Yet to be titled Naehiro story

Alone

Chihiro's Pov (Age 7)

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The front door creaked as I slowly opened it. I poked my head out the door, looking at the empty living room. Empty, since I chose to ignore the shattered glass on the floor, which I nearly cut my bare foot on. I assumed my dad had already left for work seeing as it was already a little past eight. I sauntered into the kitchen, where empty cups were left lying on the counter. Well, they were empty at the moment, probably not so empty last night though. I picked one up and smelled it. Sure enough, it smelled like some sort of alcohol. I sighed, moving the cups to the side and hoisting myself up onto the counter. I opened the nearly bare cabinet to see a post-it note stuck onto the shelf. I tore it off and looked at it. By the super neat handwriting, I knew it was from my dad. 

"Hey, Chi. I have to work late again tonight, but she should be home around five today, so just try to keep yourself busy. ♡" 

I sighed and crumpled up the note and put it to the side. "Of course.." I muttered under my breath. I hated having to be home when my dad wasn't around. Especially when she was home.  Whatever though. I looked in the cabinet, my options were slim. Probably stale goldfish, maybe a peanut butter sandwich (that is, if I can read the bread), and equally stale crackers. Everything else in the house would require use of the oven or a knife, and I really didn't wanna get yelled at today. 

I walked back to my room. The floorblards creaked as I stepped into my dreary bedroom. Light poured in through the blinds as shone right in my eye. I flopped onto my messy bed. The green blanket I had slept with fell on the floor, and the lightbulb inside my lamp had busted a few weeks ago. I picked up my busted up music player and turned on my favorite song: Astral Travel, by Kikuo. Despite the distraction of music, I couldn't help but wonder where my mom went. (If you could even say she was my mom.) She has a job, but rarely shows up for work. I pulled out my sketchbook and began drawing a frog. My drawing was crappy, as most children's art  seems to be. Nearly an eternity later, I heard the front door open and then slam shut. My face turned a pale shade of white. I tried to stay calm, to focus on the music which I now had on max volume. But it was no use, since I knew I was alone.