Five years.
Five fucking years, that the boy had to deal with that man. That time filled with cries, grunts, screams, moans, and everything of that horrible, sexual manner of rape and molestation.
Yes. That horrid man did that as well.
And the boy, he told himself that one day, he would go back and kill the man who had messed up his childhood.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo.
Letting out a small cry, the boy slammed the door to his room, whimpering and shaking as he put his only chair up against the barricade to his own said room. "S-STOP! PLEASE!" he cried out as he saw the door handle quiver, a small shudder going down his small spine before he ran to his bed, biting down onto his own chapped bottom lip. "Come on, Lovino~ Boss wants to play~" called the man, letting out a sick giggle before he cracked his neck and knocked on the door. "Let boss play with you, si?~" the other man cooed, letting out a laugh.
That was it.
This was the last straw.
Letting out a small whimper, the Italian boy grimaced and then shivered again, the breeze from his open window chilling him almost to the bone. He was covered in bruises, cuts, and his bottom hurt… for… well… quite obvious reasons.
Grabbing an over-the-shoulder bag, he stuffed a few shirts, a toothbrush, another pair of pants and his shoes into the bag before he growled again and then crawled over the blankets to the window, taking a deep breath before he slung the bag onto his shoulder and then jumped out of the window, landing on the lush, green grass about four feet below.
Landing on his feet, the brown-haired boy glanced back at the window, hearing his named being called. Then he heard the door being kicked open.
Lovino Vargas. Also known as Romano, in some cases, by his closest friends.
The name of that sad, scarred for life child.
Running out and into the street, the boy let out a small whimper before he let the tears go down his cheeks. 'That Fucking Bastard!' thought the Italian, shaking as he started running again, not caring about the headlights following him. Letting out another small cry, the child fell down on the street, hissing in pain as he held his ankle, wincing.
Then he clenched his eyes shut, almost hoping that the car would run over him.
Within seconds, the car stopped, and he could almost feel the headlights practically glaring at his back.
"N-NO! PLEASE!" he yelped before he heard the car door slam. It could be Antonio, or another person, who would probably just abuse him again.
"Honey… please… sh… you're okay, now… " cooed a woman, who fell to her knees and then put a hand on the boys shoulder. "Shh… " she then picked him up, helping him into the passenger seat before she got into her own spot, starting to drive to her house.