Chapter Text
It’s times like this when Hitoshi knows something is wrong. He can’t quite wrap his head around how wrong it is, but he knows the way he’s treated is… some level of bad.
He’s sitting with his math teacher outside of his middle school, growing suspiciously more certain by the minute that his ride isn’t coming. He knows his parents are going to find a reason for it to be his fault. He knows he’s going to be punished for making them look bad, for being the last kid waiting at school, keeping his teacher there hours after class ended.
It makes his chest hurt. He rubs at his sternum unconsciously.
“Shinsou, I think you should call them again.”
Hitoshi isn’t allowed to call twice unless it’s an emergency. He’s also not allowed to disobey a teacher. He freezes. His teacher assesses him and he stares at the ground, at her shoes. They’re green.
Her voice is gentle when she speaks again, and says, “Is there a reason you don’t want to call again, Shinsou?”
Hitoshi isn’t sure if the calling-twice rule is the kind of rule he’s allowed to share or if it’s the kind of rule that’s a secret. Some rules, he knows are secrets- like not being allowed to leave his room after dinner, not showering without supervision, no speaking. He knows people will judge his parents for those, and he’s not allowed to tell people things that will make them judge his parents. Their image is important to them. It’s not their fault Hitoshi is so difficult.
Sometimes he thinks maybe, having secret rules is a clue that something is wrong. But other families might have secret rules too, how would he know otherwise? They’re secret.
He can’t think of a lie, though, and doesn’t want to lie to Tanaka Sensei. His chest still hurts, and he realizes he’s been rubbing it. He shoves his hand in his pocket and stares harder at her green mary janes.
“They say only call twice if it’s an emergency,” he finally says, and his heart starts pounding. Saying it out loud makes it feel like it was one of the secret rules.
“Well, you are stranded, and it’s getting dark, dear. Do you think not being able to get home qualifies as an emergency?” His teacher keeps her words gentle and tilts her head slightly, but Hitoshi sees the way her eyebrows pinch together with concern.
He’s not allowed to cause concern.
“I’m not hurt,” Hitoshi says, to clarify that this isn’t an emergency as far as he’s aware. Tanaka Sensei presses her lips together and doesn’t answer, so Hitoshi rushes to explain, “They mean a real emergency. Like if I was hurt. Or if there’s a fire.”
This explanation doesn’t seem to quell his teacher’s worry. He’s trying to think of how to stop himself from digging the hole deeper when his phone rings. It’s his stepdad. He answers and turns the volume down, but Tanaka Sensei doesn’t step away to give him any privacy. She isn’t even trying to hide that she’s listening.
“Where the fuck are you?” The words are crisp, and loud. His stepfather is already yelling.
“I stayed late for math tutoring. It’s Thursday,” and you’re supposed to pick me up an hour ago, Hitoshi doesn’t add.
“Your mother is beside herself,” his stepdad continues, and Hitoshi realizes, yes, he can hear her crying in the background. His lungs tighten further. “You didn’t tell her it was Thursday. You didn’t remind me this morning.”
Hitoshi did, though. And he wrote it on the calendar in the hallway. He closes his eyes to force back tears. He should have texted. Stupid. He can’t let his teacher see him cry over this. He’s not allowed to cry in front of people.
“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi says and then immediately regrets it. He constantly forgets; another secret rule. No being sorry. If you’re sorry, you wouldn’t do it in the first place.
“I don’t want to hear it. You know that. You’ve got to start planning ahead, Hitoshi. Now I need to drive all the way back into the fucking city? Is that what you want?”
“Well I… I can’t get home without you,” Hitoshi says, voice small, embarrassed. Shame burns in his stomach for being so needy.
“Hitoshi, may I talk with your parent?” Tanaka Sensei asks, and Hitoshi shifts his gaze from the sidewalk back to the teacher he’d almost forgotten was standing there with him. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s still fighting back tears.
“You didn’t say someone else was with you, Hitoshi,” his stepdad says, tone of voice hard and foreboding, and Hitoshi realizes he’s broken another rule. He’s always supposed to say who he’s with during a phone call. He genuinely doesn’t know what to do from here or what’s going to make his punishment worse when he gets home.
“My math teacher, Tanaka Sensei, wants to talk to you. Can I put her on?”
“Sure, waste more of my time.”
