Vincent shook his head. No, he hadn't damaged any of Father's precious property, unless he was to count himself. He checked the state of his wound, and found that it was beginning to clot, though the process was slow. He pressed another piece of dressing to the mass already there. The pain was immense, but he made no sound, and his eyes formed no tears. No, he would shed no tears, no matter what the pain, not here, at least...
Vincent's broad smile lit up his entire face as he exited the large building - a building that, though he did not yet know, he would never set foot into again after this day. A group of boys grinned mischievously as they approached him, whispering and snickering amongst themselves.
He sat alone on the steps, removing the sandwich his mother had packed for his lunch. He looked out at the other children, all of which were paired up and talking, laughing, with each other. His smile only faltered momentarily; company would be nice, yes, but he was here to learn. He would make friends in time; right now, his head was still buzzing with the information he'd acquired, and he wanted nothing more than to hurry through his lunch and get back to the book he'd been forced to leave in the classroom. The teacher had scolded him, telling him that recess was good for little boys, and he needed to spend some time outside in the fresh air instead of locked away with his nose in a book.
As he raised the sandwich to his mouth, he noticed a new variety of shadows before him, and looked up to see what object he had to thank for blocking the rays of the sun. His eyes met those of four boys, standing over him and eyeing him with faux-friendly looks. Their hair was mussed, and their uniform ties undone. The foremost one, whom he assumed to be the leader of the group of rogues, had a large rip in one of the knees of his pant leg, and large scar across his left cheek. The sandwich was snatched from his hands by a boy to the leader's right.
"Don't you ever have any fun?" the brute asked. "Or do you just sit inside all day, reading books and pretending?" His fellows joined him in laughter. "I bet he plays with little dolls, too!" he said, looking at his friends and laughing once more. "Pansy," he accused, knocking Vincent's lunch pail to the ground.
Vincent didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to; before he had the chance to speak, a fist collided with his jaw, clipping the corner of his mouth. The anger that filled him as he felt the blood spill down his chin soon changed to fear, as the other three boys joined the fray. Several agonizing minutes later, the boys were forcibly removed from their victim's person, shoved toward the headmaster's office by one of the male teachers.
Vincent groaned, not moving from the fetal position he'd taken during the attack. A young lady spoke softly to him, helping him up and leading him into a large white room. She introduced herself as the nurse as she tended to his wounds, dabbing the blood from his lip and face, and checking for broken ribs where he'd been kicked. Tears streamed from his eyes as he sat on the small bed, his clothing torn and dirtied.
He looked up, hearing a familiar voice echoing down the hallway, followed by footsteps. His father appeared in the doorway of the nurse's office, and took a breath before speaking.
"I'll take care of him," he said curtly, nodding at the nurse as he grabbed his son's arm. Vincent winced as he was pulled from the room. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes as he felt bruises form under his father's fingertips.
"You're hurting me, father," he pleaded, his voice breaking as the words came out. The man paid no mind to his sons cries as he strode down the hallway, Vincent half-jogging in order to keep up. Once they'd rounded the corner, Vincent was released from the grip, and his father turned to him, his face contorted with rage.
Vincent stood still, looking up at the intimidating figure of his father. He didn't understand what he'd done wrong - why his father was so angry. His chance to contemplate this, however, was lost, as he felt yet another blow connect to his face. He whimpered and began to cry again as the wound on his lip reopened, causing blood to dribble down his chin once more.
"SILENCE!" his father yelled, glaring as he hit him a second time. He obeyed, shaking slightly out of fear as he looked up at the violent man. Until now, he'd trusted his father.
"I can't believe you've done this, Vincent!" the man said, his tone radiating anger and disappointment. "Now we'll have to find you a different school, or I'll have their parents belittling me because of my weakling of a son! Not to mention that we've already paid the tuition here for a semester - you're going to have to work to repay me for that, boy, as well as for disgracing the family name," he spat venomously.
Tears streamed down Vincent's bruised face as he looked down, studying his dress shoes and the intricate tile beneath them. He felt his father's hand on his face, and cringed as his chin was lifted. He looked up at the man once again, as was required. He was backhanded as a reward.
"Emotion is weakness," his father drilled. "Don't cry on the outside anymore."
Vincent blinked away a tear as he remembered his first day of school. He quickly wiped the forbidden substance from his face, coming out of his thoughts. He looked down at his arm, and carefully wrapped a piece of cloth around it, securing it fast. The wound had finally clotted, but he was sure it would start pouring forth blood again if given a chance. He grabbed the ruined frock and tossed it in the bin, heading to his rooms to retrieve a shirt that wasn't soaked with blood and dispose of the stained one he was wearing.
