This chapter has mature contents...and some of the chapters that follow this have them too. This will be a very dramatic story so, grab a box of tissues!

A loud honk from the streets woke you up from your deep, dreamless sleep.

You sat up from your moldy and smelly mattress and kicked away your torn, (f/c) blanket, stretching your arms into the air.

The clock on the wall said that it was 10 o'clock in the morning, the usual time that you woke up. The clock had a broken stature, but it still shows the correct time. It had been serving you for fourteen years now.

You threw your skinny legs over the edge of the bed that was facing the window, your feet colliding with the cold, wooden floor. It didn't bother you, though, since you had been barefoot your whole life. You've never seen a pair of slippers, or whatever those were.

Yawning, you looked over your shoulder and saw a disposable bowl and a plastic fork on the floor, sitting in front of the metal catflap that had been installed in your door.

If you were gonna escape using the catflap, you couldn't, for it was locked from the outside.

The door was locked, too.

It was no use, picking at it. It had one of those electronic locks that only open when someone presses the button downstairs.

You were only allowed to go outside when...he wants to.

The plastic bowl had a moldy piece of bread that was soaked in the soup that came with it. They don't seem good enough to eat, but it was food nonetheless.

You hadn't had food for a few days.

Standing up, you went to the toilet and brushed your teeth with an old toothbrush and water, then washed your face.

Going back to your room, you bent down to grab the bowl and went to sit on the floor by the windowsill and began to eat.

You picked up the fork then paused.

How were you supposed to eat soup with a fork?

You stabbed the soaked piece of bread and took a bite out of it. It's not like you were going to complain to him.

As you ate the chewy bread, you looked outside.

San Fransokyo was a beautiful city, as you had observed from your window. It was even more beautiful at night. If you could just go out of a minute and explore, it would be the greatest gift ever given to you.

You were three stories above the ground, on the second floor of your home. The garage was located at the bottom, having stairs that led to the first floor. You were quite thankful for that since you've got more privacy and a great view.

Another sight was the café a few meters in front of the house.

It was a blue building with three stories, the café at the very bottom. It never seemed to loose customers since people keep going there everyday. Their food must be delicious.

Your stomach gave a low grumble, begging for more food, but you have already finished the bread. You decided to save the cold soup for later, knowing that you won't be receiving any more food after this.

You left the bowl at the side, stood up to grab (f/b), your favorite book, and went back to sit on the windowsill to read.

A few of those books on the shelf had been your mothers, but she was no longer here.

You read and read, oblivious to the world around you.

Oblivious at the fact that your window was being pelted with small rocks.

You gave a small laugh as the main character did something stupid. Deciding to take a rest, you placed the book on your lap and stared at the clouds in the sky.

Ping!

You looked at the window then to the ground, seeing a small pebble hurtling towards the pavement. You raised your eyebrow.

Ping!

A small rock hit your window again. You looked in front and saw who was pelting your window with rocks.

It was a boy about your age, who has shaggy, raven-black hair. He was tall and slim, and was carrying a small slingshot in his hand.

So he was the one doing that.

It was the kid who was living at the café. You've seen him walking the streets at night, with his older brother. And what would he want to do with you?

He gave a wave, and you gave a small wave back.

He was shouting something to you, but you couldn't hear it, for your window was nailed shut and you couldn't open it.

You sadly shook your head and walked away from the windowsill, hiding from his sight. You leant against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, your hands rubbing your cheeks.

***

The front door slammed shut downstairs, signalling that he had come home.

It was seven in the evening, and you were still sitting on the floor, thinking about what had happened earlier. Your room was dark since you havent turned on the lights yet.

"(Y/n)! Come down here!" He bellowed.

You closed your eyes and whimpered, hearing a small click!

The door had unlocked.

You sprang up to your feet and opened the thick, mahogany door with great difficulty.

Walking slowly with your head down and not uttering a single sound, you walked downstairs, a look of fright on your face.

"H-hello, father," you sqeaked as you reached the bottom stair.

Your father, (f/n) (l/n), staggered forward, his eyes red and droopy, his face slack.

He'd been out drinking again.

This was bad.

He pointed a wobbly finger at you. "Y-you..."

You unconsciously stepped back, frightened.

It begins...

"You killed her!" He screamed, grabbing the metal stick or rod that you used for poking the fireplace, though you didn't have a fireplace.

Gasping, you quickly turned around but you felt a hand grab a fistful of your tattered t-shirt.

A sharp pain erupted from your side as he hit you with the metal rod, making you scream in agony.

"You're..." A hit on your legs.

"The reason..." A hit on your head.

"Why..." Hits on both of your arms.

"She's dead!" Your father screamed, finishing your torture with a hard hit on your back.

You crumpled to the floor as your knees gave away, tears streaming down your face. The places where he had hit you with the metal stick hurt very bad, and you could barely move.

He growled and then kicked you, make you scream again.

"Go to your room!" He shouted. He picked you up then threw you at the stairs.

You were gasping for air as you crawled upstairs with the strength of a newborn. Thankfully, the door of your room was left open so you could crawl in easily without having to reach for the knob.

You closed the door with your foot, having much difficulty then crawled to the window, resting your head on the windowsill.

You let out a loud sob then rubbed at your eyes.

He always takes it out on you, even though it wasn't your fault.

You looked up at the stars, feeling upset.

Then you looked straight ahead to the café and saw the concerned face of the boy who had seen earlier.

You hid.