Too Late

Punishment

He didn't want to go home.

Just the thought of returning to the place was nauseating. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tapped his thumb against each finger. Pointer, middle, ring, pinky, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...the nervous tick did nothing to distract him from the memories of the place he calls home.

The house looked like any average family home. It was in a semi-congested neighborhood where the houses connected with each other. It was made out of dark wood, and white cement. The outside was decorated with small potted plants. A 5 person mini car was parked on the side of the house. Overall, it looked pretty normal.

But Arata knew this house was anything but normal.

As he rounded the corner, he was met with the normal looking house.

He felt this urge to run. To never look back. But he couldn't. His siblings were there. He loved them and couldn't leave them.

Pointer, middle, ring, pinky, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, pointer, midd- "oi, what are you doing outside, brat? Get in here." His father's voice broke through whatever distraction he tried to create.

He huffed out a breath of air before trudging the rest of his way into the house.

His mother sat neatly on the couch, knitting away at the scarf she's been working on for a few weeks now. His sister was quietly reading a book on the couch next to his mother. And his father, who had walked in a few seconds before Arata had, was getting ready to watch the evening program on the telly.

His brother wasn't there.

"Where's Riku?"

"You're brother? He talked back to me so he's in punishment." His mother stated calmly, peering up at Arata for a few seconds before going back to the white yarn.

Punishments never meant anything good. Instead of the usual punishments parents would give such as spankings, sitting on the stairs, soap in the mouth, and hand whippings, their punishments meant torture. Serious torture. Locking them up in the cold, dark basement with nothing but underwear and socks on. Taking sandpaper and rubbing it across their backs until red streaks appeared. Not feeding them for days. Physically and mentally beating them up until they couldn't feel or express anything.

Their punishments were bad. Really bad.

"Can I see him?" When it came to his parents, he had to be careful with how he spoke towards them. One minute they could be perfectly sweet and the next, they could be the literal devil. Too many questions, and they'd see you as disrespecting them and that meant a punishment for you.

"Of course. He's in his room." Arata nodded before bounding up the stairs, ignoring the yells from his father about slowing down.

When he got to his siblings' room, he found his brother quietly sobbing into the sheets of his bed. His eyes were puffy and red and his face was covered in snot, tears, and drool.

"I-I hate it h-here." He cried and cried and cried and Arata just sat there and let him cry.

There was nothing he could do. 

"They're f-fucking mental. I w-wanna leave this place. Big brother, I w-wanna go away."

"I know, I know. I promise, when I turn 18, I'll leave and I'll take you both with me even if it means I have to stay in court for days." Arata went over and sat next to his brother.

He held the younger boy in the arms and that is when his saw it. His bum was covered in strips of bloody welts. He was belted.

"I should get cream for that."

"No...father said I can't." The older male sighed before bringing his brother closer to his chest and then lightly covering his lower half with the blanket.

"Understood."

Just a few more weeks, and he'll be 18, that thought keeps him going. Just a few more weeks.

Sadly, unknown to him or anyone else, Yoshida Arata will never make it to 18 and he and his siblings will never be able to escape the hell that is their home.