Sticky heat. Sweat mingled with the smell of mothballs.
The stench of cheap carbolic disinfectant billowed from the toilet at the isolated western end of the corridor. Noon sunlight stabbed through the rusted vents, splitting the stifling air into dusty yellow pillars that made him nauseous.
In the corner of the room, Arka's back pressed against moss-covered tiles. Their chill couldn't extinguish the invisible fire spreading from the base of his neck.
Eleven years ago.
Rendra towered over him. His student council uniform had been deliberately untucked. His expensive white sneakers pinned Arka's scholarship application to the floor. A reddish smear of dirt, the imprint of a sole, sat right over Arka's passport photo, which had been cut at an angle with a razor blade.
"You think... this scholarship is for you?"
Rendra tilted his head. His fingers twirled a motorcycle key. Jingle. Jingle. The steady metallic rhythm always made Arka's stomach cramp as if it were being twisted with barbed wire.
Arka lowered his head.
He hated himself for always looking down. Hated the way his eyes always searched for the tips of his own shoes whenever someone yelled at him. But the muscles in his neck seemed controlled by the survival instinct of a weak creature facing a predator.
"Ren... please. My homeroom teacher already asked me to get it for—"
"I asked you." The tip of Rendra's shoe kicked Arka in the shin. Hard. "You think you deserve it?"
The pain slowly spread into the marrow of his bones. But Arka swallowed his groan whole. He had always been taught not to fight back. Fighting back meant more trouble. Fighting back meant prolonging the torture. A flawed survival theory he had nurtured until it became a coward's tumor in his throat. He believed—truly believed—that if he stayed quiet, Rendra would get bored.
But the devil never got bored of chewing on surrendered flesh.
Two of Rendra's lackeys laughed softly in the doorway. Their cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the stink of urine and damp moss.
"This kid," Rendra said, squatting down. He brought his eyes level with Arka's trembling ones. "You know why I hate looking at your face so much, Ka?"
Rendra's breath smelled of melon gum and stale tobacco. Arka held his breath. His eyes darted frantically toward the leaking faucet. Drip. Drip.
"I... I'll do your Physics homework tonight, Ren."
The words slipped from Arka's lips on their own. A beggar's reflex. Disgusting. Arka vomited inside his own head when he heard how pathetic his voice sounded.
Rendra clicked his tongue. He grabbed Arka's uniform collar and yanked it so roughly that the top two buttons came loose and rolled across the wet floor.
"My mom had a hysterical breakdown last night. My dad brought his mistress home."
Arka fell silent. His breathing came in ragged gasps. The connection broke. What did that have to do with him?
"And then you showed up this morning, grinning." Rendra tightened his grip. The veins in the wealthy teenager's neck stood out blue. "Acting all friendly while greeting the security guard out front. You're a bum, Ka. Your family's a mess. Your dad ran off. You're poor. How dare you still smile like some innocent little angel, huh?"
A slap landed.
Hard. Wet.
Arka's left ear rang for a long time. The ruins of his self-respect collapsed into the pit of his stomach. The salty taste of blood burst at the corner of his mouth.
"People like you," Rendra's voice lowered, turning into a hoarse whisper thick with baseless hatred, "don't deserve to feel at peace."
Rendra picked up the dirty scholarship application from the floor. He looked into Arka's eyes, then tore the paper apart slowly. The sound of its fibers ripping rang louder than Arka's pounding heartbeat.
The first tear was for his report card grades.
The second tear was for his mother's signature.
The third tear was for what remained of his sanity.
The scraps were thrown into Arka's face. They scattered like dirty snow in the middle of a long dry season. Rendra spat softly right beside Arka's shoes, stood up, and walked out without looking back. His friends lazily followed, leaving behind echoes of laughter that crawled through the pores of the bathroom walls.
Arka remained sitting.
One minute. Five minutes.
The sunlight from the vents slowly shifted, leaving that corner of the room in cold gloom. Arka picked up the scraps of paper one by one with numb fingers. Something died that afternoon. Not just an application for his future. Not merely the bruise on his cheek.
His goodness had rotted in the corner of that bathroom. He always smiled to be accepted. He always lowered his head to be forgiven. But the world punished him precisely because he obeyed. Rendra hadn't destroyed him because Arka had done something wrong.
Rendra destroyed him because Arka let him.
That stale memory from eleven years ago now felt like stomach acid surging up his throat. Bitter. Burning.
Beneath tonight's drizzle, in front of his mother's house, whose gate had been locked tight by his own flesh and blood, Rendra's laughter once again pounded against his skull. The pattern repeated. Naya throwing him away. His uncle stripping him bare. Rendra crushing his adolescence. They had all smelled the stench of obedience rotting inside Arka, then feasted on it.
Arka's knees, trembling weakly until then, suddenly went rigid.
The rainwater entering his eyes no longer stung. The shards of trauma he had buried all this time like layers of pus... burst. That foul fluid crystallized with startling speed inside his chest.
Becoming silent fury.