Chapter 1

I walked down the streets, the cool breeze blowing furiously at me, the dim street lights flickering as if they were about to explode. The air reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, an acrid blend that stung my nostrils as I quickened my pace toward my apartment. This street had never been safe, especially not my area. With serial killers on the loose and the daily murder rates rising, a chill ran down my spine.

I reached my apartment and hastily fumbled for my keys, but my trembling fingers betrayed me. The keys slipped from my hand, clattering onto the ground with a sharp metallic sound that echoed in the stillness of the night. My heart raced as I bent down to pick them up, my hands shaking uncontrollably. A sense of unease gnawed at me. Why was I so nervous? Could it be the result of what happened last night with my uncle? The memory flashed through my mind, intensifying my anxiety.

I twisted the key inside the lock and slowly opened the door, immediately hit by the pungent scent of alcohol that made my eyes water. The darkness of the room did nothing to hide the stench.

I fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on, illuminating the chaotic scene. "My eyes," my uncle groaned, raising his hands to shield them from the sudden brightness.

As my eyes adjusted, I surveyed the room. It was a disaster zone. Empty alcohol bottles littered the floor, snack wrappers, and discarded noodle cups strewn everywhere. The stench was overwhelming, causing my nose to flare in disgust. I knew I couldn't live under these conditions. Resolving to clean, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the daunting task ahead.

I immediately went toward my uncle. “Uncle, wake up,” I said, tapping his body, hoping he would get up and help me clean. I knew it was unlikely, but I had to try.

“Let me sleep, you witch,” my uncle yelled, turning over on the couch and continuing to snore.

I sighed deeply, realizing I would have to clean up on my own. A few minutes later, I returned with a bucket, rags, and cleaning supplies. The living room was the worst, so I decided to start there.

The room was a disaster. Empty alcohol bottles were scattered across the floor, mixed with crumpled snack wrappers and discarded instant noodle cups. The smell was overwhelming, a sour blend of stale alcohol and old food. As I began picking up the trash, my uncle muttered from the couch, “You look so pretty,” followed by a slow, sinister chuckle. His words made my fists clench, and tears welled up in my eyes.

His comment reminded me of the nightmare my life had become since my parents died when I was twelve. Forced to live with him, my life turned into a daily struggle. I remembered that fateful day when I was fifteen, a day that would haunt me forever. Instead of going to school like other kids, I had to work because my uncle demanded it. He had forced me to get a job, threatening that I would starve if I didn’t comply. He wasn’t going to have any “freebies” around, as he liked to say.

I was feeling tired and dirty as I made my way to the bathroom. After taking a shower and getting into my night clothes, I heard a loud noise from the kitchen. Alarmed, I immediately went to check it out and saw my uncle rummaging through the cabinets, scattering dishes and food wrappers everywhere in his search for something to eat.

“Uncle, what are you doing?” I rushed toward him, trying to stop him from creating more mess that I would have to clean up later.

My uncle ignored me, muttering that he was hungry while taking swigs from the alcohol bottle in his hand. His eyes were glazed, and he moved with the clumsy desperation of someone both drunk and famished.

“There is no food,” I told him, my voice strained with frustration and fatigue. “I haven’t restocked yet. There’s nothing here to eat.”

My uncle turned to look at me before walking closer. “What?” he said, grabbing my chin. I was about to respond when he pull me close to him.

His eyes roamed over my body. “You know, if you weren’t so hot, I would have kicked you out a long time ago,” he said, licking his lips hungrily. He squatted down to my level, his hand touching my thigh. I shifted back uncomfortably, but he only moved closer. “You don’t have to run away from me,” he murmured, grabbing my waist and pulling me toward him. He rocked his hips against me, making me feel the bulge growing beneath his pants as he whispered vile things he wanted to do to me.

I couldn’t take the assault anymore. In a surge of desperation, I kicked him in the groin. He groaned in pain, doubling over.

