Two Boys Learning

2. Working On It

"Asher."

Ash looked up sharply, his eyes going wide. He hadn't heard his dad come in.

"D-dad," he stammered. "I didn't--"

"Save it," his father said, his eyes narrowing as he took in the mess of dirt and glass on the floor. "What happened."

Ash braced himself. "I--I dropped the plant. I was watering it, and it slipped, and I'm sor--"

The blow came without warning, right to Ash's stomach. He doubled over, coughing, and sank to his knees.

"Don't do it again and clean it up," his father said mildly, kicking Ash hard in the side before walking away. Ash gasped for air, watching his father's steel-toed boots tromp into the other room. 

Ash coughed one more time, fighting to get his breath back, and forced his breathing to return to normal, wincing when his ribs protested. His dad hadn't been gentle.

He never was.

Ash grabbed the broom that was leaning against the wall and used it to pull himself to his feet, wincing. Their floor was already dirty, almost to the point it looked like the floor of a barn, but that didn't stop Ash's dad from trying to make it look like someone actually lived there.

Er, stop him from forcing Ash to do everything to make it look like someone actually lived there.

Ash pushed the broom around the room, cleaning as best he could with his side throbbing and his stomach aching. He hadn't had a decent meal in ages.

"Asher!"

"Working on it!" Ash called back, sweeping more dirt into the steadily growing pile. "Almost done..."

"You get on the school registration yet?"

Ash's eyes widened and he froze. "Uh. Yeah!" No. Dammit...he'd forgotten, and school started in less than a week! He had to get on that soon.

"Good," his father grunted, coming back in the room and assessing the amount of work his son had done. He curled his lip and reached over, knocking a plate to the floor and shattering the fragile china.

His mother's china.

Ash swallowed hard. His dad knew exactly what he was doing.

"You missed some," he sneered, indicating the glass shards. "Guess that's another night going to bed without eating." He tsked. "You should work harder."

Tears threatened to spill over Ash's cheeks. "Sorry, Dad," he said, lowering his head. His father grunted and passed Ash on is way out of the room, elbowing him and sending him slamming into the wall so hard he saw black spots. Ash gasped.

"So uncoordinated," his dad sighed, frowning. "Work on that, too."

"Yes, sir."

His father left, and Ash slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. His breath rasped in his ears, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He peeked through his fingers at the broken plate that used to be his mothers.

"Remember, Ashy, these plates hold memories..."

His mother's voice threatened to overwhelm him and he stifled a sob, trying so hard not to cry it hurt his chest. No crying, he told himself fiercely. Dad says crying is weak, and he won't have a weak son...

He'd suffered the consequences of being a weak son, and he didn't want to again.

~ ~ ~

"Name, please."