limps from their bedroom to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of boxers on the way and it’s a pitiful sight when he gets there. He stares at the figure in the mirror.
Thin, short, dry black hair falling limp across his forehead or stuck up in a random place. The thick shoulders and thicker thighs screamed disgusting at him, his pudgy stomach and ‘man-boobs’ wobbled as he took another step towards the mirror.
He drops his boxers and collapses in front of the toilet bowl, crying as he sticks his fingers down his throat and bringing up the three sections of apple he had earlier today. The acid burns his throat and spews out, and he keeps doing this until his stomach is clenching painfully, trying to expel nothing. So he stands up and chugs down a glass of water from the sink, he all ready feels full and disgusted with himself, before he even bends over the toilet again and just bring it up. Bile flushes from his throat and it kills. But he keeps doing it until he’s just gagging again and a sobbing mess collapsing next to the toilet.
That’s when he reaches for the set of white wicker draws under the sink. He doesn’t have much in the drawer he pulls out. One toothbrush, a few intact razors and several blades. He picks up one, its not a particular one, just shiny, gleaming in the dim bathroom light. It tells him pick me up pick me up, it’s enticing, inviting him to use it, and he does. He leans back against the wall and brings it to his arm. Making a long, drawn on and messy cut into the skin. He leans his head back and lets himself relish in the feeling. He does it again, and again, and again.
He loses track of the number of cuts he makes. But he stops because he doesn’t do this to scar himself, he does this to himself to punish and forget. That’s when he moves onto his thighs. It looks like he hasn’t paid attention to his left thigh in a while, and so he drags the blade leisurely over the skin there. A small, bliss-out smile graces his face and he lets his head fall back again. He does it a few more times, but then he stops, because he’s getting dizzy and needs to stop. He drops the bloodied blade in the drawer, shutting it gently and unravels some loo roll to dab at the fresh cuts. They stick and the loo roll soaks up the blood in no time before they do that thing where they stitch themselves up again.
He sits there a while longer, to let them settle and then wraps a small bit of gauze around the two areas. Sticking it down with a plaster. He pushes himself up off the floor and grabs his boxers while he’s at it. Pulling them on with a grimace because ow that hurts. He trudges to the bedroom and pulls on his pyjamas, a simple long sleeved tee and long sleeved bottoms before climbing into bed.
He falls asleep, because this time is precious. At this point in time he’s safe.
Three hours later, Nathan comes stumbling in again, drunk as hell, and climbs in behind him, which makes Zayn wake up. He shifts in position when Nathan pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug and slurs out “I’m sorry, but it’s just cause I love you.” And Zayn nods; blinking the sleep out his eyes and tells him “I know. I love you too.” But Nathans already passed out and the grip he has on Zayn is suffocating him. He doesn’t go to sleep again because he knows he’ll get hurt even more if he moves or breathes too heavy.
But this is a normal night for them; Zayn never sleeps with Nathan around, instead. He focuses on the tasks he has to do the next day and the deadline to do them by.