Paint Me Like One Of Your French Men

Painting Nine

For as long as Adrian could remember, he hadn't talked. That's because his earliest memory was the time in which he had stopped talking. Adrian was orphaned at a young age. Every time he opened his mouth, people never listened. Eventually, he started talking less and less. Then the day in which he promised he'd never open his mouth again came. That terrible day with those terrible men. Those despicable experiences. He hated them all to this very moment. 

He wasn't terribly young or terribly old when he'd been sold to some strange people. A woman had walked into a room and smiled at him. He couldn't remember her face or what she'd been wearing. He just remembered her hair. It was a nice shade of blue. Then, he knew, that his life wasn't going to be the same anymore. This woman would sell him as if he wasn't a human. He'd be forced to do things he didn't want to do and eventually end up with dozens of scars. 

Adrian had lived his life like this. If he acted like the doll people thought he looked like, it was a little less painful than disobeying. The only way he was allowed to stay in most places was if he'd made his 'owner' happy. If he did anything wrong in any way, he'd be sold again. Often times he would never find a good place for long. The same cycle continued again and again and again. He'd found a good place and now the people wanted him back that had originally told him to leave. Would he ever be free? When would they stop changing their minds?

He couldn't tell what was happening to him anymore. He didn't know where he was. He didn't really care. Vincent wasn't here. That's all he knew. Vincent wouldn't want him back after this. He'd had his trip to heaven. It was time to go back to hell. The only thing keeping him alive in this moment was his happy memories of Vincent. How long had it been now? How many hours had passed? He was bleeding in some places and bruised in others. His hands were tied but his legs weren't. His body felt numb. He shivered. Was he wearing clothing? He didn't bother to check. 

"We finally got our most valuable product back," a voice spoke. Adrian shivered again. He hated being treated like some object. Vincent didn't treat him like an object. Vincent was always reminding him that he was a person. Even though he looked like this...

"Hey, he looks like he is about to cry. I thought you were nice to him," another voice spoke. 

"Why're you making it sound like I did it? I didn't do a darn thing," the other person replied. 

A loud noise caused Adrian to flinch. He heard gunshots, one after the other, and the thuds of what he thought to be bodies. A small twinge of hope lit up inside Adrian. Was it Vincent? But it was dangerous to be here. Yes, Adrian, it is dangerous to be here but it is even more dangerous to be here now that Vincent is here. 

The door was kicked down. It was kicked off it's hinges and slid across the floor. Vincent stood with a gun in one hand and a bloodied knife in the other. There were bags underneath his eyes. He was fuming with rage. "Which one of you bastards touched him?" he asked. His voice was oddly calm with a face that looked so fierce. The two individuals in the room didn't answer. Adrian wondered if they were too afraid to respond. 

"I'm not going to ask again," Vincent spoke. He started to walk towards one of them. The one that looked more afraid. Vincent pressed the gun to the side of the guy's head. "I've got two bullets left in this, and if you're nice I'll let you die peacefully. So, tell me the answer to my question."

The guy opened his mouth but Vincent interrupted him, "The words you say better be the truth. If you lie to me I'm going to cut off your dick and shove it in your throat. I'll watch was you both bleed and suffocate on your own cock. Try me, bitch. I dare you."

"It wasn't me," the guy stuttered. He pointed to the other guy in the room, "It was him. I told him to be nice to the product. He was the one that got all rough, I swear."

Vincent stabbed the wall by the guy's head. It cut a piece of his ear in the process. Vincent smiled but his eyes weren't in it. "Did you just call him 'product'? Do humans look like objects to you? Or are you just an idiot?"

The other guy in the room began to take careful steps. He was trying not to make noise so that he could run away. Vincent threw the knife behind him, without even looking, and it landed right between the guy's legs, ripping his pants in the process. 

"I'm not going to hurt you two," Vincent said. He grabbed the guy's collar and threw him at the other guy in the room. "I want you two to run to whatever hellhole you crawled out of and tell whoever it is that's in charge of you to stop. If I find out something like this happened again, I'm not going to be as nice," Vincent waved as the two swiftly took their chance to leave. 

Vincent knelt down and picked up Adrian, "I'm sorry," he apologized. His face was back to normal, "this is all my fault," he looked so guilty but Adrian didn't understand why. Vincent didn't cause this to happen.

He picked up Adrian, slowly and carefully, and asked him to close his eyes. He didn't want him to see the mess that he'd made breaking into the place. Adrian heard the sound of splashes as Vincent walked. He really wanted to open his eyes and see what Vincent had done, but he didn't. Vincent must've made a real mess because he continued to hear splashes as they walked. Adrian assumed it was blood. It must be a lot of blood. 

Vincent began to tell Adrian about his childhood. His mother was a strict woman that would always beat him if he acted out of place. That's why he had the scars on his torso. She couldn't harm a spot that would be visible. He'd been trained from a young age to take charge of the company after she died. He rarely talked back as a kid. If he said the wrong thing, or did the wrong thing, or thought about something that wasn't what his mother wanted, he'd be punished. Adrian listened carefully to all of the details of Vincent's childhood. All of the things that he didn't know about Vincent until now. 

There was a short period of time where Vincent would be asked to pick a picture out of three. The person that he thought was the cutest, the best, or just in general more appealing. Time after time Vincent would be asked to choose. His mother always told him that the one he chose would be sent to a good family and the other two would be sent to orphanages. He didn't understand until months after his mother had stopped asking him to choose pictures that she was selling the people he chose to other people. Apparently she needed extra money to keep the company alive. She was forcing Vincent to be an accomplice without his knowledge so that she could pin the blame on him in the future if she was ever caught. 

"There was only one picture I really ever remembered out of all the ones I chose, perhaps that was why I was so fascinated by you the first time I saw you," Vincent's voice cracked. "It was of a boy, smiling, with long silver hair and chartreuse eyes. I only recently connected the dots but..." Vincent stopped talking. Adrian understood where he was going with this. There were no guarantees that if he'd chosen a different person, besides Adrian, that Adrian wouldn't have ended up in the same lifestyle. However, Adrian knew that logic wouldn't satisfy Vincent. He felt guilty for something he didn't understand at the time and couldn't control.

Adrian wanted to tell him that it was okay. That he didn't need to beat himself up about it. But, he couldn't. Somewhere along the way he'd forgotten how to talk. He hoped that he would remember somehow but he figured it would never happen. He'd stopped talking permanently due to that promise he made with himself. He hated the look of satisfaction on those people's faces when they heard him make noises. They'd been obsessed with his fear and pleas for them to stop. So he had stopped giving them that satisfaction. But in the process being unable to speak was a bit of a pain. Especially now. 

He lifted up his arms and put them over Vincent's head. They were still bound together so Adrian couldn't give Vincent a proper hug. One day he'd be able to talk to him. To tell him how much he meant to him. He'd be able to laugh and snicker. He just wanted to be happy and living his days with Vincent. Adrian sighed. He wanted to go home.