Lol has anyone ever genuinely considered suicide over a fucking maths test bc same
('bc' is my lazy way of writing because)

(Trigger warning to self harm and abuse, derogatory terms are used, if you're sensitive that kind of thing you can skip this chapter, but I'll put a warning where it starts and ends, as well as a recap thing next chapter)

Recap-
"Alpha we need to go" the voice said once more.
'Alpha' growled loudly, and spun around to face him, and began yelling at the top of his lungs.
In doing so, he had let go of me, and I instantly felt colder, the odd tingling sensation beginning to fade away.
When I realised that I could leave, I ran.
I ran as fast as I could away from the town, down the cobblestone road onto the dirt track and down the hill to where I lived, not stopping once.
---
My breathing was laboured by the time I got home, since I had run the entire way, only stopping once to get a drink from the stream that runs parallel to the road.
It was getting dark as I jogged down the path to the house, no doubt father would be furious when he saw me.
I finally reached the front door, but I was far too terrified to open the door, so I walked around the back of the house to the window where my 'room' was, and began to shimmy up the tree that stood just outside my window.
I slid open the window and pushed back the curtains, then looked around the dark room before stepping in and closing the window behind me.
I breathed out a sigh of relief, thinking I was safe, but no, that would be too easy.
A hand reached up behind me and grabbed my neck from behind, squeezing a very painful pressure point I had no idea even existed.
I was about to scream out when a body-no, his body pressed against my back and held me fast.
(Warning starts here)
I knew what was going to happen next. It was only a matter of time before it did.
I felt something cold and hard press against my stomach.
"Where have you been bitch?"
His rugged breath was hot on my neck, his breath reeked of alcohol.
One of his hands trailed over my face, playing with the unruly mess of hair on my head, leaving a trail of painful fire wherever his disgusting fingers touched.
"N-no where sir"
My father laughed, "not good enough whore"
Tears rolled down my cheeks as he dragged me down the stairs to the basement by my hair, before locking my hands to a thick chain and throwing me onto the blood stained concrete floor.
This was where he normally tortured me, but I knew this time would be different.
I knew this time, it would go too far for me to walk away from.
I would die tonight, either by his hands, or my own.
I heard him noisily pull out a series of things that I could only assume were various weapons. He crawled over me, fingers prodding and poking everywhere they should never go.
"This'll teach you not to be late again you bastard" he pulled at my shirt, but when it didn't give he ripped it down the middle, leaving my back bare for whipping.
He laughed mirthlessly, before snapping an arm out and snapping the wolfsbane-laced leather whip over my shoulder blades, just as he had done so so many times before.
Screaming out, I fell to my knees as I felt old wounds open up from the impact.
"Stop fucking struggling dammit"
He reached down and pulled out his favourite knife from the waistband of his trousers, and in one swift movement, he plunged it into my thigh.
I half groaned-half screamed in pain, feeling the familiar trickle of warm red liquid trailing down my body.
I screamed out and begged for him to stop, but the pain was never ending.
He only responded in grunts and "I'll teach you to disrespect me" and anything else insulting he could think of.
It was hell.
Crying out, I tried to push him away, but he was so much stronger and heavier than me.
I felt useless.
pathetic.
Weak.
I lifted my head from the ground and slammed it down onto the concrete in front of me, hoping desperately to knock myself unconscious.
He realised what I was doing and yanked me to stand, stabbing the knife through my foot, making me unable to run. He took hold of my arms and bound them together in a thin barbed wire that tore into the already scarred skin on my wrists, then tied them above my head to a shackle against one wall, facing me inwards.
All I could do now was wait for it to end.
(Warning ends here)
~
It was finally over.
He had whipped and stabbed and punched me almost unconscious for hours, until he finally tired and went upstairs to drink the night away.
~

I could only assume that it was the next day, since I had been hanging from the ceiling for so long that I had lost all feeling in my arms and shoulders. My back and thighs felt the worst though.
I could still feel the silver and wolfsbane darts he had left in my skin, though most had fallen out onto the bloodied floor below me, meaning even if I did manage to untie myself I would fall directly into a pool of my own blood and razors.
The only way to describe the situation, would be hell.
Though I suppose the dream wasn't bad.
Somehow I had managed a dream last night, and even amongst the stale stench of blood and death, the loveliest smell still lingered in my memories.
The smell of rain and vanilla, of mint and wood-fire smoke, of deep, powerful musk.
The dream felt so real, so vivid, it was hard to believe it was nothing but a dream.

3rd person POV- (I do tend to switch the perspectives a lot and even tenses every now and then, so I apologise for any future confusion if I forget to mention the change)

In the same dream, he also dreamt of a small rose, inked carefully onto skin so flawless it seemed impossible to exist in any world other than heaven.
What was that?
It was a small thump, so small it could have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been so deathly silent.
There it was again. The same, but louder.
There was yelling now, he could hear his father and other voices yelling at each other. There was a loud crash before it went silent once more.
"Where is he"
That voice. It sounded so familiar, so warm and deep, full of unspoken promise, the good and the bad, the perfect balance of life suspended in silence.
"Where is who?" His father spoke in answer
This voice was full of nothing but venom and alcohol.
Of stagnant, raw, grating evil. This voice brought nothing but depression.
"You know who I mean, I can smell him here"
Could it be? Was it the man he thought he had dreamed of? Was he here for him, for Angel?
No. Of course someone as perfect as that wouldn't be looking for someone as disgusting as me. Angel thought, a single tear escaping his eye, hanging off a single eye lash, before snapping off and dragging a path down his stained cheek, tickling by his nose before disappearing off his chin.
The bangs and thumps were louder now, and were getting closer and closer to the door of the basement.
Angel couldn't hold on for much longer, his left shoulder was positioned so if left long enough it would dislocate his arm entirely. It had been more than long enough. Angel's arm snapped so suddenly he barely had time to cry out before he started retching from the pain. His vision became spotted and warped, before it eventually went black all together before once again passing out.

'Alpha' POV-
I had followed his scent. It was the most exquisite thing he had ever smelt, so warm and calm, and deliciously enticing. It smelled of chocolate and sugary cream, but also of salty tears and anxiety, yet also of the warmest hug that has ever existed. Everything pleasant he could think of, and things he only ever thought could exist in dreams, lovingly crafted by angels.
I had traced it back at least five miles, with seven of my best warriors and three of my finest doctors following me diligently, ready to help their Alpha at a moments notice.
We eventually came to a small house, with a small garden out front and two windows on either side of the front door. You could tell it was once loved and taken care of, as there were traces of flowers that had survived on their own, but were not native to the area, meaning they had to have been planted by someone long ago.
I could smell him the strongest here, but it was mixed with the strong and almost overpowering scent of blood, and another man.
Someone had hurt my Angel.
I was not happy.