My "Home"

_Before 3 months_

The rusty hinges of the front door screeched in protest as I shoved my way in, the damp chill of the December night clinging to my clothes. The house, perpetually shrouded in a dim, dusty twilight, offered no warmth. Just the usual stale air and the flickering glow of the television in the living room, casting grotesque shadows that danced on the peeling wallpaper.

-Mom?

 I called out, my voice echoing hollowly in the cavernous silence. No answer. Just the rhythmic thrumming of the television, a droning soundtrack to a life perpetually on mute. I slung my backpack onto the sofa and trudged down the narrow hallway, already dreading the inevitable confrontation.

The door to the living room was cracked open, revealing the flickering image of a sitcom on the TV. My mother sat slumped in her usual recliner, a half-eaten bag of chips resting on her lap. Her face, etched with lines deeper than the worry lines I felt forming on my own forehead, remained fixed on the screen.

-Hey, Mom

I said tentatively, bracing myself for the storm. She didn't even turn. Just a single, sharp exhale escaped her lips, a sound that spoke volumes more than any words ever could.It was a strange dissonance, the anger radiating from her and the youthful image she portrayed. My mom, at thirty, could easily pass for a twenty-year-old beauty queen. Her fiery red hair, usually cascading down her shoulders in loose waves, was pulled back in a messy bun tonight, but the remnants of its vibrancy still managed to peek out. Her clothes, once a source of constant teenage embarrassment - crop tops, miniskirts, ripped jeans - were now subdued compared to the current trends, but still undeniably modern. Tonight, a pair of skinny jeans clung to her long legs, and a new brand t-shirt stretched across a figure that hadn't softened with age.

It was this very juxtaposition that made her anger all the more disorienting. The woman on the screen laughed brightly, while my mother, the woman who could light up a room with her smile, simply scowled. There was a bitterness etched around her eyes, a stark contrast to the carefree girl she seemed determined to project.

-You're late

She finally said, her voice raspy from cigarette smoke and years of unspoken words. It wasn't a question, more of an accusation.

-Sorry

I mumbled, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. "Debate club ran long." Half-truth. The truth was, I'd spent the extra time at a library, my little secret extra part time job and a place where I can relax, where I can have my own peace of mind

-Debate club, huh?

She scoffed, her gaze flicking back to the TV, clearly uninterested

-What are you debating? How to waste your time?

The familiar sting of her words hit me, sharp and acidic. My debate team had just won the regional competition, a feat I'd poured my heart and soul into. Yet, here I was, met with nothing but indifference. My jaw clenched. Ignoring the lump forming in my throat, I blurted,

-Actually, I got straight A+'s on my report card this time as well.

 The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, she turned, the harsh light from the television highlighting the weariness in her eyes, but not a hint of pride.

-Straight A+'s, huh?

She drawled, picking up a chip and shoving it into her mouth with a nonchalant shrug.

-That all well and good, but what about Kiyoko and Miyo? Did they get straight A+'s too?

My frustration bubbled over. Kiyoko, my fourteen-year-old sister, spent more time perfecting her TikTok dances than opening a textbook. Miyo, twelve-year-old and the apple of her eye, barely knew his multiplication tables. Straight A's for them were a fantasy.

-Mom, you know they…

I started, but she cut me off.

-Don't tell me you know they!

She snapped, her voice rising for the first time.

-You think you're the only one who cares about grades in this family? They're still young, they have time. You, on the other hand…

She trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air. I,apparently, was past the excusable "young" phase, and getting straight A+'s was no use. And if for some reason I didn't get it, it would have been a completely different story. Little did I know then that whatever I did, it would be a dismal failure. Whatever I do will always be the least of expected results for them.

Anger, hot and bitter, welled up inside me. It wasn't just the lack of praise, it was the constant comparison to my coddled, underachieving siblings. A comparison designed to belittle, not motivate.

-You know

I said, my voice surprisingly calm compared to the churning storm within

-Maybe if you spent less time glued to that TV and more time asking about their schoolwork…

The chip fell from her fingers, clattering onto the coffee table. Her gaze locked onto mine, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing her features before being replaced by a steely glint. The air crackled with unspoken accusations and a history of disappointment on both sides.