“How dare you,” he snarled, landing another slap on my face. Tears streamed down my cheeks from the sting and the sheer violation of the moment.

“You useless girl. I give you a place to stay, and this is how you treat me?” he began, his voice slurred and thick with alcohol.

“I should have just left you to die along with your useless parents who didn’t know they were leaving their only child in the world before deciding to die,” my uncle spat. His words made my eyes widen with fury. I stood up and pushed him back a bit.

“Uncle,” I said, feeling the anger surge through my body. I couldn’t stand anyone talking badly about my parents. The rage within me was boiling over, and I could no longer contain it.

My uncle turned to look at me, his eyes wide with rage. “Did you just push me?” he yelled, smashing the alcohol bottle on the kitchen counter. The glass shattered, sending sharp pieces flying everywhere. I flinched as one piece pierced my skin, immediately drawing blood.

“How dare you talk to me like that, huh?” my uncle shouted, advancing toward me with the broken bottle in his hand. He aimed it at me, and I instinctively shifted backward.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” I pleaded, but he didn’t seem to care about my apologies. He got close, grabbed my arm, and started dragging me toward the door. I begged him to stop, but he didn’t listen. He yanked the door open, and despite the heavy rain pouring outside, he threw me out into the storm.

“And stay out!” My uncle’s voice boomed, reverberating through the air as he pointed a stern finger at me, his eyes filled with anger and disappointment. The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks, the finality of his declaration leaving me stunned and breathless.

“Next time, you’ll think twice before pushing me!” His words were like a sharp blade slicing through the already tense atmosphere. With a final glare, he slammed the door shut, the loud thud echoing in my ears as I stood alone on the doorstep, rain pouring down on me mercilessly.

“Uncle!” I cried out, my voice hoarse with desperation as I pounded on the door, pleading for him to reconsider, to let me back in. But there was no response, no sign of relenting from the other side. Defeated, I sank to the ground, the cold concrete beneath me offering little comfort as I huddled against the relentless downpour.

The night stretched on, each passing moment feeling like an eternity as I sat alone in the darkness, tears mingling with raindrops on my cheeks. The echoes of our argument replayed in my mind, each word a painful reminder of the rift that had formed between us.

The sound of footsteps snapped me back to reality. It had been six years since that night, and here I was, still cleaning up after my uncle. I looked around the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where did he go?" I wondered aloud, setting aside my cleaning gear to search for him.

I followed the noise to his room, feeling a mix of worry and confusion. "Uncle?" I called out nervously as I pushed open the door. He jumped up in surprise, his eyes wide at my unexpected appearance.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone tinged with nervousness as he hastily tried to compose himself. But my attention was drawn elsewhere, fixed on the staggering amount of money scattered around him.

Ignoring his question, I pressed on, my disbelief evident in my voice. “Where did you get this money from?” I demanded, my gaze locked on him. His response was defensive, almost rehearsed, as if he had been anticipating this confrontation.

“I found it,” he claimed, his words lacking conviction as he hurriedly began gathering the money into a nearby bean bag, as if attempting to erase any evidence of its existence. But his explanation only fueled my suspicions. How could one stumble upon such a fortune without a hint of guilt or explanation?

“We need to return the money to the owner then,” I insisted, my voice firm with determination as I reached for the scattered bills. But before I could make a move, my uncle’s hand shot out, pushing me away with surprising force.

“Are you insane?” he shouted, his eyes ablaze with anger. “It’s my money, okay? Now get out!” His words stung, but I refused to back down.

“Uncle, please,” I pleaded, attempting to reason with him. But he only shoved me further towards the door, causing me to stumble and nearly fall to the ground.

“Don’t you dare enter my room again, or I’ll throw you out of my house!” he threatened, his tone laced with venom as he slammed the door shut behind me.

Defeated, I stood outside, my heart heavy with frustration and disappointment. “Fine, keep the money,” I muttered under my breath, my voice thick with resentment. “But I promise you, you’ll regret this decision.”