𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

── .✦ 1

Y/n Murakami sat at the edge of her bed, her gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the house she reluctantly called home.

This small, dull structure sat awkwardly among its better-kept neighbors, a testament to the neglect that had seeped into every corner of her life.

The sound of shattered glass echoed from downstairs, followed by the unmistakable slurred curses of her mother.

Y/n's grip tightened on the strap of her somewhat worn backpack, knuckles white from determination to leave.

It was early. Way too early for her to go to university right now. But she could care less if she was as all she wanted was to get away from her home.

Home...

Can one even call this home?

She took a deep breath, turning her head to the side to see the sun slowly seep through in the distance on her open window. She had opened them earlier before she cleaned and dressed up to get ready for her day at school as a 3rd-year student.

The fresh cold air soothed her. It was a better scent than the smell of alcohol that seemed to cling into every nook and cranny of her house. It's a haunting reminder of her mother's addiction that she can't seem to get rid of despite cleaning regularly in their house. It was a good thing it was faint in her room. But still.

She shakes her head as she stood up from her bed, the sheets making a soft sound of shifting and the bed creaking from her weight while she got out of her room to go downstairs where she saw her mother lay sprawled on the tattered couch, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from her fingers with the television on all night.

Y/n's eyes wandered across the small, cramped living room of her house, feeling a tinge of discomfort at the sight. The space, though once filled with childhood memories, was now a shadow of its former self. If there were ever a party here, it could only fit a maximum of eight adults, and even then, it would be too tight. Any more people, and they wouldn't even be able to move without bumping into each other. Not that she had anyone to invite.

The once-white curtains near the door, draped limply over the windows, now looked grimy and stained.

She sighed, knowing they needed another wash.

The fabric that should have brightened the room now just looked dull and murky.

Below the windows was an old cabinet—its glass sides cracked, one side taped up with duct tape that sagged from overuse, and the middle drawer missing a handle altogether. It had once been a display of family trinkets, but now the shelves inside were haphazardly filled with forgotten knick-knacks.

Her gaze landed on the couch, a relic from her childhood that had seen better days. The bright, vivid patterns of red, blue, and white that had once adorned the cushions were faded beyond recognition. That sofa used to be a source of joy—Y/n could still remember running around it as a little girl while her parents chased her, their laughter filling the air. Now, it looked like it barely held together, its threadbare fabric sagging, worn down from years of use and neglect.

In front of the couch was a low, brown coffee table, cluttered with the debris of her mother's vices. Cigarette ashes and butts littered its surface, alongside empty and half-drunk bottles of beer, spare change scattered aimlessly, and a rotting sandwich teetering on the edge.

'Gross.' she thought, wrinkling her nose at the sight.

The once-vibrant room had taken on a musty, stale smell from the cigarette smoke and the forgotten food. It was suffocating. And Y/n was asthmatic.