Keep Silent
by Knightly One
Rating: T (for now)
Summary: Five year old Valentine grew up through an abusive childhood. He is taken in by a mysterious man, who makes a life decision for the boy.
Warnings: Themes of child abuse. Do NOT read if this bothers you.
Series: None – this is a standalone story that does not relate to any vampire-related book or series.
Disclaimer: Keep Silent and its characters belong solely to me. Do not, in any way, take any ideas or characters from the story. This story is for entertainment purposes only; no money is being made from it.
Five year old Valentine didn't know what was wrong with him. He knew he was in trouble when his mother gave him that hateful look, or when she suddenly grabbed his tiny throat. He was scared, but he didn't think she would actually hurt him. Valentine had quickly trained himself not to react—he wouldn't even dare himself to cringe. He would stand perfectly still when his mother neared him with a raised hand, ready to put his head through a plaster wall, threatening his life into submission. Reacting urged it on, he knew. His mother liked seeing him in pain. And if a single tear were to fall down his soft cheeks, his mother would only grab a fistful of his dark hair and pull his head back to drip boiling water down his throat.
No tears. No crying out. No groans. Absolute silence. Valentine had sewn those rules into his brain, especially when his two year old sister was watching. And when his mother was done shouting at him, done telling him to go die, done telling him how much she wanted to murder him, he'd quietly leave to finish up the daily chores that were thrown at him. His sister would watch him with a curious expression on her tiny face as she crawls up to him. She would slowly hang on to the broomstick in his hands and try to touch his bleeding face. The best Valentine could do in reply was give her a small, rare almost-smile. A fake smile, but it told little Maggie that he was fine, that everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. Valentine was starving; he hadn't been fed properly in nearly six days. His ribs were burning, his nose was bleeding, and his arms were covered in bruises from his mother's vice-like grips. But he was alive. He always just ignored the pain and the hating glare his mother would give him when he asked for a small piece of bread or a sip of water.
Valentine loved his mother, no matter what. He'd silently watch his mother sulk into her room and place her head in her palms after giving him a harsh beating. He didn't understand, but he wanted to. 'Mom is so nice to me, she lets me sleep on the couch. She lets me eat the crumbs on the table after she is done feeding Maggie.' were his thoughts. He didn't care if she nearly kills him with her bare hands. She was letting him live, and he was thankful for it. He didn't understand why she hurt him, but he never asked her. He didn't want to hurt his mom's feelings. If she liked hurting Valentine, he would let her. If she told him not to speak a single word for six months, he wouldn't do it. If she wanted to murder him, he would let her, just as long as Maggie wasn't there to watch.
Things went that way for about five years. There was no father in the house—in fact, Valentine didn't even know if he had a father, nor did he ever really think about it. His mother had brought up the subject of his dad only once, and that was to blame Valentine for his death. But she blamed him for everything, even things he hadn't done, so he figured this was just one of those things. He never dared ask how his father died, because talking only resulted in more beatings.
One day, Valentine made the accident of falling asleep on the kitchen table. When his mother came home, she shoved him onto the hard floor, but Valentine only slowly opened his eyes and sat up, waiting for what was coming. His mother grabbed his arms and yanked them back in an abnormal angle, and Valentine couldn't help but cry. His midnight blue eyes tried to blink back the tears, but it wouldn't work. He pulled his head down, trying to cover his eyes with his black hair, but his mother only caught him. She slapped him across the face, hard.
"You filthy child, you monster! Get out of my sight, now, LEAVE!" his mother shouted into his ear, causing tiny goosebumps to rise on his arms. But she wouldn't let his arms go, so how could he leave? The more he tried to resist, the harder she'd hold onto his fragile arms. But it wasn't over, not yet. "You stupid disgrace! Can't you see? No one likes you, no one ever will! Stupid, worthless, ugly child!" And with that, she'd let go of his arms and raise her foot back. Valentine, knowing better than to close his eyes, watched as her leg swung forward and kicked him right into his empty stomach. Blood flew out of his mouth, but his mother didn't seem to care; she shook her head slowly and walked away from him, leaving him to deal with the horrid pain.
Valentine wanted to reach out, wanted to slowly hug his mom and tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to say sorry for being such a bad child. But what was he doing wrong? He did everything his mother asked of him, and more. He didn't know what to do, and he was in so much pain.
When his sister crawled over with a confused expression, Valentine closes his eyes and tried not to wince as she leaned over and traced the dark circles under his eyes.
He didn't expect what happened later that day, though. He didn't think his mother would actually kick him out of the house. But she did, and her word was final.
Day and night, Valentine stood outside the door, silently thinking that this was a joke and she'd let him go back in. His head was throbbing and his body was trembling in fear and pain from not eating in days to a point where the acid in his stomach was eating itself, and his heart was burning every time the thought of his mother not opening the door came into his mind. But she never did open the door. He would never see his mother again. He would never see Maggie again.
