God my neck hurts. I guess that's what happens when you sleep in a closet. I try and ignore the pain as I brush my long auburn hair out of my eyes. The reflection in the mirror stares back at me, unblinking, Hell, it looks half dead. "My name is Chara." I say to the mirror, hoping maybe one day my name isn't Chara, or that the reflection in the mirror isn't the pale, starved teenager that is me, but someone different. Wishful thinking. The only feature I've ever loved about me is my rosy cheeks, always warm to the touch, always taunting me about the fact that I'm still alive. I try and walk out of the bathroom into the kitchen as quietly as I can, hoping "Dad", what a disgusting word, won't hear me coming. But no luck, his fat, bald head shot up in my direction, "Look whose awake, you don't need as much sleep as you're getting darling." His cracked lips formed what can only be described as a shit eating grin before he attempted to take a swig of whiskey out of the seven empty bottles next to him. Hopefully if I wait it out the amount of alcohol he drinks will kill him. "You only let me sleep five hours a night asshole." I mumble to myself, at least I thought I did. "What was that?" He asks, trying to get into a standing position instead of being slumped over in the one of the kitchens moldy corners. "N-Nothing sir." "Wanna try that again sweetheart?" My knees began to slightly cave in on themselves, and I place my arms behind my back, "Yes…D-Daddy.". Disgusting.