Chapter Two
Marx hit the cold, tiled floor of the boys bathroom with a sharp cry. The wind had been knocked out of him, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe. After a few moments, he got up on his hands and knees, cringing as a shot of pain was sent up the arm that he had landed on.
He heard laughter. Two familiar voices. He kept his head down, not bothering to get up. He knew he'd just be pushed down again anyway.
"Aw, I'm sorry, Marx... Did I hurt you...?" One of the people asked him, a mocking tone in his voice. He had a noticeable Scottish accent, and it was obvious he was only a young teen. Fourteen years old, to be exact.
"...Bear." Marx muttered indignantly, licking his fangs. "I didn't see you there."
"Neither did I." The person, apparently named 'Bear', grinned, not a hint of remorse in his voice of expression. He was obviously lying. "Get up, now, lad. Don't keep me waiting."
Marx did as he was told, slowly standing up, not looking at Bear, instead letting his lilac hair obstruct his hair. He didn't need to look at the other. He knew exactly what the other looked like. Bulky, with short, carrot orange hair. Surprisingly handsome, though with a big nose; although, Marx didn't really think about that much.
"Look up at me."
Marx refused. His hands were balled into fists. He was thinking. How was he going to get out of this situation...?
"Look at me." Bear ordered, grabbing Marx's head with one of his big hands and yanking it back so the boy would look up at him.
Marx winced in pain, his violet eyes meeting the other's emerald ones. Bear was much taller than him; at least six inches taller. Not to mention, he could probably snap Marx's tiny little frame quite easily with those large arms. Marx had quite a few reasons to be afraid, surely.
But he felt nothing but annoyance. Bear had no reason to harm him, no reason to antagonise him. He just did it because he wanted to.
"What do you want?" He asked, voice low and slightly impatient. The question was actually rather redundant. He knew what Bear wanted. Bear wanted to hurt him, just for fun. "If you're planning to shove my head down the toilet, then I must say, I'm not impressed. I expected you to have more class than to do something so cliché."
"Oh no, that's not my plan at all...!" Bear had a sly grin on his face, and he looked rather smug. It was almost like he was proud that he had thought of something better and not so predictable. "Grab him, Jasper."
Marx's mind went into overdrive. He was trying to figure out what Bear could be planning, and at the same time, he was trying to flee. However, Jasper -Bear's shorter, leaner friend with curly, dark-brown hair- was too quick for him. Within moments, Marx was grabbed under the arms, and held in a way that he couldn't struggle his way out, yet could easily be pulled around at will, like a puppet or a doll.
"Aha, trying to escape, are we?" Bear shot the other a cocky grin. "No chance."
"...W-what are you going to do to me...?" Marx asked, looking up at the other with an expression that appeared to be fear.
The stutter was an act; he had picked up that Bear was more rough to him when he was being brave, so he had learnt to feign fear in order to be less harshly handled.
"We're gonna push you out the window." Bear answered simply, going and opening said window. It was pretty high up -Marx could just barely see the ground if he stood on his toes- but it was big enough to push a person through quite easily.
Marx couldn't help but to frown at the thought, however. "B-but... We're on the first floor." Sure, it might give him a few bruises and possibly a sprained muscle or broken bone if he landed wrong, but it just wasn't Bear's style. Usually, he liked to make the pain last as long as possible, and make his victims helpless until somebody saw them in their embarrassing state.
Bear chuckled a bit, shoulders shaking as he laughed. "Ohoho... Oh no, you don't understand. We're not just gonna chuck you onto the ground. We're gonna drop you into a bramble bush."
And it was that sentence that got Marx's heart racing a bit. A bramble bush. He should have guessed that Bear would do something like that...
"O-oh, eheheh..." He could feel his chest tightening, and now his stutter wasn't being faked anymore. "That sounds a bit, u-uh..." He struggled to find a suitable word. Cruel? That wasn't it... The word he was looking for was somewhere along the lines of "unnecessary" and "overdoing it", but his usually quick brain was failing him.
Bear seemed to take pride in this. "Look at ya. I bet if you weren't already as pale as a sheet, you'd be going pale quicker than I can snap my fingers. Throw him in, Jasp."
Jasper started dragging Marx towards the window. The younger boy struggled, trying to push himself back, but his scuffed, leather boots on the slippery floor didn't do him any favours.
As soon as he was close enough, Bear helped along, lifting Marx's legs up off the ground with easy. He kicked and squirmed to get out of Bear's grip, but to no avail. In no time at all, they had thrown him into the thorny plant.
