Once Upon Us ||Kaminari Denki| [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 2

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Being in the car with my foster parents was always an opportunity to face jabs at whatever small amounts of self esteem I had left. Sitting in the very back was a behavior I learned after realizing I was too far away to be taunted with "Punch Bugs" or "Banana Slappers".

"When we get home," Mr. Yamamoto began, her voice alone made me cringe, "carry in those damn bags in the trunk."

"Don't be so harsh," his wife, Okaasan, said. She glanced at back at me regretfully, her repressed into a straight line, "I mean, she probably won't be able to lift them."

The joke was less than stellar, it wasn't all that clever, and the delivery was horrible. Mr. Yamamoto found it hilarious, though. His cackles carried through the car, bouncing against my eardrums.

I cringed further into the collar of my shirt. Just his voice were enough to make my anxiety spike. Yet the toxic dynamic was somehow comfortable, it was everything I was used to.

It was everything I deserved.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

The car pulled roughly into the driveway of the house I had been told to call home. Though, I could never find it in myself to actually do so.

I waited until Mr. Yamamoto had exited the car and had wandered towards the house before getting out myself. Okaasan followed him, keeping her gaze on his back.

I opened the trunk, grabbing the three bags that sat in it. I carried them inside of the pristine house, walking through the white and grey living room to make it to the kitchen. Placing them on the counter, I decided to make use of myself before Mr. Yamamoto decided to make use of his fists.

Dusting the furniture, washing the dishes, vacuuming the floors, it was all part of the normal for me. I had learned to enjoy cleaning, I could listen to my music and just feel almost at ease.

Though you only need one incident to remember to keep one earbud out and the volume low.

By the time I had put the vacuum away, my legs were heavy along with my eyelids. The couch was tempting, calling me to just skip the walk down the stairs and sleep there. But I knew if I did that I wouldn't enjoy my wake up call.

The journey into the cool, half-finished basement was as bleak as normal. The plastered walls quickly disappeared, revealing pipes and insulation. The floor was a hard concrete instead of wooded or carpet, but during the summer months it felt refreshing.