In the living room, she went straight into work, making it seem whatever happened in her room was just a deceit.

  She was working as quickly as possible, her backpack still on her back, to leave as quickly as she could if needed with her things.

  She cleaned it up as well as she could, making it seem more like a living room, leaving almost no trace of yesterday's or today's incident.

  Besides the heavy smell of a mix of cleaning supplies.

  It lingered in the air like unspoken words, leaving one questioning, Was this act really only for him, or was she trying to erase what happened for herself?

  Thoughts like these made the air harder to breathe than necessary.

  It was already a tiring task, and her heavy body and clouded mind didn't help at all, making her feel restless, cold, and tired.

  But she couldn't complain to anyone and had no shoulder to cry on; she knew better, but knowing it didn't make it easier. Didn't it?

  The pills finally kicking in helped her a lot, so she was now in the kitchen preparing breakfast for him with the little there was in the kitchen.

  There was barely anything useful in there, as he now hated going grocery shopping or doing anything besides being with himself.

  In addition to that, when he bought food, he made sure it was just enough for him, as she was forbidden to eat from the things he bought, and if she did, he would know she did.

  Goosebumps went up all over her body as a shudder went through; it felt like a ghost went through her cold, fast, and merciless.

  It was her bodily automatic reaction to the remembrance of the one incident where she got caught.

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  It was a living nightmare of 2 weeks straight of nightmares, attacks, and injuries that haven't healed after months.

  To top it all, they left scars to this day that weren't all visible.

  So everything she had—besides some new accessories in her room—was from a time when she wasn't deemed a murderer.

  The little money she had to survive was made while working in the clinic.

  As she said, the license helped her in more ways than her mother ever intended.

  The money went on food and basic necessities she needed. The rest was for her bills.

  He allowed her to work, so she worked at a small, isolated clinic.

  After all, it was the only clinic willing to hire her after all that happened.

  It was no hidden fact that the small city where anybody was in everybody's business knew her reputation, making her as famous as any celebrity in her city.

  The only difference was that she was hated and despised instead of being loved and admired.

  He couldn't be bothered to spend money on them anymore; they simply weren't worth it.

  Besides that, she was allowed to use light and water and cook only if he wasn't home.

  He didn't want to hear or see her if he was at home, but he expected the house to be cleaned and taken care of by her, so she took on all house duties.

  Funnily, he didn't care about her school performance, so if she failed to keep up, the only thing that mattered was that her school didn't bother him with calls or something similar.

  Aside of that , her school and overall situation played straight into his cards, her almost failing every class, being barely good enough to pass to graduate, having a bad social life, and even worse attendance.

  It was like a bonus gift given to him by Santa Claus.

  It's not like she wanted it this way; it was just easier being that way.

  She knew she played right into his cards, but she would rather play his games under her rules than get played by him.

  It was all for the outside picture; she had the perfect life, a supportive and loving father,

  But she was the problem—the weird, ungrateful, problematic kid that was never happy, always wearing weird things and acting out for no good reason at all.

  In comparison, he was the sad, grieving, caring single father who tried his best to raise his troublesome daughter.

  But all of this couldn't be further from the truth.

  She was fucking trying her best, and no one was acknowledging that; worse, they blamed her for that.

  Finishing cooking and preparing breakfast for him, she placed everything on the eating table and left home before he could wake up.

  In the bus, she let out a heavy mental breath. She unknowingly was holding it the entire time.

  In the end, it's the fact that man didn't care for them; he didn't care if they lived or died, but as long as they were alive, they were his.

  And he made sure she knew, as he made it his mission, and while using her as a living toy to make his life easier, he destroyed her life in that process.

  He knew he didn't need to watch her 24/7 to know he could control and destroy her.

  Knowing this empowered him, so he made sure every now and then he made sure it stayed that way, and that was by far worse.

  He knew he had so much more control over her than she let on.

  Inhaling a deep breath and holding it again for a while, letting it out.

  An act she repeated for a while before she said quietly, with a damaged voice barely above the sound of a soundless scream,

  "I am okay; I can do this; I have to, so now up to the next torture, I am expecting a show to do your worst fate."