Title: Crimson's Child
Authoress: Ladya C. Maxine
Rating: M
Summary: see chapter one.
Warnings: see chapter one.
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or any of its characters. Any and all unrecognizable characters belong solely to me and are not to be used without my permission. I am making no money off of this and I write with the sole intent to entertain.
The street was as empty as it was cold. Heavy snow had fallen during the night, coating the 'lawns' with thick white blankets and the road with slick clear ice. At least there was no strong winds. Instead, the air was simply freezing.
His jacket did nothing to stave off the cold and he walked with his arms wrapped securely around him, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. The bottom of his feet felt numb and it was with great effort that he could walk over the many patches of ice here and there.
But the cold could not numb the aches he felt with each step. Biting his lower lip to keep from crying out, he pushed on. He hadn't been given a task or anything like that, but he had needed out. Away from the 'family'. Away from the shame.
Everyone in the entire house, and probably the neighbours as well, had heard the noises coming from their 'guest room' last night. No one had wasted time in pointing it out that morning when he had finally found the strength to stand and get dress before going downstairs.
The older children jeered and taunted, laughing at his slow movements. Fritz had patted Bernard on the back and congratulated him. Aunt Jo, angered that her husband had spent the night with him instead of her, had continually called him all kind of names every time she saw him. And his mother? She herself emerged from her bedroom with a man no one had ever seen before. And they would probably never see him again as she had then shoved him out the door, extremely ticked when she caught him studying her youngest son with interested eyes.
Rubbing his arm, which she had twisted behind his back, blaming him for 'seducing' her lovers, he kept his eyes on the road beneath his feet, not looking left or right.
He had tried to put up with their crude cat-calls and painful touches but when Fritz began discussing 'techniques' of taking him with Bernard, really loudly to that, he could take it no more and had ran out of the house, eyes brimming with tears, their snide voices echoing in his head.
He startled when an angry beep blared from behind him. Jumping to the side just in time to avoid being crushed by the car, which was driving fast despite the slick roads, he somehow managed to catch his balance though he landed rather painfully on one knee. The driver shouted some obscene language while waving his fist and sped off.
Rising shakily to his feet, he was about to continue walking but a sound nearby caught his attention. Children's voices shouting and laughing. It was coming from behind the tall wooden fence that ran around an abandoned lot that had been empty for years though it was frequently used by the neighbourhood kids as a playground.
None of them came from well to do family. Some lived in houses even worse than his. Most kids didn't even wear shoes, despite the cold. Instead they were forced to wrap their freezing feet with old cloths for some form of protection. And there was even a small group of homeless children who lived in an old garage building a few blocks away. Yet, unlike him, they still had their innocence. They were still kids in body and soul. The only important thing in their lives was playing around. For him, surviving was the only reason for living.
There was a loose plank through which the kids always entered. Pushing it aside, he silently slipped through the fence, wincing as the action aggravated his sore body. Ducking immediately behind the wide tree trunk that dominated the corner, he peeked around it.
Today the crowd was less as it was so cold but there was about seven or eight kids standing around an old steel plate which had been crudely beaten into a dish-shaped form. Its metal surface rang as two blades battled each other.
"Take that, Subedrov!"
"Ha! I'm just warming up!"
"You can do it, Dominic!"
"Take him down!"
He watched with longing eyes as the friends cheered each other on, mock threatening the other as their blades went at it in the dish. He watched as one of the boys helped a girl who was having problem adjusting something on her blade. He watched as the battle ended with one blade flying out of the dish. The competitors high-fived, laughing as they then proceeded to rough house. The others joined in, piling on top of the two as they threw loose handfuls of snow around.
"Hello."
The voice startled him and he backed away from the trunk, his back soon meeting the wooden wall. One of the girls had unknowingly wandered over while he had been distracted.
"Do you want to play?" she asked. He couldn't remember ever seeing her before so she was probably new here. And she obviously didn't know him since she was talking to him, something the others avoided.
Her voice was friendly and her eyes held no ill intentions but still he shook his head mutely.
"Why not? It's fun. Come on!" Despite his pained cry (his wrist had been sprained pretty painfully the night before) she grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him towards the others but he stood his ground.
"No!"
His desperate shout startled her and she immediately released him, stepping back with a confused look. It was then that she noticed the bruised wrist she had unintentionally hurt.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"
"Hey, what's going on here?"
The rest of the group must have heard the commotion and now stood before them. The leader, a lanky but tall boy of twelve years, regarded him with a scowl.
"Don't talk to this guy, Emma. He's a freak."
"He is?" She looked at him sceptically. "But, he seems nice--"
"He hardly ever talks and he lives in that beat up old house four streets away. The one we showed you yesterday. The lady and her kids use him as a slave and none of the other kids even go to school."
"He doesn't even have a beyblade!"
"I saw him eating out of the garbage can once!"