After the third day of standing hopelessly outside the door on weak knees, he finally walked into a dark alley right between his house and another building. His small body curled into a ball, his lanky arms hugging his knees against his chest. He could feel it, he was dying. No one liked him, he was ugly, and no one would come and save him. His mother hated him. Stupid Valentine, why was he so stupid, so worthless…
A man dressed in a long, black trench coat loomed over the small boy's body that was hidden behind two trashcans trapped between two buildings. He raised an eyebrow and pushed the trashcans out of the way and stared at the boy, who had fallen asleep on a pile of trash.Asleep? Or dead? The man looked closer and saw that the young boy was covered in blood and bruises layered his skin. He bent down and slowly slid an arm underneath the boy's neck, and another arm looped around his shoulder. He sat the boy up, mentally noting how light his body was.
The man examined him carefully. The kid looked about four to five years old, with dark, long, curling eyelashes. His eyelids were only halfway closed, and the man could see dark blue eyes hidden behind them. The boy was beautiful, with his pale face and dark hair that reached his eyes. The man's eyes widened as they scanned the bruises, the blood, the cuts, the deep gashes. His shirt was at least three sizes too big, and nearly shredded. The man felt his throat tightening as he looked the boy over, and only one thought sprang to mind - What person could do this to a mere child?
The strange man saw the boy's body moving up and down slowly. He was alive. He quickly swept the boy up in his arms and walked away from the dark streets. The man didn't know why, but he felt a strange, familiar power illuminating from the boy but he chose not to worry about it too much as he carried the small figure toward his house.
The term 'house' was an understatement. A mansion consisting of 5 large bedrooms and 3 bathrooms surrounded by 4 acres of land was more precise. As the man wearing a trench coat carried Valentine inside, the small boy began to stir but was far too weak and traumatized to believe that the warm arms he was in were anything but a mere delusion.
When the man stepped foot inside the main living room, four teenagers immediately made their way toward him. The first one to arrive was a tall, lean blonde boy with square-framed glasses that hid his emerald green eyes, and a few light freckles dotted his high cheekbones. Behind him was another male and two females. The blonde boy appeared to be the oldest- about 18 years old, while one of the black-haired girls was only about 15. When the blonde caught sight of the bundle in the man's arms, the boy raised his eyebrows and a dimple appeared against one of his cheeks as he smirked, "You've got to be joking. I know you said we have to try to stick to animal blood or blood that belongs to the weak, but using a little kid as food—" The blonde boy was suddenly cut off by the black-haired girl; another one of the teenagers. The girl had smacked the blonde's arm, shooting him a dark glare that told him to shut up and the blonde reluctantly stayed quiet, though not without shooting her a cold glare as well.
The man in the trench coat had set the boy down against a sofa and was now staring at the four teens in front of him, "Nico, Arielle, Ivan, Violet. Stay quiet or you'll wake him up. I didn't bring him here to feed you," the man mumbled tiredly and in annoyance as he slipped his trench coat off and threw it aside, revealing the white v-neck and dark blue denims he was wearing.
Then, standing up straight, the man looked at each of the teenagers individually before letting out a tiny sigh and began to explain his findings "The boy was abandoned by his mother, I think, so—"
"You think?" the blonde boy spoke up again, resulting in everyone in the room to glare at him. He raised his hands innocently in defense and snapped his mouth shut, but had a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Nico, just listen to me," the man continued tiredly, addressing the blonde, "I found him literally on the street, and judging from his condition, I don't think whoever tossed him aside wants him," He paused for a moment, as if expecting Nico to intrude once more. When he didn't, the man continued. "We can't raise him due to, well…obvious reasons." as the words came out, the man eyed the black-haired girl, who shrank back and looked guilty for a moment. She was the youngest of all of them, and well, the newest. In other words, raising him would also result in murdering the boy in one way or another.
"We can just kill him. I mean, he already looks pretty dead to me," Nico said with a snort as he started to approach the small figure lying on the sofa. Immediately, Nico was faced with a sharp set of fangs from the trench-coat man, causing the blonde to quickly back away, his eyes wide.
"One more outburst from you, and you'll be the one to die…again," the man snapped at Nico, who just smiled smugly but remained quiet, allowing the man to continue. "We can't kill him, it's not…right," the man said, though something was hidden in his eyes as his words came out. It was clear the man was hiding something about the boy that the others didn't know, but none of them asked. "And he's too young to turn into one of us. The only other option we have is to heal him and erase all his memories and allow him to live a normal life. Yes, it'll take years—maybe even a decade, or more. That's the perks of healing a human. But it has to be done. But before we start, I need you all to promise that when he's ready and awake, you'll take care of him. He'll be given a few small memories to begin with, but it won't be enough. All four of you must watch over him."
All four teens exchanged confused glances at one another, but they knew better than to argue with the man's request, so they merely nodded, unable to figure out why they had to waste their time and energy on some unwanted human child. Still, they trusted the man and knew he did things only for good reasons.
"I promise," they replied simultaneously, except for Nico. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms against his chest. Moments later, he took one good long look at the frail boy struggling for breath on the sofa before letting out a tiny sigh.
"I promise," the blonde finally mumbled under his breath, turning away from the others.
Author's Note: Sorry for all the angst in the beginning, I know it's a bit depressing but I promise things are going to change!
Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to review as they do motivate me to keep writing and tell me if I'm headed in the right direction with the story.