Hitoshi hands her the phone.
“Hi, this is Tanaka, I overheard that there was a little scheduling miscommunication. Would it help if I offer to drive Hitoshi home? You’re actually on my way anyway.” Her voice was sweet, soothing. The one she used on angry students.
During the awkwardly long silence, Hitoshi wonders if the call got disconnected. But then-
“Oh, would you? We would be so grateful. We’re so sorry this happened. Are you waiting there with just Hitoshi?”
“Yes, he’s the last pickup. I’m more than happy to bring him home. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Thanks so much. See you soon, then.”
Tanaka Sensei ends the call and then stands there with Hitoshi’s phone in her hand for a moment, staring into the parking lot. The look of concern from earlier hasn’t left. Hitoshi’s stomach is in knots, anticipating what awaits him at home. Then, he realizes something-
“My house is on your way home?”
Tanaka Sensei blinks and looks back at Hitoshi, and answers, “I actually have no idea. I’ll need your address. I just wanted him to stop yelling at you. I want to talk to you about something, on the way. Okay, honey?”
“He wasn’t yelling at me,” Hitoshi says, genuine, and the line between his teacher’s eyebrows deepens. “Really. I should have texted him a reminder.”
His teacher bites her lip and then says “It’s his job to know when to pick you up, Hitoshi. You’re eleven.” Hitoshi knows he’s made a misstep. He’s not supposed to have teachers on his side. He’s not allowed to manipulate them. He opens his mouth to argue and she just motions for him to follow her to her car.
There’s a frog figurine on a swing hanging from her rear-view mirror and a pink air freshener clipped to the air conditioning vent. Hitoshi sinks into the passenger seat, bookbag at his feet, and straps himself in. He doesn’t want to think about what going home is going to be like, so he focuses on the car ride. He feels safe with Tanaka Sensei. He shouldn’t, because he knows it’s dangerous to have a teacher think his stepfather is harsh, but he can’t stop the feeling from bubbling up inside him. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sits in the driver’s seat with her hands on the wheel, the AC rapidly cooling the car off. She looks at Hitoshi once, and then her eyes jerk back to the parking lot.
“Shinsou, I want to tell you something very important,” she says to the parking lot, and then turns to look at him. Her eyes are shining. She’s not crying, but Hitoshi thinks it might be a near thing.
“Okay.”
“You shouldn’t be scared to go home. And if you are, especially if it happens a lot, sometimes that’s because of abuse. Are you scared to go home, honey?”
Hitoshi stares at her like a deer in the headlights, and then looks out the windshield into the empty parking lot, the dimming light. Sometime in the last ten minutes, the streetlights have come on. He swallows, trying to buy time. He can’t tell the truth. And he can’t lie. He rubs his chest again, completely accidentally, and then shoves his hand back into his pocket like the traitorous bastard it is.
“It’s not abuse,” is what he settles on, but his voice is small and shaking as he says it, as he tries to will it into truth. He knows the question he’s refusing to answer is telling on its own.
“Are you scared, Shinsou?” she asks, and Hitoshi wants to cry. Wants her to hug him. Wants to get out of the car and start running.
“I don't have a reason to be,” he says, and she nods. Not in agreement, but in understanding. She puts the car in drive, and starts pulling out of the parking lot. Asks him what neighborhood they need to go to. Heads in the right direction, slowly.
Shinsou knows there’s about twenty minutes left in this car ride and he doesn’t like where the conversation is going. He can't bring himself to stop it, though. He searches within himself for a way to say, truthfully, he's not afraid, and comes up empty.
He realizes he wants her to know. He wants to tell her what they're doing. He wants to ask if it's okay. If every family has secret rules.
“Hitoshi, I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I want you to know something. If your parents are hurting you, and you tell me, I can help you. I can get you out. And-” she glances from the road to Hitoshi and then back again- “I think they are. I think they're abusing you, Shinsou. I don't think you're safe. But I can't do anything with a hunch. If you can tell me what's happening to you at home, what they're doing, if they're hurting you- I can turn this car around. We can get help. You can be safe tonight. Do you think you can tell me, Shinsou? Can you ask me for help?”
“I can't,” Hitoshi grits out, which isn't a yes or a no, but a confirmation nonetheless. He wants the car to crash. He wants to open the door and jump out.