"My momma says that they are a disease to this neighbourhood."
"The biggest son works in my uncle's garage and he's always gloating that he sleeps with all his brothers and sisters. They're all plain sick!"
By now Emma had moved away from him, unconsciously wiping her hand off on her pants. Her friendly expression was gone, leaving behind disbelief and a tinge of pity. None of the boys felt the same way as they continued to gang up on him.
"Get out of here, reject!" The leader shoved him hard against the chest, placing sudden pressure on his chest. He gasped in pain and fell to his knees, gripping the pulsing pain. Even without his injuries, the boy was older and much taller than him and had more strength.
"Look at him! What a wimp! I barely touched him!" the other boy laughed, misinterpreting the red-head's reaction.
"No wonder everyone in that family touches him! He looks like a girl!"
That started another hail storm of teasing. They tugged at his hair and clothes, laughing as he tried to get away. Soon the touches turned to slaps and then punches. The girls stood a way off, watching with unsure expressions until the boys finally grew bored.
Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled back, gasping painfully as wide blue eyes watered in agony, fear and shame. His shirt was torn, exposing some of the dark colouring around his bruises. He wanted to cry. His lower lip trembled, wanting to let loose a sob.
"Aw, pretty little boy is gonna cry? Why don't ya go home and let someone hug you?" The rest of the boys cracked up with laughter but the girls remained quiet, watching the small boy with sympathetic eyes.
Unable to face them anymore, he turned and walked away, holding back the tears as much as possible. He wasn't further than twenty feet when his resolve broke and he could feel the wetness running down his face. The laughter behind him grew louder as the boys heard his sobs. He picked up the pace and was soon running at full speed.
His body cried out furiously for him to stop but he couldn't. He didn't want to. He wanted to run forever. He never wanted to stop, to hear those voices as they put him down. The world was a blur as he ran and he wished it to stay like that. He couldn't see anyone and no one could see him, or so he hoped.
No one could catch him.
No one could hurt him.
Finally, long after having lost sight of the playground, and even his neighbourhood, he slowed to a light trot as he neared the bridge that connected his wretched world with the great city of Moscow. A guard post was stationed at the foot of the bridge, the man inside was normally there to check any suspicious cars that entered the city for drugs or other illegal possessions. But today the small hut was empty. Probably because not many people were out on the road.
His sides were stabbing him with pain and he had to take deep breaths as he walked, coming to lean against the cold stone side of the bridge. Wrapping his arms around him, he sat down, looking through the spacing between the ornate posts down at the river beneath him with wet eyes.
The river's surface was frozen over but beneath the layer of ice he could see the water still flowing. A small family of ducks waddled on the slippery ice, quacking as they slid across the slick surface. The mother was using her beak to push her young ducklings across, the fuzzy chicks looking like downy balls as they flapped their tiny wings to keep balance.
He rested his head against the cold stone as he watched the family, a small smile on his lips when one duckling strayed to far, causing the mother to quack rather angrily as she went after it, ushering it back to its siblings. There were seven babies in total, waddling about on little feet, keeping together for warmth and protection.
He watched them until they were all safely across, following their mother with stubby tails as they disappeared beneath some snow covered thickets, leaving him behind.
Alone. As always.
Pulling his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and rested his cheek on them, closing his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a family. One who cared for him like any real family should. One whose members would hold him like a child instead of a bed mate. One where he had brothers and sisters with whom he could talk and play.
He couldn't. He couldn't picture it. Everything was just so tainted with pain and shame. Every touch had brought tears to his eyes and every word had brought grief to his heart. He would never have what others had. Pain was destined to be his only companion for the rest of his life it seemed. The self-pity he would feel all day and relive all night. Doubt and distrust were forever engraved in his soul. He couldn't recall one happy moment in his life. Not one.
"But..." He lifted his head as a thought came to him.
He had never had a happy moment in his life...but he had had one in which he had felt no pain, tears or shame. A few minutes out of the years of his existence, but they had been minutes that had been...tolerable. And for once, he had not been frowned down upon. Instead, perhaps, he had been understood.
"No. I'm being stupid. No one wants me around."
Despite his words he began to picture a pair of red eyes that had held a light of curiosity and mystery. The first person ever who had touched him without hurting him or who hadn't teased him. It had been as close as being treated equally as he had ever gotten.
The man's, Boris', words replayed themselves in his mind; "Tomorrow you will all be training out in the woods."
He played with a red lock of hair, torn between his past experiences and his hope for another chance. What did he have to lose except a few more tears? He had felt heartache all his life, one more wasn't going to make a difference.
Sniffing as he wiped his eyes, he stood, his muscles painful as he stretched them. He looked back towards his neighbourhood, tempted to stop his stupid hoping before it made him do something he would later regret. Instead, though, he turned and started off towards Moscow and its vast woods around it.
Tbc…
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