MOTHER

Haru's heart raced as his mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and cruel. "Go out on the veranda, you little piece of shit!" Those words lingered, etched in his memory like a brand. Every encounter with her was a reminder of his worthlessness, a weight he had carried since he could remember. He shivered, recalling how her curses had once felt like knives, slicing through any semblance of warmth he sought.

To most children, a mother was a protector, a confidante, a source of unconditional love. But for Haru and his brother, Gili, she was a tormentor, a woman who served cold scraps for dinner and used their small bodies to relieve her frustrations. Her laughter rang hollow, a sound that could chill the air, reminding them of their status as mere nuisances in her life.

Haru could still picture the grimy kitchen where they spent most of their time. The air was thick with the stench of neglect. "Do the chores, or you won't eat," she would bark, her hands busy with whatever task she deemed important while she ignored the two boys. Each missed spot earned them slaps across the face or kicks to their bellies.

"Why can't you be like the other kids?" she would yell, the frustration in her voice rising to a fever pitch as Haru struggled to wipe away the grime from the floor. At seven years old, he was just a child, yet he felt the burden of adult expectations heavy on his small shoulders. He couldn't help but think of how he tried so hard to please her, only to be met with disappointment.

When he managed to snag a piece of bread for himself and Gili, she would tie his hands with plastic cable ties until the skin beneath turned raw and angry. "Bad bastard," she'd hiss, her eyes flashing with rage. He learned quickly that sharing even the smallest piece of food was a crime punishable by pain.

As he stood in the dimly lit room, the memories flooded back—each one a stab to his heart. Haru's mind raced with the knowledge that, for every day he spent under her roof, she grew crueler. At night, when those men came, he learned to disappear, to become a shadow. The men were worse than she was, burly and loud, laughing at him while they drank and passed around whatever substance made their eyes glassy.

"C'mon, little bitch, dance for us!" they would taunt, their hands outstretched, their fingers beckoning. They would dress him in silly costumes—a frilly dress one time, a bunny outfit the next. And when he hesitated, they would threaten him with a look that promised violence.

"Do you want us to call your brother instead?" they would sneer, and in those moments, his heart would plummet. He couldn't let that happen. For Gili's sake, he learned to endure the pain, the humiliation.

In his mind, he could still hear their laughter as they took their turns with him, stripping away any semblance of innocence he had left. He remembered how he had curled into a ball, the drugs coursing through his veins, making him compliant, as they treated him like a toy to be broken and tossed aside. Each time they left, he would cling to Gili, whispering promises of protection that he knew he could never fulfill.

His body trembled at the recollection. Just thinking about those moments made his stomach churn, disgust rising like bile.

"Haru…" A soft voice broke through his haze, pulling him from the depths of his memories.

He turned, his instincts kicking in. Panic flooded his veins as he looked for an escape, and he spotted the window. Without a second thought, he ran toward it, throwing it open. The summer breeze washed over him, a fleeting moment of freedom as he took in the bright sun and the beautiful sea beyond. For a brief second, he was lost in the view, mesmerized by the shimmering waves. But the tranquility shattered when he heard her voice again.

"Oh, my God, Haru!" His mother's shriek pierced through his moment of solace, snapping him back to reality.

Startled, he lost his footing, falling toward the ground. "Uwaaah!" But instead of the hard earth, he landed on something soft—a well-built man wearing a straw hat, who was watering the plants below.

"I… I'm sorry!" Haru stammered, scrambling to get off him. The man was strong, and Haru felt a twinge of fear. Burly men filled him with dread, their laughter and cruelty still fresh in his memory.

"Haha! This bitch's a tough one," the men would jeer as they hit him with whatever they had in hand, their amusement a cruel reminder of his place in the world.

But this man was different. He didn't shout or threaten. Instead, he wrapped his strong arms around Haru, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"No! Go away! Don't touch me!" Haru flailed, his small legs kicking against the man's sturdy frame, his hands clawing at his skin.

"It's fine, Haru. Father's here now. No one's going to hurt you," the man said softly, his voice deep and reassuring, cutting through the haze of panic that clouded Haru's mind. The warmth of the embrace felt foreign and safe, a stark contrast to everything he had known.

Haru wanted to resist, to push him away and escape but the man's baritone voice soothed him, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. "Ssshhh… It's fine now… Don't worry."

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from inside the house. Haru's body stiffened, instinctively curling into himself. He knew who it was, and fear washed over him like a tidal wave.

"Haru, honey, what's wrong?" The voice was softer, and he felt his heart race.

He froze, instinctively recoiling at the thought of her hands coming to him.

Then he felt a gentle touch on his head, and panic surged within him. Without thinking, he slapped the hand away, shock coursing through him.

"I… I'm sorry!" he blurted out, eyes wide with fear as he looked up, prepared for the familiar fury. "Please, just hit me ba—"

But his words caught in his throat. The face before him wasn't that of his mother.