He opened his eyes and stretched lazily. He pushed the curtains open and fumbled for his watch. Peering blearily at the cracked face he tried to read the time. Almost ten... almost ten and his mother hadn't shouted at him to wake up. Something caught in his chest. He swung agilely from his bed and padded to the bedroom door. He stood still for a moment.

And he knew.

He knew he would have to be very careful.

A heavy silence seemed to rest on the house. A silence so thick it threatened to choke him. And he knew his relaxing day was over. This silence... it was dangerous. In a way it was even more dangerous than the shouting and smashing. Because the silence always came after, and it always came before.

Haru crept down the stairs to confirm what he knew. Before he reached the small living room he stopped. The smell. The thick, cloying scent of alcohol and sweat. Maybe he could just stay here, in this narrow hallway with its peeling paint barely concealed by ugly paintings of flowers. But he had to pass the living room to reach the kitchen, where his mother would be. So he continued.

The living room was small and drab. The central focus was a small television set, around which everything else was angled. There was a small glass table and a mismatched armchair and couch. It was on the couch his father lay sprawled.

Haru paused a moment over the back of the couch. In a way his father was handsome. He had strong, high cheekbones and thick black hair. Though they were closed now his eyes were a rich dark brown which Haru knew well. But now his hair was slick with sweat around his temples and he had put on weight in the past few years so there was an unattractive paunch splayed around his once sharp chin. And, no matter how rich in colour eyes become grossly ugly when filled with the cruelty and anger which so often lurked in Haru's father's.

He moved on, noting the old blanket which had been tucked over his father's large form. His mother's back was to him when he cautiously entered the kitchen. She was bent over the ironing board, focusing, slowly ironing one of his father's shirts. He had learnt to move silently, so silently he had to clear his throat to announce his arrival. She spun quickly, the iron still clutched in her hand. Her quickly greying hair was loose and lank and she wore a flowered apron over silk pyjamas.

For a moment, just a moment, Haru wanted her to smile, to hold him close, to offer to make him breakfast, to tell him it was going to be ok... just anything, anything to comfort him. Anything that would make the terrifying bubble of pain and anger which nestled deep within his chest less of a threat.

But he was sixteen, and that was the foolish dream of a child.

His mother's lined face sharpened in an instant. "What sort of time do you call this?" she snapped in an angry whisper.

And Haru suddenly felt very sad. "I'm sorry" he muttered, his eyes downcast.

"Do you know how many things we've got to get done?"

Haru reached past her and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and a box of cereal from the cabinet. There was no milk so he ate it dry.

"I know mum, I'm sorry. I'll do them. I just... slept in I guess."

"You know the house needs to look nice. And you know sweetie don't you, how difficult it is for me... it's these migraines darling. You have no idea the pain." As she spoke she reached for a glass of clear liquid on the cabinet and took a substantial drink.

Haru fought the urge to knock the glass from her hand.

"You'll finish this for me, won't you dear?" she gestured to the pile of ironing.

Haru nodded tersely.

"Oh never-mind your cereal dear, do it now won't you, before he wakes up. And there's a list of things to get at the shops. And the toilet needs cleaned, and the bin is overflowing, - don't you think that should have been emptied yesterday Hatsuharu?"

Haru grimaced as she said this, feeling both ashamed and angry in equal measure.

"Oh don't look like that dear, you know I need your help. How am I to do all these things? It's so awfully tiring for me. That's why I need you, my special boy."

She stood watching him, swaying ever so slightly, seemingly waiting for an answer.

"I'll do it all mum, you're right."

"Of course I am." She passed him to leave the kitchen. "I'm not feeling so good dear, maybe another headache coming on..."

Maybe she thought he didn't notice her picking up the bottle of gin as she left, or maybe she didn't think there was anything wrong with it.

Haru sat still for a moment, feeling faintly humiliated. Then he pushed himself from the table, leaving his cereal half-eaten, and began to iron his father's shirts.

It was always like this. His mum always made him feel guilty somehow. She managed to twist everything that happened so that it was his fault. She said the house had to be clean or his father would kill her, but he never did hurt her, only Haru. But she wouldn't leave. She was too comfortable here, with her husband and her house and her constant supply of cheap alcohol. What could possibly be wrong with that? But Haru lived in fear. One word wrong... a mistake... something forgotten... a bad grade at school... misbehaving... all of it meant fear and pain.

He had wanted to leave, had even mentioned it to his mother before. But she had somehow turned it around and made him feel awful: "But darling if you left he would hurt me, he would hurt me so much Hatsuharu dear! He would kill me! Darling after all that I've done for you and him- how could you even think that? I'm so weak darling, and so tired with all my bad headaches. What would I do if you left? How would I get all the housework done before he came home? Do you want that dear? If you leave I'll die!"

If you leave I'll die... If you leave I'll die...

Those words haunted Haru's dreams and waking hours alike. He was anxious most of the time, and his father scared him. But he would never leave. Could never leave. Not now his mother had said that. His father scared him, but his mother made him feel dirty and worthless. And those words of hers chained him to this house… this family… forever.

So Haru completed his chores diligently. He had no thought of meeting friends or playing games. He would do his chores and his homework. His mother was upstairs, watching soaps and reading magazines and falling into drunken stupors. His cereal still lay forgotten on the table. And he waited for his father to wake up. And prayed he would be finished the chores by then so they could pretend his mother had done them.

.

