Beneath the Surface

Chapter 1: Prison Without Bars

The smell of stale alcohol and sweat filled the narrow hallway, clinging to every surface of the small, decaying house. Raju crouched in the corner of the living room, his body tense, every muscle primed for what was about to happen. The shouting from the kitchen was growing louder, angrier-his father's voice a slurred snarl, his mother's a desperate plea. It was a nightly ritual in their house, Raju had long stopped hoping would end.

"Where were you!" his father roared, the crash of a bottle against the wall punctuating his rage. Raju flinched but didn't move from his spot. Any movement might draw attention, and attention meant pain. His mother whimpered in response, her voice barely audible, her words drowned by his father's booming presence.

Raju had stopped feeling sorry for her years ago. She had become as much a part of this nightmare as his father. Once, she had tried to protect him, placing herself between Raju and the beatings. But those days were gone. Now, she just stood there, taking her share of the abuse, too broken to fight back.

The floor was cold beneath him, but it felt safer than anywhere else in the house. Safer than being near his father. He could hear the dull thud of footsteps approaching, heavy and deliberate. Raju's breath caught in his throat as his father stumbled into the living room, reeking of cheap liquor, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

"Where did she go?" his father growled, swaying slightly as he glared down at Raju. Raju kept his eyes lowered, his fists clenched tight, not daring to speak.

"I said, Do you know where she went?"

"I... I don't know, Appa" Raju mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel his father's gaze burning into him, the fury building.

"You little shit?" he said "are you protecting your mother?" His father's hand lashed out, grabbing a fistful of Raju's hair and yanking him to his feet. Pain shot through his scalp, but Raju didn't cry out. He had learned not to. Crying only made it worse.

The slap came fast, the sting spreading across his face. His head snapped to the side, but he stayed standing, his body rigid, prepared for more. His father shoved him back toward the wall, snarling in disgust. "Next time, she leaves the house, you're dead, you understand me?"

Raju nodded silently, his eyes still on the floor. His father's anger was like a storm-unpredictable, violent, and impossible to control. There was no reasoning with it, no escape from it. All he could do was weather it and hope it passed quickly.

The sound of his mother's sobs filled the silence as his father staggered back toward the kitchen, muttering curses under his breath. Raju's face throbbed where he had been hit, but he didn't move. He waited, listening, until the drunken rambling from the next room turned into the familiar snores of his father passing out at the kitchen table.

Only then did he allow himself to breathe.

---

Raju sat on the edge of his tattered bed, staring at the ceiling. The room around him was a reflection of his life-cracked, broken, barely held together. The walls were peeling, the furniture old and worn, and the air was heavy with the smell of neglect. It had been this way for as long as he could remember.

His childhood, if he could call it that, had been a blur of fear and pain. His father had always been a drinker, a man whose anger spilled over into violence. Raju couldn't remember a time when his father wasn't angry at something-at life, at his mother, at him. The beatings were frequent, the insults constant, and Raju had learned early on that his survival depended on staying quiet, staying small, staying invisible.

His mother wasn't much better. Once, she had been his protector, but that version of her was long gone. Now she was just another victim, as trapped as he was, but too weak to do anything about it. She spent most days crying or trying to appease his father, hoping to keep the peace for just a little longer. But peace never lasted in this house. It was an illusion, a brief pause before the next eruption.

Raju had no friends. School was little more than an extension of the torment he endured at home. The other kids avoided him, mocked him, called him names that cut deeper than any of his father's blows. They could sense the difference in him-the silence, the haunted look in his eyes, the bruises he tried to hide. They treated him like he didn't belong, and over time, he began to believe it.

He was an outsider in every sense. Even in his own skin, Raju felt like a stranger.

---

One night, when Raju was twelve, his father didn't come home. The silence stretched long into the evening, and Raju and his mother sat at the table, waiting, the air thick with tension. His mother, usually so beaten down, seemed nervous, her hands shaking as she fidgeted with the corner of her sari.

"Maybe he's not coming back," Raju whispered, the faintest flicker of hope in his voice.

His mother shook her head. "He always comes back."

Raju didn't understand the fear in her eyes until the door slammed open, and his father stumbled inside, more drunk than usual, his face twisted in a rage that made Raju's blood turn cold.

"Where were you?" his mother asked, her voice trembling.

His father didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the nearest chair and threw it across the room, the wood splintering as it hit the wall. Raju's heart raced as his father advanced toward his mother, his fists clenched.

"Don't," his mother pleaded, backing away.

But it was too late. His father's hand came down hard, the slap echoing through the room. His mother cried out, collapsing to the floor. Raju watched, frozen in place, his body betraying him. He wanted to do something, to stop it, but he couldn't move.

His father kicked her, over and over, his face contorted in fury, shouting things that made no sense, words lost in the haze of his drunken rage. Raju stood there, helpless, a storm of emotions swirling inside him-fear, anger, shame, helplessness.

Finally, his father stopped, his breath ragged, his eyes glazed. He stumbled backward, collapsing onto the couch, and within minutes, he was snoring.

Raju's mother lay on the floor, sobbing quietly. Raju knelt beside her, gently touching her arm. "Amma...?"

She didn't respond. She didn't look at him.

He stayed with her until her sobs subsided, and then he helped her to her feet, guiding her to the bed. She was silent, her face swollen and bruised, her spirit broken beyond repair.

Raju went back to his room, his hands shaking with the weight of everything he couldn't do. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save himself. All he could do was wait for the next storm, knowing that it would come, knowing that it would never stop.