“Mothering .” I muttered to myself as I stopped outside the door to see a whole bunch of cigarette buds and bottles toppled over on the floor. I kicked the door open, not wanting to touch the filthy handle and the smell of alcohol mixed with barf and cigarette smoke wafted through the air and it did not smell good at all. I kicked one of the nearby bottles and it toppled, the sound of glass breaking resonated through the silent house. As expected, he wasn’t home.

I sighed and cleaned up the place with little effort. If he was going to mess up the flat the next day, what was the whole point of cleaning it with every corner shining clean? Actually, what was the whole point of cleaning it at all? I dropped the beer bottle and the black garbage bag I was holding in my other hand and went to my room -which was actually meant to be a storage room- to start doing my work. I fell asleep while doing the first question in my math book for at least an hour. It was 5.58pm when I woke up. He was coming back in a minute’s time. Always 5.59pm, everyday without fail. The doors would fly open with a bang, followed by shouts and groans and some more banging of doors. He would be seated at the dining table, bottles of alcohol strewn all over the place around him while demanding the never-eaten dinner. I counted down from 5, my eyes following the ticking hand of the clock before the door swung open at the exact time when it hit 12. How did he manage to do it when he could barely walk in a straight line? That, I would never know. 

“Why is the place so in’ messy every time I come home! Seyoung! Why is the in’ living room so in’ filthy” ugh, like you. “every in’ time I come home. It gets even messier and dirtier everyday! Do you need me to smack some sense into your tiny little brain?” He slapped me across the face -something he hadn’t done in 3 days, big improvement. I rolled my eyes, muttering a silent “ing , clean up after yourself” before plucking up the courage to kick him between the balls. 

“You ing ! I’ve put up with you for 15 ing years. Time to get your damn payback. That kick isn’t enough for all the pain you’ve caused our once perfect family. You forced everyone to leave and now it’s my ing turn.” I stomped on his balls a last time before waltzing out of the flat, knowing he couldn’t get up with the immense amount of pain I caused. I barely reached the second flight of stairs that I saw him charging with something that strangely looked like a knife. in’ , he actually brought the kitchen knife. I ran -more like jumped- down the last flight of stairs -thank god for living on the second floor