Chapter 1- The Little Boy in Blue
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Life isn't fair.
That is what I learned from the moment I was born, told every single day by my ever so loving whore of a mother.
"Life isn't fair brat, so suck it up!" She snarled nastily, while pushing the glowing butt of her cigarette into the rapid growing canvass of what used to be my back. "Life doesn't care if you fall down and scrape your knee! Life doesn't care if you go bankrupt and forced into prostitution! It doesn't care if you get pregnant and fall into debt!" She screeched while clawing her red lacquered nails down her face, marring the artificial beauty that she had pasted on every day. Long red jagged lines grew on her cheekbones where she clawed at herself in frustration, little red beads of blood dripped onto the floor.
"Momma... I don't-!" My voice caught in my throat when the burning white stick of nicotine again made contact with my blistering skin. She twisted it relentlessly and ground it into my body, enjoying every scream and wail that I let loose.
"Gasp!... Momma... Please, it hurts...!" My three year old voice whimpered out through tears, she watched on blankly as I lost control of my bladder and wet the already dirty floor. She wrinkled her nose while grimacing in disgust, and picked me up by my arm, dangling me in the air and stretching my little body to its limits.
She stared at me with pure hatred, eyes accusing at me as if she couldn't believe such trash could have been created inside her. She briskly strode towards the towering redwood dresser that housed my very few belongings and screeched to a stop. The door was ripped open and I was thrown inside, the dusty smell of moth balls tickled my nose as I lay disoriented on top of hangers and clothes.
I looked up at her with misty eyes, tear tracks trailed down my face and I couldn't help the sobs that wracked my small form, nor the erratic hiccups that erupted in to the air. I clutched my stubby arms around myself and sat in my own filth as the woman who gave birth to me glared unrelentingly at my poor beaten body. With her chin thrust into the air, she stood with an air of royalty and utter dominance. Eyes roving over my features and hardening as she remembered the man who poisoned her with his spawn and what eventually grew to be me.
"I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER! You are that devil's child... disgusting disgusting child...!"
She hissed, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her and shoved an umbrella between the dresser handles to keep the pest from escaping. I merely sat there, listening to her insistent swearing and stomping, rustling of clothing was heard and the turning of keys. The familiar clang resounded through the otherwise silent room and I recognized it as the closing of the apartment door.
Then silence.
Momma had left.
I sat there, pants soiled, as I marinated in my own urine and blood. The burning holes in my back ached deeply, reaching to very core and shattered any love that was left for Momma.
I cried.
Cried for the mother I had lost, who I never really had in the first place...
Cried for the father I would never get to know, and the face that he gave me which damned my very existence...
Most of all, I cried for the life that was given to me, and all the hardships I knew were to come. Even at three years old, I knew when to face the facts and accept what was given to me.
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.
Life wasn't fair.
It never is.
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"Hello there... My name's Caleb, what's yours?" A man in a suit said questioningly as he smiled at the small 8 year old boy that stood in front of him. Dark oversized clothing hung from his thin frame and slipped over his shoulders when he moved. Every revealed patch of skin (hardly at all) that was exposed showcased a long array of scars, which crisscrossed his figure and created a horrific mosaic of art across the poor child's figure. Sleepy looking eyes lifted, revealing sharp obsidian orbs that seemed to know all that there was to know.
"Hello." The boy replied, voice scratchy from lack of use. The single word uttered seemed to take him great effort, as if it pained him physically to interact with others. His form was forcibly relaxed, yet you could see the tension that was wired into his body. The way he held himself and how he looked around warily reminded the man of a war veteran, a tightly wound soldier. The innocent round face contrasted greatly with the worn down beaten body that it was attached to. The cold indifferent eyes and the slight smile was a tightly bound facade.
The little boy in blue was just that, a little boy, yet his eyes were...
'They say eyes are the window to the soul.'
But that was just the thing... he saw no soul...
Such a thing was fascinating.
"Seyton..." the boy said, all the while appraising the adult with calculating eyes.
"...What?" Caleb was shook out of his thoughts and was surprised by the sudden outburst, and stared down at the boy in front of him.
