Disclaimer: This chapter contains scenes of domestic violence, harsh language and parental abuse. This chapter will be told through Natsuki's perspective, picking up about an hour after Chapter 18 ended.

kodaka17: hey, are you making it home okay?

I'm so pathetic.

kodaka17: we can go out another day, whatever works for you hun

Why won't you fucking let me be happy? How much juggling do I have to do for you before you're satisfied, God?

kodaka17: i love you, nats. Be safe sweetie

W͉͚͒͗HY̢͊ ̧͙͆͋AR̠̲͂̚E̖̚ ̟̋Y̛̖̙͞O͔̥͐͆Ú͈̙̀ ̮̻̒͒Ṱ̱̎͒A̩͈͗̐K͓͗̕͟Ỉ̜̿ͅNG ̬͘M̹̀È̖ ̠͉̌͝B̳͡A͕̚CK͓͔͝͠ ̧͎̐͠H͓̱̎̔È͎R̨͊E?̮̚

Do you know how long I've been waiting for this night? Huh? How long my stupid makeup took today? Why are you punishing me? What did I do wrong?

The cab shifted gears, and approached the freeway. The same bridge we crossed not even an hour ago, now whizzing past me.

I'm such a joke. The rain? Your dad doesn't want you in the rain? What are you, nine years old? That wasn't even a good excuse. Kazuma looked so ashamed of me, oh my God. Trying to dine and dash on another date again, Natsuki? You're so fucking weak, it's not even funny.

I stare out the window, fingers gripping my purse. The sun had vanished and now only the swirl of low-hanging clouds remained. Already the streetlamps were turning on, glowing against the damp roads. What's Kazuma doing right now? God, I hope he's already at home. I can't text him back yet, I have to get through whatever hell awaits me here. He's probably gonna break up with me tonight, and who wouldn't? What kind of girlfriend am I? He spent all that money on the reservation, on dinner, and I just ditched him. You didn't even take a bite, and it smelled so good. He should break up with me. Natsuki, the pale skinned weirdo who dyes her hair and can't even please–

"Ma'am?"

I blink, and glance up.

We're already here.

The cab driver looks at me through the rear-view mirror. "Is this your destination?"

I look down at my lap and up again. "Oh, um…y-yes. Thank you." I pull the handle and step out.

"Have a safe night." the cab driver replies, turning on his windshield wipers. I gently close the door and step onto the sidewalk.

Please don't leave me. Please don't leave. Please don't leave me with him. Can I tell you? Would you listen? I watch the cab pull back out to the street, and slowly please don't leave me with him please please please I don't want to be with him.

The light's off on the patio. My shoes squeak against the damp wood. I've seen this patio so many times and yet I can't ever grow to like it. It's my purgatory. The splintering wood frames, the rusted metal furniture he had imported from the United States, the dust clinging to the windows. How many hours did I spend out here as a kid, reading books until it got too cold to bear?

Shakily, I push the key into the slot. I can feel the grease of the bronze rubbing my fingers, it's so slimy like him. Every pin popping rattles up my arm. I don't want to do this. Please God don't make me do this.

I take a breath. The door opens.

The only light is coming from the living room, I can hear the TV droning. I take a ginger step forward, trying desperately to not make noise. There's a stench of burnt plastic, the air stale with humidity. The AC probably went out again, not like he cares. He always rants about it anyway, how he can handle the heat from growing up in Texas and whatever. Good for you, good for fucking you. How much he misses living there, how the food here tastes like shit and all of his friends moved back home already. Why do you tell me this? To mock me? You're never gonna take me to see your family there anyway. I know why you do. You regret me. Natsuki, Daddy's little burden until she turns 18. Then you're gonna throw me out and move back home like you slurred at me one night.

I hear a stomp.

"Where the fuck have you been?" IT snarls.

I freeze. Ice stabs through my stomach, my arms, my chest.

IT gets out of his lazy chair and lurches to attention. IT reeks like beer and ammonia, sweat pouring off his face.

"I went out with friends, Dad. We saw a movie."

IT comes closer. I shuffle back.

