The sound of the room door being pounded violently. Standing there with his arms crossed in a commanding pose is my father.

I mutter with a click of my tongue and try to pull the duvet over my head, but it's ripped away with brute force before I can. The cold air stings my skin. Scattered across the floor are the sheer lace camisole and body-con dress I took off last week, half-finished plastic bottles, and the new cosmetics I bought with the 10,000 yen I swiped from my father's wallet last night. My father looks down at me, curled up sloppily in my revealing clothes, with cold, ruthless eyes.