The sound of a belt hitting skin was not a pleasant one, Atsu knows this, neither was the feeling of leather on his dry flesh, he knew that as well. It gasps at tingles at the cool air. The red patch it leaves in its destruction are irritable and itchy, like swarm a mosquito bites that shroud in one place.

But the teen does not shudder or cry, nor does he beg for mercy because he can't handle the pain. His skin is thick with scars and built armor from his younger days, the ones when everyone made fun of each other and pretended to be alright with it, just for the sake of looking strong. Just for the sake of showing protection to others, because for some odd reason people need companionship, Atsu doesn't.

But that's exactly what he was doing now? Was he not? Pretending to look strong when he wanted to cry in an old corner from then, in hysteria. He just wants—

No. He did not want to cry, because he did not care. The pain did not phase him, after all, if it did, salty water would pool down his face as it did when he was a child. It would dribble and drip like a broken faucet down his puffy cheeks. The tears would soak into his pants and he would wipe the snot on his bloodied sleeves.

But he is not a child anymore, so therefore, he does not cry.

He does not sob as the pain stretches and burns his back and shoulders. He does not wipe away snot because there is none to wipe away, his skin is clear of any marks of pain or fear. Of love, happiness, resentment, or trepidation. He simply hunches over, waiting for it to be over so he can finish his homework that he was too distracted to do today. So he can take a shower or bath and bandage his limbs, but today it's lasting longer than usual. The clock ticks, and ticks. And soon, hours have gone, yet they have not stopped.

They have not stopped the pain they cause, because, they too, do not care. If they feel angry due to an event they take it out on Atsu or his younger sister.

But they do not see the damage they cause, because they do not care, and to that, Atsu can relate heavily. They are selfish and angry and scared of a lot, but they do not care. Not for their suffering children, not for each other. They do not care for things anymore. They stopped caring after... That. But it is not longer raining guilt, it is no longer dripping regret, so he does not know why. Is it because he had destroyed the family name?

Was it because he was kind, at one point? Or because everyone knew about the incident? That everyone could stare and point and mutter pitying words at their own experience without consequence.

Atsu bites his lower lip and it bleeds, a cut of flesh on his lips, an abrasion. He does not take noticed of the crimson dribbling down his chin, nor the dizziness that seems to envelope his mind, he is too distracted to notice.

He does not whimper for he is not dying.

When they finish his back is stained red. It is swelling and painful and it burns. Yet, he does not cry or yell at his abusers blurry figures. He bows in counterfeit regret. "I sincerely apologize for being late, it will never happen again."

They nod in approval to the teen in front of them, but it doesn't matter if he is late or not. It never did.

It does not make an iota of difference in their eyes, because, simply, like him, they do not care. Blood is on their hands but they do not care. A child is dead, but that was his fault, wasn't it? He'd done it. He had been late.

He walks to the bathroom, opening the creaky door on its teetering hinges. The wood is breaking up near the bottom, it splinters and tears apart in sharp points. He opens the door, the bathroom is clear if dirt, because if his wounds got infected it would take a lot more work than just cleaning the bathroom to fix.

He steps on worn tiles, they are cold beneath his bare feet, his toes scrunch up, they ball. He rubs under his eye again. He is still tired, static is echoing throughout his head and he is sure he might collapse at any moment, it burns. It is grueling, the taste is bitter.

The water fills the chipped tub until it it glutted, and little dots leak from the rim as he lays in the lukewarm substance. It slowly dyes pink, then a terrible mix of pink and brown, until the once clean water is a mockery of bright crimson red.

He soaks in the water until his hands crinkle and dry, like raisins in the sun, until his eyes seem to heavy for him to keep open any longer, so they did not. He kept his eyes closed and potted, grounded in the watery blood. And in that very moment, some liquid splashed on his face, but it was clear. It rolled down his cheeks and off his chin, it dotted into the water. Little sploshes of crimson red jumped.

He'd have to get a new bottle to clot things up in. He needed a new skin, because this one is worn and dying, it is bleeding out in dirty water in a broken home. He wants to leave this body, but then he thinks about her-- and how could he leave his little sister all alone to his monsters, his tormenters, his abusers, his parents?

That would be cruel, and no matter how easy it would be to be evil, he simply cannot find it in himself to care enough to to it.

G is for Glutted;

My thoughts have been muted

So here I sit, in a bleak frozen room

With my toys and my memories laying astrewn

These feelings of rage and happy and fear are all gone, they have disappeared

Because now I am only calm, deep down in here

All I hope is that I do not overflow

That I will soon sleep forever, deep down below

Maybe there will burial right by her grave

Because at this point, there is nothing in me to save