Sour raisin (джен)

The walk home always felt like a slow march to a firing squad. The closer Barbara got to her run-down concrete apartment building, the tighter the knot in her chest became. Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket—a text from Lila: «Babs, check-in. If the home front is a disaster zone, fly over to my place. My mom just baked a pie and I need an excuse to not do chores.»Barbara sighed, typing a rapid response: «I’m good, Lil. Talk later.» She loved her best friend’s loyalty, but she couldn't hide forever.The stairwell smelled like damp concrete and cheap, peeling paint. Barbara climbed to the third floor, carefully turned the key in the lock, and tried to slip inside like a ghost. But the moment the door cracked open, a heavy, suffocating wave of stale alcohol and cheap cigarette smoke hit her square in the face."You're late," a raspy, slurred voice barked from the kitchen.Her father sat at the wooden table, which was completely buried under empty bottles and unwashed dishes. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gray and bloated. Once upon a time, before the divorce, he had been a completely different person. Barbara still remembered when he used to smile and bring her sketchbooks. After her mother left, Barbara had tried to fight it. She hid his bottles, cried, begged him to get help, poured vodka down the sink. It did nothing. The only reward she got was blind, ugly aggression. Now, she was just emotionally numb. She just wanted to be invisible."School ran late," Barbara said quietly, keeping her head down as she tried to bypass the kitchen."Don't you lie to me!" He slammed his hand on the table, stumbling to his feet, and lunged into the hallway. His heavy fingers clamped onto her shoulder, ripping at the fabric of her grunge jacket and grinding directly into the raw bruise from that morning. "Always sneaking around... playing the victim! You're turning into your mother, a useless, ungrateful—"

"Let go, you're hurting me!" Barbara thrashed, trying to wrench herself free, but her resistance only fueled his drunken rage."Hurting you?!" He raised his heavy hand and slapped her hard across the face, the force throwing her sideways.Barbara’s hip collided violently with the edge of the hallway cabinet, a sharp spike of agony making her gasp. For a second, her vision went completely black. Without saying a word, she scrambled to her feet, bolted into her small bedroom, slammed the door, and locked the flimsy latch.A heavy, dull thud shook the door frame as her father kicked it from the outside, muttering a string of slurred curses before his heavy, dragging footsteps retreated back toward the kitchen. Within twenty minutes, he’d drink the rest of the bottle and pass out on the floor until tomorrow.Barbara slid down the door, collapsing onto the floor, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. She was shaking uncontrollably. Two hot tears finally spilled over her cheeks, but she furiously wiped them away with her sleeve. Crying was a luxury she couldn't afford.She stood up, walked over to her cracked mirror, and pulled her bangs away from her face. A dark reddish mark was already blossoming across her cheekbone. Tomorrow would require a heavy layer of concealer and shifting her hair even lower. Lila and Mizuki would know exactly what happened the second they saw her, but Barbara loathed pity. To drown out the heavy thoughts and the obnoxious blare of the TV from the kitchen, she threw on her massive headphones, cranking the volume until the bass vibrated in her teeth. Instantly, the music erected a beautiful, invisible wall between her and the ugly world.She sat at her cluttered desk, switched on the lamp, and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper. Her hand instinctively gripped a graphite pencil. As she drew the first smooth lines, she felt like she was exhaling all the poison trapped in her chest.She hated drawing reality. Reality was messy and cruel. Under her fingers, a completely different universe came to life—her moe artstyle. Slowly, the contours of a tiny, adorable magical girl appeared on the page. Massive, shining, innocent eyes, fluffy hair, a meticulous dress, and a genuine, radiant smile. This character had a perfect life. In her world, there were no drunken parents, no fake people, and no violence.Barbara rendered every single detail with immense tenderness. Drawing wasn't just a hobby; it was her only true sanctuary, the one place where she held all the power.I’m going to get better, Barbara thought, her grip tightening on the pencil. I’ll perfect this. I’ll show everyone—and especially that flawless Dead Chan—that I can create something beautiful.She drew until the early hours of the morning, until her eyes burned from exhaustion and her fingers went numb. Tomorrow was a new school day, and she needed to put her armor back on.