Day zero of becoming a hikikomori

[5 Years Ago]

A large black double door sat in front of me as I strolled down a long modern hallway. Both walls were plastered with paintings, and windows which stretched from floor-to-ceiling were found in-between them. I glanced down at my watch, telling me the time I had left until my next meeting.

It was now 2 months into my new job as a game artist, and already, my life was miserable.

My company - called Hundred - was medium-sized, but because each game we built was so different from the last, our teams were siloed based on the project. A manager overlooked each team, and unfortunately for me, he was the worst human being I’ve ever met in my life.

I only graduated from art college last year, and had worked at a conbini while picking up side projects until I found my first full-time job. Yet, even after I received the job offer, I was far from fulfilled.

You see, before even turning 10, my parents divorced. From then on, my father’s apartment was where I mainly grew up, but it didn’t take long before I intentionally moved out for college. My old man, despite being a successful businessman, was a terrible father. His issues with alcohol and child abuse had plagued my childhood, and all my past trauma, along with actual scars around my body, have burdened me since the day I was born.

Without a doubt, even after I moved out, these problems always burdened my mind as I studied and job-hunted. My aunt had been nice enough to let me move into her apartment for the time being, but I knew I needed to move out soon to live independently. Because of my reserved nature, I graduated from college with barely any friends. On top of all of that, I suffered from minor depression.

So wouldn’t finding a job and feeling wanted by a company spring me back into joy?

Well, actually…

“Rin, what do you think you’re doing?”

A firm voice resounded down the hallway from behind. I shivered without looking back; it was only a few more steps until I reached the meeting room, but alas, it was too late.

“You’re barely coming in before I do. You don’t find any shame in that?”

Many would tell me to just suck it up if my boss was an asshole.

Careers are supposed to be earned!

Salarymen always have to go through this. And you’re privileged because of nepotism.

Just endure it! Aren’t you being treated well since your boss is, you know…

The voices - and opinions - of several past classmates still echoed in my head. I covered my forehead to block more sweat from dripping down. No one understood just how miserable having an abusive father as a boss at work truly was.

“Are you going to go in or not?!” he continued while slamming his palm on my shoulder.

Ouch! “Y-Yes.”

“You’re one of my worst performing employees by far, and you’ve still got the nerve to barely arrive at our team meetings in time?”

By this point, despite the closed door, I knew everyone on the other side within the meeting room was hearing everything. I could even catch bits of quiet gossip from inside. Those wooden doors were not thick nor sturdy.

“Sorry, sir. I was just rushing because my previous meeting ended late-”

I froze my sentence upon seeing the dark glare from my dad. His stature was half a foot above mine, and his broad shoulders - developed from past years being a wrestler in college - almost doubled mine in frame. I clenched my fists but couldn’t stop shaking. My mind went blank in helplessness every time he gave me that cold stare, and I couldn’t help but scream and ache on the inside. It was truly the worst sensation imaginable.

“Go inside. I’ll talk to your single brain cell after the meeting.”

“Okay.”

As we opened the door and sat down at the long office table, the chatter among other employees waiting in the room dissipated within a thumb snap. While everyone directed their gazes away from us, I knew the gossip would only continue after the meeting, and perhaps even the rest of the day. I was the laughing stock of our team: the “kid who only got a job because his dad was the manager and gets lectured like he does at home.” In fact, these types of occurrences would happen on a daily basis. Given the limited space within our office floor, it wasn’t hard for me to overhear some of the conversations among my coworkers:

“Does his dad do that to him at home, too?”

“Gosh, it’s hilarious! He’s so bad at his job, and his dad isn’t shy to let him know directly!”

“I’m so glad I work here, just so I can see this kid get owned by his dad at work.”

Never mind work. I fucking hated my life.

After a days’ worth of lectures and physical contact, I commuted home by train and bus back to my aunt’s apartment in Yokohama. The entire trip took one hour, but it was worth it rather than staying at my parents’ place in Tokyo.

Once I arrived home to an empty living room (my aunt was still out at work), I ran to the bathroom and glanced at the mirror.

Yup, my ears are as red as a tomato.

I touched one of them; it was still numb from all the ear-squeezing and twisting my dad did at work. It wasn’t normal to have one’s own father, even if they were their boss, physically abuse them in an office setting, was it? Is it truly normal? Was a question I always contemplated.

My legs gave in and I finally dropped to my knees in tears. I was home alone for the time-being, after-all. I screamed at the top of my lungs, forcing several birds near the window to chirp away in fear. My crying - albeit frequent - had never been louder than today.

I swore, my weeping lasted for almost an hour. I knew it wasn’t exactly manly of me, but I just had to let it out. The wailing must’ve eventually dulled my ears, because I didn’t even notice my aunt arriving home a while later.

“Rin?!” she gasped, finding me on the floor of her bathroom next to a puddle of tears. Despite the white marble which sparkled in the lighting, the liquid was quite visible. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Perhaps I should’ve told my aunt earlier, but since she was kind enough to even house me in the first place, I never wanted to burden her further with the truth about my father at work. I hid everything; all secrets were kept to myself. Until today, at least.

After telling her the truth about what had been going on at work, she dropped down and hugged me tightly. Tears of her own started flowing down her cheeks. Upon witnessing her reaction, I’ve never felt more relieved of finally raising my voice.

Well, I made sure that today was the last day I’d ever show up to the building. The next day, with my intentionally phone on silent mode, I slept through my alarm. I just couldn’t bear showing up to work any longer, even if it meant an angry text from my dad arriving at 9 o’clock.

Buzz buzz!

Here it is, I thought while covering myself with my blanket like a burrito. I could barely muster the courage to reach for my device. Do I even want to read it at all?

I took a deep breath. It’s going to be alright. Maybe, just maybe, my aunt told him about yesterday and about how I cried all evening, and he sent an apology text?

Maybe, he’s pleading for me to return to work, promising not to abuse me any longer?

I deluded myself with these repeated thoughts. It was the only way I could assemble the strength to open my phone.

And so I checked. My eyes immediately widened, and my mind went numb:

“You’re fucking joking me, right? You’re barely doing enough work to keep your job. I’m the only reason why you even have a job, and now you’ve decided to stop showing up?

You step out ever again or come within my sight, and I’ll make sure you’ll never walk again. You can forget about your career. It’s over. You’re a failure.

My heart sunk into the deepest of depths. A darkness which I’ve never stepped into before.

I reached for my drawer, pulling it out to reveal my wallet. In the front pocket sat none other-than my business card. I could barely contain my desire to rip it to shreds, and just letting the bits and pieces scatter around the floor. At last, I couldn’t muster the courage.

It was, however, officially day zero of becoming a hikikomori.