The McKay Boys

25| brumous•

Ashton could feel his limbs shaking just thinking about the punishment that would await him if he were to return home late. And so, though it was still raining badly with no promise of letting up soon, he stepped out into the downpour.

He walked to the bus stop. Wet and tired. His uniform, which was a light blue now appeared a darker shade, and his socks were squelching in his shoes. The sole of his left shoe was lifting off now and was bound to fall off completely by the time he got home.

Erwin had money. Ashton could tell, for he had woken up early one night to his parents giggling and whispering in the living room. He stood by the corner to see them counting money. Ashton couldn't tell how much it was, but for him, seeing so much that they had to pile on top of each other meant it must have been a whole lot.

But he was yet to get a new pair of shoes. And he wouldn't ask for it. Erwin would have surely given him a proper beating for it with the claim that Ashton was being ungrateful.

By the time he got to the bus stop that evening, his spiky hair was wet and pressed against his head, making him appear bald. Luckily, the bus came soon enough, stopping for him specifically since there was no one else present at the bus stop. But when the doors flew open and Ashton took the first step forward, the driver frowned openly.

"You're too wet and the bus is full, boy."

A man with a ridiculously long mustache had been sitting at the front row and he too scrunched his face, agreeing verbally with the driver in fear that the wet boy would have gotten on.

"When will the next bus come?" Ashton asked, still standing in the rain, droplets clinging to his lashes. He was noticeably shivering and his teeth were clamping together.

Despite his state, the driver said, "In about ten minutes. Wait a bit more."

Ashton nodded and with respect replied: "Okay, have a good night."

The smoothing out of the driver's forehead made him believe he would waver a little, but the door sprung close and the bus sped off, in the process wetting Ashton up with the dirty, stink puddles gathered by the clogged street drain. It didn't matter; he was wet anyway.

He waited and waited. Twenty minutes passed, even thirty, yet no bus. Ashton had no choice but to foot it home; the night was falling fast. Big cars splashed him on the way, and kids, sitting in the warm backseats of their parents' vehicles, eyed him with pity at the glowing stoplights. Parents bent their lips, bobbing their heads to the soft music on their radios, sending him awkward glances and sad smiles. But none offered him a ride. They probably didn't want their seats to get wet.

It was nightfall when Ashton finally got home. He had soaked up all the rain. His father was waiting on the porch, one of his leather belts in his hand shiny with cooking oil. Ashton hardly came up the porch steps when Erwin began to interrogate him.

"Where were you, boy?"

Ashton told him what happened. To walking in the rain to the bus stop, to not getting picked up by the bus, and to having to walk home. But Erwin as usual just did not care. Ashton couldn't help thinking that the man found it fun to hit him.

And so he swung the whip wherever he could reach, cursing and yelling between each flog. Ashton cried as he squatted on the cold steps, using his hands to shield the feel of the strap. It was painful, and the oil made it feel as though his skin was ripping apart. Kesha was still preparing dinner when he managed to escape from the abuse and ran to her for safety. Two small hands clutched her skinny hips as Ashton buried his wet face, which was stinging terribly, into her stained apron.

"Enough, Erwin. It's time for food." She had said in her uninterested voice.

Erwin perched his fists on his waist. His face and neck were bathing in sweat, his fingers clutching the strap tightly. He was biting his lip, itching to use it again.