The sound of the room door being pounded violently. Standing there with arms crossed in a domineering stance 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 on the floor are the sheer lace camisoles and body-con dresses I shed last week.

Half-finished plastic bottles are strewn about, along with new cosmetics I bought with the 10,000 yen bill I swiped from my father's wallet last night.

My father looks down with cold, ruthless eyes at me, curled up sloppily in my revealing clothes.