eight

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𝗳𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵 𝗮𝗶𝗿
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❕ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ / ɴᴇɢʟᴇᴄᴛ❕

His heart beat erratically against his small rib cage. Kokichi pushed a few loose strands of purple hair from his face, his breathing laboured and uncontrollable. The cupboard was cramped and small, even for Kokichi, who was no taller than three feet. Kokichi had always been short, the majority of the kids he would see in the street would tower above him.

Although, taller kids weren't too bad compared to Kokichi's father.

Kokichi jumped as he heard glass shatter, along with even more screaming. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and his body was screaming at him to run, to get out of there. But Kokichi stayed put, unable to move from the solace cupboard, the only place in the house he could feel truly safe.

He covered his ears with his tiny hands as his parents voices continued to yell. His attempt was futile, as the voices raged on even with his ears blocked and eyes scrunched shut.

Kokichi choked back a sob, squeezing his eyes shut further so no tears would fall. Boys don't cry; at least that's what his father told him. His hot, strained breaths heated up the cupboard around him, but Kokichi didn't give in to claustrophobia.

For a four year old child to be scared for his life?

Kokichi wondered if the other kids who he would see at the park- he wondered if their parents were the same. Of course, Kokichi knew no better. To him, fear and pain was family, but he had always wondered if maybe there was something different. On the odd day that his mother would drag him to daycare, he would watch in awe as the arriving children were waved off with a kiss to the forehead and a quick hug, not a shove to the back and a mumbled 'I'll pick you up at five'.

Kokichi flinched with each shattered plate smashed fiercely against the tiled floor, the way someone would during a thunderstorm. And just like a thunderstorm, all Kokichi could do was wait it out, hiding from the lightning which he knew as his 'parents'.

He had nobody else. He was alone, painfully alone, left to suffer by himself. Kokichi's elder sister had left home before his third birthday, and quite frankly he didn't blame her. Kokichi wanted to run away just like she did, but he couldn't provide for himself the way a seventeen year old could.

Kokichi's parents made a mistake. After all, they'd berate him every day, yelling about how they wished he was never born. Kokichi himself found himself wishing that same thing, too.

He muffled his sobs, pushing his face hard into his knees. Kokichi's tattered, run down clothes were soggy with the tears and snot. More broken plates. A mug smashed against the floor. Another hole in the wall.

Kokichi's father packed a fierce punch, and he knew it all too well. The bruises across his legs and arms were enough to prove that.

Kokichi's heart dropped as he heard heavy footsteps approaching the bathroom, where Kokichi was hid. He could hear his mother sobbing in another room, and his father muttering something that Kokichi could barely make out with his hands pressed firmly against his ears.

'No no no no no- this isn't real. This isn't real.' Kokichi reassured himself under his breath, dreading what was about to come as if he had experienced it each night for years upon years.

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