"...Seyton, my name is Seyton." The boy repeated, while blinking up at Caleb with those large wolfish eyes, a hint of a playful smirk sparked on his lips.
Caleb stood dumbfounded at the boy-Seyton, until letting loose a chuckle. He split out into a grin and crouched down to look Seyton in those soulless eyes of his.
"Well Seyton, how would you like to come with me?" Caleb asked while holding out a large calloused hand, and watched as the little boy in blue stared at him.
Seyton looked backwards toward the run down orphanage that towered behind him, his home since his mother left. Five years he spent in that place, five long laborious years where he had to learn to tip toe around strangers and deal with the comings and goings of children who too, didn't have parents. Five years where he learned to be polite and eat his vegetables and his times tables without complaint. Where he learned to compliment and flatter those older than him, enough where he was liked, but not enough to be adopted.
He didn't want to go anywhere with those blank faced adults, they all smiled and patted his head and spoke of a new happy home. But as soon as they got sight of those marks on his body, well then everything changed. They spoke softer, smiled softer and asked questions posed ever so delicately that it was annoying. He was treated as if he was made of glass, and that didn't make sense to him at all! If he were made of glass then he would have broke a long time ago. They were all soft, rosy red cheeks and round big bellies. They were the ones made of glass, not him. They didn't know pain.
No, but not this man, there was nothing soft about him. From the crisp black suit which was clearly custom made, to the hard rippling of the hidden muscles underneath. The wiry form wasn't lanky nor was it round, he was right in between. Sturdy and strong, his presence reminded Seyton of a large oak tree, solid and unwavering.
Seyton stared at the twinkling blue eyes Caleb bore, and watched as the man patiently held his hand out to the little boy. He wasn't treating him like the others, oh he saw the scars, Seyton watched how his eyes widened slightly at the exposed shoulder but the expression was quickly schooled.
The blond blue eyed man in front of him was no stranger to pain if the identical burn marks peeking out from under his sleeves were anything to go by.
He knew pain.
The man was smart, aesthetically appealing, and treated him like an adult.
He wasn't made of glass.
That made Seyton smile, twisted as it was.
Seyton smiled that smile of his and clasped Caleb's hand with his tiny one, feeling dwarfed in comparison, he shook his arm up in down and watched the grin on the blond man's face grow.
Caleb had watched the thoughts fly through the little boys head, and saw him weighing the pros and cons behind those coal eyes of his. When he reached out to seal the deal, he couldn't help but feel he was holding the hand of a devil. A baby one at that, but a devil no less.
It was simply exhilarating.
Caleb stood and pulled the boy behind him as they slowly made their way down the street where his car and bodyguards lay await. There was no papers signed, no interviews, and no panicking staff as Seyton was whisked away from the suffocating orphanage. His disappearance was one quickly forgotten and the matrons merely wrote it off as a "run away" and filed a note to the police. Unfortunately, they didn't have any photos of the boy and only gave a name and brief description.
Name: Seyton (No last name)
Gender: Male
Birthday: Unknown
Age: 8 years old (came when he was three years of age)
Appearance:
-dark red hair, edging on black
-black eyes
-4"2 in height
-wears long sleeves and pants to hide multiple scars, usually dark colours, usually blue
Notes: Seyton is polite and does well in school. He shows no sign of rebellion or aggression usually associated with abused children, and is comfortable around adults. The other children see him as a brother and he gets along with everybody except for a certain few who seem to dislike him very much. Overall, he is a good child who is expected to be adopted soon.
It was vague, and put on file in the police station. Slowly, but surely, people began to forget about Seyton with no last name. He became one of those children who came and went, and was merely reduced to a single sheet of paper buried away in some folder in a storage room.
No one would remember Seyton.
The little boy in blue with the soulless eyes.
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A/N- Well there you have it, the first chapter for "Little Boy Blue", I hope you guys liked it, I certainly do. If you did, then you might want to visit my profile and take a look at my other story "Rebel", its a little more lighthearted than this one is going to be and has alot of humour. Although I advise you to maybe skip the first couple of chapters if you think it's too slow since it was my first story and it's not that good... so yeah...
Thanks so much for reading and I'd love it if you could leave me a review!
See ya ^_^