Later that day Haru's father went out with friends from work, as he so often did. Left with his mother Haru felt, if possible, even worse. She absently examined his split lip and the bruises blooming across his stomach and chest. Haru's whole body ached and he felt very tired.

He leaned against the living room wall as his mother lifted his t-shirt to inspect his ribs. And he almost relaxed. Just for a second. It was almost… comforting. It was almost as though he was hurt and had a mother who cared.

Then she shattered the moment.

"Why do you always have to provoke him Hatsuharu?" his mother asked tersely without looking at him. "If you were good this wouldn't happen."

It was as though she had crushed something crucial inside him. More than the physical pain of his body, this hurt, in a way simultaneously more demanding and resonant. Her words spiked him like acid and he was instantly both ashamed and furious.

"Yeah you've said" he muttered, harsher than he had intended.

She looked wounded, withdrawing her hand from his stomach. He felt guilty immediately. He needed to get out of here. His emotions were all over the place and he needed to breathe. Around his mum he never felt he could truly catch a breath; there was always something sticking in his chest.

"Look sorry mum. I'm just going out for a bit, okay? I'll be back soon, in time for dinner. And I'll do the dusting this evening?"

He was asking her... but he was also telling her. He rose as he spoke and moved away from where she was kneeling on the thin carpet.

He needed to get out. Away from this damn house.

"But Hatsuharu-" his mother began, a whine in her voice.

He ignored her, striding down the short hall and roughly pulling on his combat boots at the front door.

"You had better be back for dinner!" was the parting warning behind him as he slammed out of the house.

As soon as he left he felt better. But he still needed to be far away. He had so much emotion and adrenaline burning through him and he needed to shake it off, needed to channel it into exercise or take it out on inanimate objects that couldn't feel pain or fight back.

If not he would become angry. Really angry.

The feelings of worthlessness would morph into anger and a need to attack, to defend himself. It had gotten him in trouble before, mostly at school but sometimes with neighbourhood kids and, worse, sometimes with his father.

He began to run, to run fast and furiously away from his life. As he pushed himself forward and the pain began to streak down the back of his legs and to build in his chest he pushed himself further. He had to burn off this feeling. He had to return home calm and empty. So he pushed himself on.

The afternoon was cold and his breath came out in great gasps of white vapour. Haru felt hot however. He was burning. He didn't know where he was running to. He only knew that he needed to channel this anger somehow.

He ran and ran until he was suddenly bent over, clutching his legs for support as he dry-heaved.

He drew a shaking hand across his clammy face. Raising himself slowly he looked around. He had no idea where he was, especially in the fading light of the afternoon. He was just passed the end of a row of small houses with untidy gardens. He seemed to have reached the end of the street, as the road didn't continue and grass strewn with weeds took over hungrily. There was a small group of trees in the distance. Littering the damp grass was a variety of junk. Haru could see pieces of broken wood, a discarded television, an old lamp and a smashed mirror.

Taking a deep breath he reasoned that he should return home, that he should try re-tracing his steps to get back to streets he knew. But he thought of his mother still on the floor where he had left her. Thought of her stirring her gin with coloured straws, dropping pills into the mix and laughing at Haru's reaction. He wondered if he would have to miss another day of school tomorrow to look after her. He thought of his father drinking at the local pub with the guys from work. Of him spending their rent money on beers for everyone. He thought of how his father sneered at him, as though he was a joke... a disappointment.

And he knew he wasn't ready to go home yet. He needed to smash something.

Striding into the damp grass he kicked aimlessly at a half-buried table and was satisfied when he felt throbbing pain in his foot. He grabbed a piece of scrap wood and brought it crashing down against the old television set. The first few hits ricocheted off the frame disappointingly but the fourth smashed the glass of the screen. Haru smashed repeatedly, cursing as he did so, until the piece of wood splintered into three useless pieces.

He tossed them aside and moved on, kicking at the junk with immense satisfaction. This place was perfect; full of unwanted things that could face the darkness within him. No-one would care if damaged things were further broken. The anger he kept so carefully controlled at home tore through him and burst forth in harsh shouts. If he saw a person at this moment he didn't think that he'd be able to control himself as he gave in entirely to the rage.

Throwing aside a piece of rusted chain Haru viciously grazed his hand. He barely noticed the stinging or the blossoming of red along his palm as he approached a rundown shed which seemed to sprout from the surrounding rubble. With little thought as to what he would do once he was inside, Haru wrenched aside a large piece of corrugated iron at the door of the shed and stumbled inside.

It was dark; that was the first thing he noticed. He looked around feverishly, desperate for things to break. Things to hurt. Things he could hurt which could make him, for just one minute, forget the damn agony inside.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness he realised with surprise that he was staring at a person. A boy of about his age.

In his current state of rage his instinct was to punch the boy. To chase him off, to shout and swear. He took a step towards him, not sure what exactly he was going to do.

But he stopped.

The boy was frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. Haru saw shoes neatly placed on the floor beside the old couch the boy was perched on. His bony knees were drawn up to his chest and his hands clutched them tightly. There was something about him that reminded Haru of an animal.

But... not so much a wild animal. More a cornered animal. Or a caged animal.

Whatever it was it stopped Haru mid-step. Because he knew that look. That look of fear, of helplessness, of pain. He had felt that look, had worn it himself many times.

And with the jarring realisation that he had caused that look, he faltered in his approach towards the boy. He lowered the hand he hadn't realised he has raised, feeling vaguely guilty.

As he did so he realised he was bleeding. He felt the keen stinging of his hand, noticed how it trembled.

His chest rose and fell unevenly as he recovered from the spate of anger he had just experienced. He was sweating and shaking.

And the boy was still staring, unmoving.

Feeling calmer now, Haru took a step back, away from the boy. The boy blinked and his fingers loosened their grip on his knees infinitesimally.

Haru glanced again at his bleeding hand, acutely aware of the sharp pain of it now. He commented on this, without ever really deciding to.

"My hand is bleeding…" he muttered stupidly.

The boy stared for a moment more then nodded.

"Erm…" Haru wasn't sure what to do, what to say. He was ashamed of his anger. And it seemed he had scared this boy. But there was no way he was about to explain himself to this stranger. He couldn't talk to anyone about that stuff.

"I'm Hastuharu… Haru. I'm Haru."

The boy continued to stare at him. His hands had released his knees now but he was still huddled in on himself. With a slowly dawning thought, Haru considered that this may not be a normal reaction. Admittedly he had barged in breaking stuff and shouting but other people would have shouted at him to leave… maybe hit him. But this boy… he was just staring. He didn't respond.

Feeling even more regret about scaring this boy Haru stepped back out of the small shed. He would leave this boy and this shed and hope they would be alright. His hand throbbed angrily as he attempted to move the corrugated iron to re-cover the door.

Just as he was giving up to leave, he heard it.

"I… I'm Yuki…"

Haru poked his head back into the shed entrance once more. The boy was sitting normally now and appeared much more relaxed. Haru was surprised. He took a tentative step back into the rundown shed. The boy didn't move.

"Well… it's great to meet you Yuki. Sorry about… the noise." He gestured vaguely to the doorway of the shed, to show he meant his destruction of the junk. The boy's eyes narrowed slightly, but the slight quirk of his lips seemed to show he was amused. "So…" Haru continued, "What brings you to this… shed… this fine evening?"

.


So here's the rest of Haru's chapter. It's short but I wanted to put it up anyway to keep this story moving and because I'm going away on holiday tomorrow so won't be updating for a few weeks anyway.

Please let me know what you think :) And have a good few weeks everyone!