-Don't you dare take that tone with me

She hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

-This isn't about them, it's about you. You can do better, you just choose not to.

The truth was, I was doing the best I could, clinging to academics as a life raft in a sea of neglect. But explaining that felt pointless, like trying to reason with a brick wall. Dejection washed over me, heavy and suffocating.

-Whatever

I mumbled, turning on my heel towards my room.

As I slammed my door shut, I could hear the faint sound of her sigh, a sound that was both defeated and defiant. The familiar ache settled in my chest, a hollowness that straight A+'s and debate victories couldn't fill. In that moment, I knew this battle for recognition, for a shred of my mother's approval, was a fight I was destined to lose.

-I am going to my room.

I said those words with a little too much force, In this very moment, The thing I am trying not to is raise an another argument. It will be a another excuse for her to cut my monthly allowance. Picking up my bag from the sofa

 -Whatever

After that I don't hear another single word from her, must be wasting her time on something that is useless. I walk up to stairs to second floor and than to third floor of my house, well it's not a floor, it's the attic. I open my room's door, it's cramped in here, all the useless things and items last destination is here, all sorts of old furniture, books, decoration, trunks of only god knows what's inside, for this there is small room for me, no window. Just a small bed for one person, two bookshelf, a study table, a closest and these alone lefts me with little space I can work with. The anger is still raging inside me but I can't let it get better of me. Deep breath, Deep breath, doing that breathing exercise I feel somewhat clam. I change my clothes, I really don't want to go down right now. As, I finished changing I hear footsteps rushing up, stoping for a second, than a door's bang loud nosie. Must have been Kiyoko or Miyo, and judging from the sound, he or she is excited or sad. Let's see what they are up to. I open my door quietly, and tip toe down my way to the second floor, I stop and poke my head in the hallway. I see Miyo in his school dress chatting with mom

-Mom, Mom, See I got B's on my report card.

She hugs him, patting his head while hugging

-I am so proud of you Miyo, You really had made me happy.

My heart stops, I don't why is because Miyo got B's on his report card which is impossible for him or the fact that Mom said something to him which was supposed to meant for me. I go up as before as I came down. But I barely could control myself before I go to my room, after closing my  room's door, than it exploded. This was beyond my limit, the rage I work so hard to control to subdue, it's out of control. Fury, hot and raw, ripped through me. Straight A's weren't good enough, not in this house. My fists slammed against the wall, the papery surface giving way with a sickening thud. Cracks snaked across the plaster, mirroring the fissures forming within me.

My mom's voice echoed, laced with a fury that didn't match her usual indifference. But the sound barely registered over the pounding in my ears. Blow after blow I rained on the wall, each one a desperate attempt to drown out the emptiness inside, the hollow feeling, the anger, the frustration

-Akira, I swear, if you don't stop...

Her voice trailed off, I hear her voice than, it goes silent for a couple of seconds, she spoke again but this time it is replaced by a threat that chilled me to the bone.

-...I'll tell him about this.

The mention of him was like a bucket of ice thrown over my burning rage. Fear, cold and constricting, squeezed my chest. His temper was a storm compared to Mom's simmering resentment. His punishments were brutal, swift, and designed to leave a lasting impression.

My fists, mid-air, fell limply to my sides. The anger drained out of me, replaced by a dull ache of despair. I slumped onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The once perfect report card in my hand crumpled as I fisted it. A single tear escaped, followed by another, then a torrent. I sank into myself, the silence punctuated only by my ragged breaths and the occasional sob.

Exhaustion eventually claimed me. Curled on the floor, gripping the shredded report card, I drifted off to sleep. The cold, hard floor offered little comfort, but sleep, even sleep filled with anxieties, was a welcome escape.

I woke with a start, blinking at the dim light filtering through my window. The room was silent, eerily so. The ticking clock on my study table reminds me that time is still flowing even if my senses are stopped. I look at the clock to see what time is it.

_8:45 pm. 15th December_

Mom wasn't in the living room, the flickering glow of the TV absent. It's quiet, too quiet, The area  I live in is always quiet residential area. But it's too quiet from usual. A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach.

Maybe she went out with a friend? Maybe she was staying with a coworker? She always does this. But where is Miyo? Shouldn't he suppose to stay in the house? The thought of being entirely alone, of facing the empty house with its oppressive silence, filled me with a terror that rivaled even the fear of him.

