Forgetting The Past As THEIR son (Book 3) | Larry Stylinson

Chapter Five

Brent’s POV

I stare at the guy in front of me and my brother. I’m technically younger than Trent but Trent doesn’t talk as much as me. The guy in front goes by the name “N” but I don’t believe that’s his real name. He won’t speak to anyone other than Uncle Nat and River.

Odd right? Me, a five year old boy, calling his own daddy but his real name. It doesn’t matter if he is my daddy, he never treats me or Trent like his sons. I remember all the mean things he did to me. Hit me across the face for being “Ginger” and saying I should have never been born. He says these things all the time, but I will never understand the true reason why he hates me so much.

“Now boys, don’t say anything, don’t speak, don’t even breathe loudly. Nat and River are in one of their foul moods again. Stella was trying to calm them down, but it didn’t work. Go straight to your rooms. I’ll bring supper in whenever or if ever they allow us to eat tonight,” N says in a monotone voice.

Trent looks at me and sighs. We never get to eat there. I’m surprised we’re still alive. If it was my choice, then I would have already declared myself dead and jumped off a bridge. Such dark thoughts for a five year old isn’t it? That’s what happens when you’re trapped in a basement closet.

Sure this closet is a walk in one, but it smells horrible in there. There is no bed in there, only thin blanket and pillow in the corner. The room isn’t even filled with clothes, it’s filled up with books. Kid books, adult books, and non-fiction books. Those are the only things that really give us comfort. When Evan was with us, we would learn all the words in books, he would make sure we were happy, Evan was like a brother, but they made him leave. By they, I meant Nat and River. It’s almost time for us to leave too, but we can’t. We have the same stealing ability as Evan, but ours don’t work good.

“Boys, get out. Keep your heads down. Don’t look in their eyes or they’ll do something. Stay quiet,” N says once more before letting out us out of the smoke filled car.

I keep my head down and walk straight to the basement closet, or as they call it, “My room”. I feel a pair of hands guide me faster to the closet and slam the door. I look around the cold room, and Trent isn’t in here. I start to panic and bang on the door.

“Trent!” I scream pounding on the door.

Screams from the other side go through the thick wooden door. I start to cry for Trent. I know it’s Trent, he’s getting hurt. I feel the pain on me, but it’s soon gone. Evan is taking the pain. I shake my head in tears trying open the door. I keep on banging against the door for Trent to come back.

It seems like hours before the door finally opens. Trent gets shoved in and falls to the ground. I drag him over to our spot that we moved out to help us keep warm. He has black eyes, bruises, cuts, his shirt is ripped. I look at the bruises, they slowly fade away while Evan takes them all. I hold my older brother and hope Evan is okay.

I take off his dirty white tank top and black shorts. I look around of the mess filled room for the mini fridge and ice pack Stella and N put in here. I know Trent will be okay, but I also know Evan won’t be.

Louis’ POV

Bright lights blind my vision. Where am I? I touch my forehead, it’s cold. I pick up the package that was laid on top of my forehead. An ice pack. Suddenly, all the memories come back from a few hours ago. Evan is my son! I look around, but see nothing. I’m in my living room, but there’s no Evan.

I hear groaning from the bathroom. I race to the door and try to kick it open until I realize it’s locked. I bang on the door calling for Evan to open the thin wooden door. The groaning intensifies every second I await for the barrier to open. In a few minutes, everything grows silent.

The door unlocks, but what’s hidden behind, I don’t know. I push it gently with a fright of what might I see. I close the door behind me, but no Evan. I pull back the shower curtain. The sight is horrendous. He’s purple and blue all over; cuts are all over his face. What happened while I was out? He bends over and throws up in the toilet.

I rub his back gently only to see him wince in pain. I sigh and turn on the bathtub. He needs a nice relaxing bath and then get ice on those horrible bruises. I pick up my son and seat him on the floor next to the bathtub. I turn on the water and let it fill up with warm water.

I take off his orange shirt that has the words “Make Your Own Luck”. I didn’t know we even owned a Rob Dyrdek brand in this home. He probably got it from Sean or Tyler. Tyler is into that stuff you know. I strip him of his skinny jeans and undergarments. I slowly lower him into the bath careful enough so he won’t lay down in it and cause him to drown. He whimpers at the contact of warmth since his skin was as cold as ice cubes.

Once he’s in, I cup my hands and put some water in them. I pour it over his head to wet his head. He might as well get clean if he’s in a bath. I take droplets of shampoo and massage them into his hair. He closes his bright blue eyes that are now filled with pain, relaxing at my touch. I smile shortly knowing I should have been doing this for 7 years, but I didn’t know I had my son until now.

I examine the bruises a bit while cleaning his skin with a loofa. He could say he fell down the stairs, walked into a pole or even tripped over his own feet, I won’t buy it. He looks like he got beat up by some gang bangers and stripped him of his identity. There’s other marks that have nothing to do with being beaten up. He has yellowing on his fingers. A big symptom that he could be smoking. I know this because of Zayn. No 7 year old would have access to this amount of cigarettes if his fingers are yellowed. Completely confused, I put his hand down and clean his back.

These bruises are in shapes of footprints, and it also seems like he’s had broken bones. What did they do to him? I finish cleaning him trying not to think of the violent scenarios the foster family could have done to him. I wrap him in a towel and take him to a spare room filled with Larry’s old clothes. Call me a hoarder, I like keeping these memories. I change him into some old pajamas and let him lay down on the extra bed.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I run downstairs to answer, but once I do, there’s no one there. On the door, there’s a white letter with cut out letters spelling my name. I take the letter, look around, and walk back into my home. I close the door and sit on the kitchen table to start reading the letter.

Louis,

Wondering what happened to Evan aye? Well you will find out soon...Oh and remember Stella? She’s gone. She’s with us, by will of course. We also have Ben, Brent and Trent. Ever want them to be saved? Bring us the boy and one million American dollars. Good luck to you Mr. Tomlinson. And I hope Emmett...makes a special surprise in “your” precious Harry. Oh and I’d keep an eye on Elizabeth, Larry, and Jay.

This is your ONLY warning.

You know who,

N and R

I gasp at the last part. What does Emmett have to do with this? Our old past is coming back to bite us in the ass! N and R. I know who they must be, but I could be wrong. My heart races in my chest when I reread the letter. They have Stella...and Ben.

[A/N] Long time no update huh? :( Well no worries! Working on an updating schedule to have! I'm starting basketball soon so EVERYTHING GONNNA BE STRESSFUL. Anyways...WUT ARE THEY GOING TO DO TO EVAN? HOW DID EVAN TAKE THE BEATING FOR TRENT? :O