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So many voices.
So many mutters and whispers.
So many people pitted her.
So many eyes looked down at her.
She was small, her knees up to her chest while tears filled her eyes once more.
No mother and no father.
It was her own home, broken glass on the floor with the door barely keeping itself up. It felt so cold and nothing but whispers surrounded her. She hated the whispers and mutters that crowd her, speaking like she wasn't even there. Like she was just a ghost in a crowded room.
She hated it.
Her grandparents weren't here and yet, the room was filled with adults she didn't even know the name of. Just who were these people? Acquaintances perhaps from her mother's side. Her grandfather is a wealthy man. Not like she ever even seen her grandparents. Only heard of them through tv shows and news, and slightly from her mother who always chose to never speak about them for whatever reason. Not even visiting at all. There was no memory of any family besides her parents. Now she would never really know what problems her mother had with her parents. And her father side?
Who knows.
Her father was an orphan who had no parents and met her mother through a job interview when he was 18. At the time her mother was an assistant to her grandfather's company before she fell in love with her father and married him at 22. Her mother chose to leave the company to settle down with him. From what she remembers, father was never liked in the family. Again, she never understood why.
"Not even her uncle showed up?"
She rolled her eyes at that same lame question. She didn't even know she had an uncle. That's how much her mother kept her away from her family.
"Nope. And her grandparents are still not here. I wonder who's going to take her in now that her mothers in the crazy house."
Crazy house.
What was even that?
She didn't know nor did she understand what that word meant but she could only assume the worst from how much people keep talking about in a bitter and sorrow tone. She leaned closer towards the wall, her eyes hooded and dull.
She just wanted her father and mother back.
But she can never have either.
Her eyes scanned the room once again. Broken glass and scratches were on the floor. Some pots and pans from the kitchen and even her mother's favorite vase was scattered around the room. She knew her mother hasn't been all there since her father's death that was months prior, but she never knew her mother would go to this extend. Trashing their house and nearly killing her in the process. Now here Y/n sat, on the wooden stairs with blood trickling down her forehead and arm. It didn't hurt per say, what hurt more was the burning ache of missing her parents. Yes, even her mother who nearly killed her that night.