“I'm right here, honey. Just give me something. Give me anything. Tell me why you're scared tonight.”
Hitoshi's scared because he knows there’s going to be a punishment waiting for him when he gets home. But wouldn’t any kid be scared of that? So his parents are strict, that’s hardly abuse. They’re not hitting him.
His brain slides off of the internal defense of his parents and into what they do, into what’s waiting for him at home. Is a muzzle abuse? They take it off for him to eat, if he’s earned his dinner. It doesn’t leave marks. Nothing they do leaves marks, except that one time.
That one time.
The last time someone reported anything. When someone from the Child Guidance Center called and left a voicemail for his mother, didn’t do a home visit, never talked to Hitoshi, and he missed three days of school. That one time, when nobody connected the dots.
What happened that one time, Hitoshi thinks, was probably abuse. He doesn’t let his brain keep traveling down that road though. It hasn’t happened since then, he’s made sure. He follows the rules.
“Shinsou? What are you thinking about so hard? You can tell me.”
He can’t, though. He can’t because if what happened before is what happens when things get reported, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it a second time. He can’t because he’s not sure it’s abuse. He can’t because he’s not allowed, and he follows the rules. He can’t, because he’s afraid of his parents but more afraid of the system.
His chest burns with the desire to tell her he’s afraid of his punishment. He wants to ask if it’s abuse- the muzzle, the withholding of food, the restraints, the stress positions, the kneeling on rice, the lack of privacy. He wants to tell her nobody hits him. He wants her to hold his hand. He wants her to tell him again that he could be safe. He wants to believe her.
He doesn’t.
“They’re just strict,” he finally says, taking carefully controlled breaths. “They have high expectations,” he amends, remembering what his stepfather told him about calling them “strict.”
Tanaka Sensei bites her lip again, worrying it with her teeth. She pulls into a parking lot about a block from his home. She turns fully to look at him, presses her hands against the center console.
“Please let me help you, Shinsou. Please. Give me one thing I can work with. Tell me one thing that will happen when I drop you off tonight.”
He wants to tell her he’s going to be put in the muzzle and restrained with his hands tied to his ankles. He wants to tell her. The words sit in his throat, coagulating. Clogging his windpipe. He swallows thickly. He doesn’t believe she can save him.
“I don’t need help, Tanaka Sensei.” He doesn’t say he’s okay, because he’s not. He doesn’t say he’s safe, because he doesn’t think he is. Something is wrong, he knows. They’re strict, he knows. “It’s not abuse,” he says, when she doesn’t answer.
“How sure are you about that, Shinsou?”
He pulls up his sleeves, as evidence. No marks. Clear, pale skin.
“Some abuse doesn’t leave marks,” she says, and his mind grinds to a halt. He can’t make that information fit in with what he already knows. “I know you’re afraid. Please just tell me why. If it turns out it’s not abuse, I won’t tell anyone.”
His eyes fill with tears and he fights the urge to let them fall. Looks up at the headliner, blinks. Can’t risk having his cheeks pink and eyes red when he gets home. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. He just wants to believe her so badly.
She reaches over to grab a few napkins out of her glove box and hands them to him. He looks forward again and dabs his eyes, soaking up the tears before letting them fall. He wants to stay in this car forever, with someone who clearly cares about him, someone who clearly doesn’t think he deserves to be treated the way he’s treated. Someone who has no idea.
“I will keep you safe, Shinsou,” and the certainty in her voice makes him believe that she believes she can. It doesn’t convince him, though.
He thinks about the three days of school he missed, last time. He knows something is wrong.
Somewhere, deep inside himself, he knows. But it’s not safe to let that part out, so instead, he deflects.
“I really need to get home, Tanaka Sensei.”
She sighs, breathing out heavily through her nose, and puts the car in drive. A minute later, in the driveway, before he gets out, she tells him, “You can talk to me any time, Shinsou. Any time. I’ll always be here for you,” and then she presses a slip of paper into his hand with her phone number on it. He sees his stepdad opening the front door and he rushes to slide the paper inside his phone case, safe against the back of his phone. He doesn’t thank her, and when he gets out of the car to trudge up the sidewalk, he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t trust himself not to run.
His stepfather waves and smiles at her from the front steps. Hitoshi steps inside.