Within a few seconds, Marx found himself tangled in the thorny vines. The spikes dug into him, scratched his face, and poked him through his clothes into the most uncomfortable places. He had to bite his lip and close his eyes tightly to stop himself from crying out, but that didn't really work, as his fangs dug into his lip with ease, causing blood to drip down his chin.
Just great.
He could hear Bear's rambunctious laughter and Jasper's failed attempts at hiding his snorting. The two congratulated each other, and Marx heard them slapping each other on the back. He just sighed.
Why did the two go out of their way to terrorise him? At first, he had been terrified, but after two years of the same thing over and over, he had gotten absolutely sick of it. The worst thing was that Bear wasn't one for verbalising things, or so it seemed, and so Marx had never actually figured out why they did what they did. What had he done to deserve this sort of treatment...?
He closed his eyes calmly now, going limp into the plant. He had managed to get into a position that didn't hurt all too much. His clothes were probably completely wrecked, and his shirt, shawl and bowtie were most definitely drenched in the blood from his lip... But he found himself not caring all too much.
He heard footsteps, but ignored them. They probably wouldn't find him. He didn't need help, He could get out of trouble himself. It would take a lot of energy and create a lot of pain, but he didn't really care. He'd easily be able to do it once he gained some energy back...
"What in tarnation- A-are you dead...?!"
Marx's eyes shot open, looking up at the boy that had just exclaimed aloud. The boy was wearing a red and white cap, a white tee-shirt and red shorts. He had freckles, short blonde hair, and a rather strong American accent. Or at least, somewhat American, in Marx's point of view.
"-Oh, thank my stars, you're alive." The boy sighed in relief. He seemed to be even older than Bear; probably fifteen years old. He was just as tall as Bear, too. "What on earth happened here...?"
Marx hesitated, seeming to be contemplating his answer. "...Nothing."
"I'm pretty sure it wasn't nothing." The taller boy frowned. "You're lyin' in a bramble patch, for goodness sakes! That cannot be comfortable."
"No, I'm perfectly fine...!" Marx lied, smiling a bit, though he didn't show his fangs to this person. "It's- o-ow..." He winced, smile becoming pained. "I-it's actually pretty comfortable, o-once you get used to it...!"
The taller boy stared at the other with some kind of unreadable look. He almost looked like he was judging the other. "You're bleedin' there, y'know."
"I bit my lip." That wasn't a lie, at least.
The taller boy just sighed. "I'm going to get Lady Drawcia. Stay there, okay?"
Marx gritted his teeth a bit, smiling widely, though he had no mirth in his eyes. "Not like I have a choice, do I?"
"That's the spirit!" And the boy ran off, leaving Marx all alone again.
As soon as the other boy was gone, Marx just sighed, going back to his closed-eyed, limp state.
In the distance, he could hear laughter again. Not the mean-spirited laughter he recognised, but the laughter of children having fun, playing happily outside.
Being trapped like this gave Marx a chance to think. He had been here in this orphanage since he was nine, yet... He hadn't managed to gain a single friend.
When he was younger, he longed for a companion... But the others shunned him and shooed him away. Now, three years later, he didn't care much for friends. When he got adopted, they'd lose connections with each other, anyway. So it didn't matter to him.
Well... Not much, at least. He still felt lonely. He still felt unwanted. He still felt like he really wanted somebody to comfort him every time he got hurt, somebody to love him unconditionally; a parent... But he didn't have any of that.
... He felt his chest tighten a little. It was getting harder to breathe. He could feel tears in the corners of his eyes, but him blinked them back, forcing them to stay where they belonged. He had no reason to cry. Sure, he was injured, but it didn't hurt all too much. He was fine.
And then he heard footsteps again. He didn't look over. He could hear talking, too.
"Here he is, Ma'am! I told ya. Caught in the brambles."
"Thank you, Charlie..." There was the familiar, warm voice that belonged to Lady Drawcia. It was a comforting and familiar sound for Marx, but that comfort all disappeared and was replaced with a feeling of dread as he heard a third voice.
"Wow, how did he get in there?" Female. Irish. Rather young, younger than Marx, at least. He didn't recognise it. But what was she doing here with Lady Drawcia...?
"Don't worry, Marx. I'll get you out...!" Drawcia called out to him, as if he needed a warning about what she was about to do.
"Hehehe... I know you will..." He chuckled mirthlessly, sighing a bit. It wouldn't be the first time... Or the last.