Haru was chopping vegetables when his father awoke. He was rather enjoying the rhythm of the chopping, and cooking for the family had come to be relaxing to him over the past few years. As long as his father liked the food.

When he heard movement from the living room and the low murmur of the television, the knot of anxiety tightened in his chest and his rhythm faltered. He needed to get the rhythm back, to keep going and keep calm and not say anything wrong. One, two, three… One, two, three… One, two, three…

His father appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. The blanket lay discarded on the floor by the couch. Haru kept chopping, attempting to keep his breathing and his hand steady. One, two, three… One, two, three… One-

"Your mother didn't feel like making lunch today then?"

A simple enough question but the meaning behind it made the knife judder in Haru's hands. His palms were clammy.

"Father" he said, turning dutifully to the doorway as though he had just noticed him there. And he knew he shouldn't- he really knew he shouldn't- but he always ended up lying for his mother. "Oh mum just went upstairs, she asked me to finish these off..."

His voice sounded foreign even to his ears, high and strained. His father lumbered into the room slowly, perfectly at ease in stark contrast to Haru's tension.

"Did she now?" his father murmured.

Haru thought better than to reply. He tipped a bundle of vegetables into a pan and continued cutting others, though his chopping was now irregular and untidy. His father walked around the table to the counter where Haru stood chopping, his eyes lingering over the abandoned cereal as he passed.

"Hatsuharu." He was quiet for so long that Haru wasn't sure he was going to continue. But then he did, in a soft voice. "I am used to that woman lying to me... but Hatsuharu, why do you lie? That really, really hurts me when you lie."

Haru's chopping had ceased now and he found he couldn't continue. He stood still in front of the counter, the knife still clutched loosely in his sweating hand as his father came to stand behind him.

"I wanted to make lunch father... I enjoy it. And it'll be ready soon. And I'll really try my best to make it good..." His pleading sounded weak and pathetic and made him angry at himself.

"You wanted to?" his father almost whispered. "And did you want to do the ironing and the shopping too?"

"Mother did those," Haru managed to say, "this morning. I slept in late."

His thought was only of protecting his mother. In doing so he had condemned himself.

"She did those? She's useless, and has you running around cooking like some pansy." Haru swallowed, almost hopeful that this would be the end. "But... you say you slept in late Hatsuharu? Why did you do that? Don't you have school work to do?"

"I- I do… I mean, I did. I finished it already. It was just biology homework." His voice was strained and timid but he was almost confident by the end that it would be fine. That this time he would pass. That he wouldn't have said the wrong thing…

"Just biology? Just biology? Is that how you think, Hatsuharu?"

And he saw his mistake all too clearly.

"Oh no- that's not what I meant- I only meant that-"

"I know what you meant Hatsuharu. You meant biology is easy, didn't you? That anyone who can't do biology is an idiot. Well why don't you tell me that straight, boy? Turn around right now, look your father in the eye, and tell him he's an idiot for failing sciences."

Haru stood frozen, the chopping long forgotten and the knife hanging limp in his sweating, trembling hand. How had things gone so wrong? He always said the wrong thing. Why couldn't he just think? But every conversation was a minefield, every question a trap, and he could never see how to navigate safely. And now he was acutely aware of his father behind him; of the closeness of their bodies, the feeling of his father's breath on the back of his neck. And he didn't know what to do. Was there any way to avoid this?

"Turn around Hatsuharu. Do it!"

Haru was steeling himself to turn when the decision was taken from him.

In a moment of speed and pain his father pushed his head forward. It hit forcefully off the kitchen cupboard, striking along the sharp bottom ridge, and ricocheted.

Haru staggered, his vision blurry and his mind flooded with shock. He should have expected it, but somehow he never did. Maybe he really was as stupid as everyone thought. His head was throbbing painfully and through swimming eyes he saw a smudge of red had appeared on the bright cream of the cupboard door.

"You're slow. Always too slow. And you're a weak snob who lies and disrespects me! I never thought I'd have a liar as a son- but worse, I never thought I'd have a son who disrespected me! You and your whore mother!"

With this shouted accusation came a painful jab to the ribs, and before Haru could respond another blow followed, then another.

He met the floor before long, and without truly understanding how. He tried to curl in on himself for protection as kicks and cruel words followed.

And a part of him knew he didn't deserve this. But a part of him told him he must.

He didn't see it but he vaguely knew his father had upturned the chopping board over him. He saw, almost in slow-motion, as the chopped vegetables cascaded down to where he lay and settled around him like rainbow confetti. It was strangely surreal and beautiful.

He heard his mother before he saw her.

There was the usual "No stop stop, don't hurt him!" and "Oh darling what did you do now?" and "He didn't mean it, he's sorry- that's enough now just stop!"

But when his vision cleared Haru could see through the kitchen doorway to where his mother hovered in the living room. She held a cigarette loosely in one hand and had procured a glass of watery red wine which she held shakily in the other hand.

Yet as he watched from the floor, spluttering and coughing in pain, he saw something far more hurtful. For even as she begged his father to stop- "It's too much now, he's my baby- stop!"- her eyes would always inevitably drift back to the gameshow on the television.

"Stop" she muttered, and took an unfocused slurp of wine, her attention on the screen.

And Haru felt truly alone.

.

Thank you for reading this story, and especially thank you to ImpishTopHat, Killer Disco Queen and SweetLiars for your lovely feedback.

I had to split this chapter in two because I kept writing more and more about Haru- so expect more Haru in the next chapter too!