Chapter 4 – Lucius - Enough
He'd made it back to his room as the sun had set, and was curled up in the corner next to his bed, dabbing the cuts and bruises he'd sustained this time from the attack by the bullies. He'd never learnt their names. Why should he? He hoped that once they were adopted he'd never have to see them again…
They were bound to be adopted… They were tough, and smart. Lucius was weak, and that's why people never gave him a second glance. Ever since he was young, people had looked at him, then moved on and forgotten about his profile, looking at the other children for far longer, before finally settling for one.
At first, he'd thought it was because he was so young… He was, after all, the youngest when he arrived at the tender age of 4 years old… The six year olds tended to get picked… But when he reached six, still nobody chose him. The only child younger than him, a five year old girl named Jenny, was adopted within two weeks of arriving.
That was when he realised it wasn't about his age… It still wouldn't be for a couple of years. No… The reason nobody took a second glance at him, was because he was broken, even by orphan standards. He was bruised and cut, he was emotionally scarred, weak and helpless… and they didn't want to deal with that. And that was all caused by his looks… Because he was a boy with a girl's face… and he was truly beginning to hate himself for it… He was beginning to hate the beauty his mother had given him, and the serenity his father had left him with…
He hated it all. It hurt him. It left him vulnerable, and made him a target, a screaming, flashing bullseye for the tough kids to aim at. The children of the orphanage had come and gone, and Lucius had watched them all change, all the while wishing that the new kid wouldn't see him as a target… But there was always one, usually more…
Tears streamed down his face, as he threw the wad of wet toilet tissue away, stained with his blood. He couldn't stand the sight of blood. It reminded him of the night his father was taken from him… But he always saw his own blood, from some fresh cut or gouge that the bullies made, leaving him weak and broken, tear-stained and helpless to their violence. He was ridiculed for his appearance, and he was sick of it!
He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pain as a cut on his leg re-opened, and fresh blood stained his torn jeans. His feet were unsteady, and he had to cling to the wall, as the tears spilled from his eyes and he made his way to the small desk in the room, which was meant to be shared. But it was the worst room, and a child would only be put in there if there were no other beds available at the time, but they would be moved mere days later.
At age twelve, Lucius was nearly the oldest of all the children at the orphanage… Save for one boy, who was fourteen. But Lucius had seen the looks of the people that had come to visit that day. That boy wouldn't be there much longer… But Lucius would. He'd be stuck here until he was old enough to be declared an adult… He prayed that would be sixteen… He already had four years left… if that was extended to six… He didn't know if he could survive. And yet, he doubted it…
He pulled the drawer of the desk out and began to rummage around in it. Tears still cascaded down his face, so many tears that he could hardly see anything that was in the drawer, and his hands were shaking from the silent sobs that wracked his fragile body.
Finally, though, he found what he was looking for… A pair of scissors. They were blunt, but sharp enough for what he needed to do… He sat on the chair, in front of the mirror, placing the scissors on the desk before him, and staring at his reflection. He truly was broken beyond repair… He knew he was. He looked at his face, perfectly sculpted, but bruised and tear-stained, and feminine… Too feminine. He was no girl. He wasn't having a gender crisis. He knew who he was… But he didn't look like who he wanted to be. He wanted to look like them… He wanted to be tough… But he couldn't. He couldn't beat someone up. He was too gentle. Too weak. He burst into a fresh tirade of tears, which he tried desperately to wipe away.
And then he lifted the scissors to his long, blonde hair, and began to cut, sobbing all the while. He wouldn't look so much like a girl without his hair! He cut and cut away at the locks, and as they fell, he sobbed more and more…
When he was finished, his hair was a mess of mismatched sections and stuck out wherever it could. He threw the scissors away, and continued to stare at himself, before letting his head fall forwards into his folded arms, where he stayed and sobbed through the night.
When Lucius awoke the next morning, he was still at the desk. He blinked hard, and rubbed his eyes, which were crusted with dried tears. When he looked in the mirror though, he was shocked. The boy staring back at him had his face… But it wasn't him.
Then he remembered… the scissors were still on his bed, thrown in anger from his current position. His hair was still littering the floor, and the hair that remained was messy and spiky. He let out a shaky breath, letting his head fall into his hands.
What had he done?
Gah, I'm so sorry Lucius :'(