Slowly, the weight of isolation pressed down on me. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind against the window, sent shivers down my spine. My mind conjured images of shadows lurking in the corners, whispers echoing in the hallway.

*creak*

I immediately jump hearing a noise, is someone else here? I follow the sound to it's source, slowly walking towards the house basement. When I come close to the basement I realize it's just the basement door swinging from the wind. It's only the wind, right? I close the door and start waking towards my room, in finale moment I ran.

Tears pricked my eyes again, hot and frustrating. I wasn't a baby, I shouldn't be scared of being alone. Yet, the fear was real, a primal part of my existence in this big household. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, seeking a semblance of comfort in the darkness.

As the night stretched on, the silence became its own kind of torment. And even though I knew this was just another night in a life filled with emotional neglect, a desperate wish echoed in the quiet corners of my heart. A wish for a family where anger wasn't the language spoken, where silence wasn't a punishment, and where a straight A report card could elicit a smile, not a sigh, or am I asking too much? 

Tears drying salty tracks down my cheeks, I knew wallowing wouldn't solve anything. Ms.Aina-san, my kind-hearted school nurse and a former therapist, had once mentioned how music calmed her anxieties in my case it will be subdue my phobia, Autophobia or isolophobia, I was totally unaware of it, but due to one certain person punishment and school bullying, it surface to me. She told me to take some medicine, But I can't buy them or tell my mom about it, She will think i am making excuse to take more money from her, but it had some solution due to I am still in process of developing this fear, Music. Reaching for my dusty Walkman which was a gift from my grandfather, I popped in a Queen cassette, the worn tape hissing to life with the unmistakable opening riff of "We Are The Champions." in english language, which wasn't a problem for me due to the long studies about poems, stories, historical lessons and grammar rules I have to learn and master for my hope getting an A+'s on my report card, and it didn't work.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my lips from hearing the lyrics. I am not a champion, nor I can overcome escape from this living nightmare, I can't, All I can do is complain and protest, I want to escape this reality, Maybe I should give up. Cranking the volume, I blasted Freddie Mercury's voice through the small speakers, drowning out the oppressive silence. The energy surged through me, replacing the fear with a spark of comfort and calmness.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to follow another one of Ms.Aina-san's suggestions – a warm bath. The steam filled the bathroom, carrying with it the scent of lavender soap and a temporary sense of peace. As I sank deeper into the tub, I looked at myself reflected in the blurry water. My hair, a mess of dark brown curls, stuck out at odd angles. My features were average, except for my unusual golden-yellow eyes, a trait I'd inherited from him. The only thing truly striking about me was my height – I was already pushing five feet elven inches at fifteen

Just as the tension started to ease, my fingers brushed against something stuck to the mirror. It was a small, hastily scribbled note: "Honey, dinner at Your Dad's office meeting! Be back late. Love, Mom. P.S. Leftovers in the fridge."

So they weren't out with friends or coworkers. They were at a fancy restaurant, leaving me alone with their leftover affection, or lack thereof. A bitter taste filled my mouth, far worse than any tears.

Heaving myself out of the tub, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. The fridge mocked me with wilting lettuce and a questionable-looking casserole. I reheated it in the microwave, the plastic container warping slightly in the process. As I sat at the kitchen table, the loneliness felt even more pronounced with the empty chairs mocking me.

Each bite of the lukewarm casserole was a struggle to swallow. The music from the Walkman, now playing a slow ballad by Simon & Garfunkel, only amplified the hollowness within. Pushing away the half-eaten food, I decided to escape the house. The night air was a welcome change, even with the slight chill. Walking to the park, I found solace in the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath my feet and the distant buzz of the city.

Looking up at the star-dusted night sky, a single thought echoed in my mind: I am so alone tonight, no I am lying I am so alone in my entire life, no friends, no close ones, hell even no crush. So.....This is the way I am going to live for the rest of my life, huh. Empty, hollow, hated, talentless, useless person. There is no colour in my life.

And those were the last normal thoughts I had 3 months ago, thinking about it, I didn't thought that my life will be changed so much from that point, huh. Just who exactly am I? Or what Am I?