(Hi <3 Please take care and I love you <3)
To Porchay's surprise, they didn't say or do anything when the situation took place like a painting of horror for the boy. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was violence. These details of his life were the most ironic considering the thief he had to become to survive. This was why he always studied seriously before acting, he should only need to take and to run, to run and to hide, avoiding every physical contact or menacing anyone to get what he craved, to get what he wouldn't be able to stay alive without. Porchay didn't know why but it always froze him to witness any violent attack and to be honest, it might come from the wound Porsche got while going home.
He would tell him that it didn't hurt. It didn't sting. The blood was only here to soothe the pain, he made him believe for years when he was young. The bruises would only hurt a small amount, until Porchay understood that under the blue, sometimes purple, beauty of the skin, it wasn't a magical effect, like Porsche made him believe, it could even hide more awful consequences. The soft world his brother structured to not let Porchay suffer from his lifestyle, just made him feel even more guilty, and made violence less bearable for the young little boy, who also discovered the drainful pain. Porchay was conflicted, Porsche wanted him safe, but he couldn't be without dying of hunger, he couldn't stand violence but his everydays were full of it. He wasn't made for this. It was his reality, but he could always change who he was for what he needed to be in extreme danger.
The problem was that his brain needed to adapt. It wasn't natural, he didn't do it immediately like Porsche had to, he was obligated to do it too suddenly, without his brother being able to make him learn at a steady rhythm. And now, Porchay was totally off, looking at those men, looking at this gun, gun from which he already knew a small amount of the pain. His scratched arm was itching for weeks, but his body might just die on the spot, or it would also suffer for hours, the blood coming slowly out of his body and sliding on the ground like the river. Porchay always thought about blood like a river in his body and a hole in it would disintegrate his existence in one second. Everyone was amazed at those objects, it was so rapid and so easy to defend themselves, but also much harder to run from, and legends were created around it. It should act like a dragon, piercing through the body and putting it on fire. It was like a first trip to hell, and Porchay believed those words, even if, if it was real, no one would be alive to tell about it.
Porchay was still blank. Not moving, stopped muscles and brainless cells. He felt his heartbeat exploding and he was aimed at. He was targeted, if he ran, anywhere, they would reach. It was the most frightening, escaping from it looked impossible. The boy suddenly thought about Porsche, he was so sorry to end like this. He thought about the innocent Kim being all alone, he was really like a child and Porchay knew that anyone would be able to manipulate him easily. He didn't think about his own life, because his life always had been from or for others, and now, still he logically began to cry about them rather about himself.
"Do you think it's our man?" One of them said, looking suspiciously at Porchay.
"He looked so afraid...like they promised us a cold killer, not a scared puppy..." The other one said, lowering his voice. "But we have no choice, we need to take him back."
"Okay..." The man said, turning to Porchay, their guns still on him. "Boy, we are here for you. Remember, someday people will come and bring you home."
Porchay just looked at them, silently, quietly, still terrified, but those words pushed at the front of his head one idea : they were here for Kim. They were here to get the boy who should have been living here. He wondered for five seconds if he shouldn't just tell them that it wasn't him and let them take Kim to save his life. His heart wanted to puke, he couldn't, he wouldn't. He couldn't let Kim be taken, he always told him that this house was dangerous, that the world was a horrible place, and he didn't want his first trust in someone to be an example of what he said.
One man sighed and reached Porchay with his hand, violently taking his wrist with enough strength to not hurt him but keep him without any possibilities of a way out. This touch was the action which brought back Porchay's voice. It was physical, he hated this, he felt stuck, he felt like not being able to breathe, the boy couldn't stand to be prisonned like this, to just have his muscles unable to move and that pressure, the pressure on his wrist, the friction on his skin. He was suffocating, and at the same he was responsible for that sensation. He began to resist, to try using his own strength, the power of his legs to stop the push towards, he was sure, a much more dangerous place than that house.
"Leave me alone!" He screamed, lowering their walk, but not escaping them. "Let me go! PLEASE!" Porchay screamed harder, his legs giving up, the man only trying to walk with a package behind it and nothing to do with a human. Porchay's eyes were blurry, he could only let his voice pierce the void of the silence, hoping to be heard, hoping to be helped, hoping to stay away, as much as he could, from those men. He was terrified and began to lose his energy, the more he cried, the more he resisted, the less he could do it, and they were near the door, and the outside looked like living that horrible painting and not just being an element of it, stable, which had gone through it. Here, he was just in time, in time for the painter to represent on a timeless canvas one event which provoked so much cries, but would not even surprise the one observing it after it all happened.
"Let me GO! Please!" Porchay continued, the frame of the door in front of him, his body just abandoning itself as if it was already dead.
Another scream came into his heart, Porchay's mind was teared up harshly by it, his view still blurry but his eyes focusing better. The first man was on the ground, shocking the second one who didn't immediately react.
Kim appeared in his landscape, angry, he knew Kim, he saw the face he had met the first time. The emotionless and scary expression which could, he thought, kill someone out of fear. He appeared with a big piece of wood in his hand, which soon was another time punching the man on the ground. He screamed so violently that it broke other cells in Porchay, his need to escape going back, he wasn't alone.
Porchay stood up, he wanted to act before the man would react. He needed to protect Kim from him and bit the man's wrist. He let go of the boy, screaming like his colleague before falling when Porchay ran into him with enough force to put them together on the ground. He secured the two guns. It was his most fearful nightmare but he couldn't really think in that situation and just threw them far away. Kim was hitting the same man, again and again, not looking conscious of what he was doing. His face now looked exactly like the bloody images Porchay had earlier.
"P'Kim! Stop!" Porchay screamed at him, and he got really startled when he immediately stopped and turned his eyes to the boy, the same scary eyes but which weren't that terrifying anymore for Porchay.
The boy felt his ankle being caught again by the other man, he could only turn his head, before the piece of wood was thrown at him, again and again, until Porchay put his hand on Kim's one, nodded and ran. He ran through the garden, and ran in fact with Kim, not letting him stay. Porchay's reflex came again, and he just jumped on the men's carriage. The other boy followed him.
Porchay turned his head to Kim. His face looked disoriented, but not of any hint of violence. Their hands were still intertwined when they moved the horses, their head spinning, their thoughts wondering, their heart pounding and their ears thought that it was hallucinating when meows could be analyzed by their alive and out of breath beings.