"Nobodyffffucking gave you permission..." IT growls, almost tripping on himself. "To leave."

I try to pivot. "Did you get the groceri–"

IT glares at me and strikes my face with the back of his hand. I gasp and fall to the ground.

"Lying ass bitch, you were out getting fucked again. Dressed like a fucking skank–"

"I DON'T FUCKING DO THAT! STOP SAYING THAT!" I scream, trying to crawl away on the gross linoleum floor.

His face curls into wicked disgust. "The fuck up already, you stupid bitch. That's all̶̝̔ ̸͈͒y̸͙̑o̶͓͐u̸̳̍'̵̧͐ṟ̷̆e̶̛̤ ̷͊ͅf̵̖͂ú̶̥ĉ̶̰k̷̟͊i̶̬̓n̸̹͗g good for."

I taste blood on my mouth. "You wish, you piece of shit. You hate the fucking fact I'm not one of your whores."

IT reaches to his waist and fumbles with his belt. With one hand, it grabs the belt by the buckle and it slides off his pants. He bunches it into a loop and lunges at me

H̵E̶ ̶S̵T̸A̴R̸T̵S H̶̙̕Ĭ̶̲T̷̫̓Ţ̴̇Ḯ̶̯N̸̰̊G̵̳͛ ̸̤̔M̵̺̾Ë̵̢́ ̴̰̐G̴̪͝O̸̹͆D̸͍̈ ̴̞̔P̵̱͆L̸̥̊Ḛ̵̀À̴͎Ș̸̀Ḙ̷̿ ̵͈͠D̸͊͜Ạ̷̏D̸̛̬Ḓ̸̕Ỳ̵̭ ̶̳̎S̷̎ͅT̵̟̍Ò̴̭P̶̬̊ ̷͗ͅH̸͎͋Į̴͌T̷͓͝T̴̛̳Í̵̺NG ME

Ḱ̴̦͚͚̗̗̦̞Ā̸̮͚͕̖̟̣̈̌̔̆Z̷̠̣͉̼̥̤͎̥̈́͋͆̋U̶̧̱̹̙̜̾͌M̴̥̏̎Å̶̛͍̖̼̪̍̒̑̌̅̿̎̓̉ ̵̲͓̭̪̰͙͙͍̠̂́̓̍͜ͅP̸͈̜̪̞̈́̏͒̅̆̎͐̈́̉L̸͉͙̙̻̦̥͓̹̤̒͛̎ͅË̷̛͖͒͊̆́͌̏̇̐͝Á̴̖̱̠͖̟̙́͒̏̈́͗̌͐̀͊͘S̴̬̠̽̾͂̽̉͛̂̀͗͝͠Ę̶̨͇̖̖͙͉̖̪͂ ̵͕̫̰̦̯̞͓̗̫͎͒̎́͝P̷̢̨̨̢̺̟̘̳̤̩̎̅̈́̂͠L̸̟̻͖͈̿̂̋̊͛̽̿̈́̒͘͝Ę̶̭̳̫́̏͌̿Ả̶̜͙͕̜̻̜̙̐́̿S̶̨͕̟̀̂E̶͕̱̳̒̉͊͐͂̓̊̓̕͝

I̶̦̔L̷̰̓L̶̦̚ ̷͖͠B̶̰͑E̴͌͜ ̸̹͗G̶̙̐O̷͇̎Ȯ̵̲D̸͓̈́ ̴̺̌f̶o̷r̸ ̵y̴o̷u̵ D̸̯̿̾Å̷̗̬̙̝̹̀̆̆͠D̷͔̦̩͈̲̎̉̾̈́Ḑ̷̞̰̳̮͖͋͋́͋̕Y̷͕̓͜ͅ ̵̘̊͐̀̈̚͠P̶̺͓̙̭͚̽̽̚L̴͕̻̐̿̂̎̎̏Ȩ̸̛͕͇̻̐̀̓̆̊͝ͅA̴̛͚͕͊̒S̶̡̮̪͛̈́̄Ẽ̴̤̠̳̿́̏ͅ ̴̨̡͙̹̻͖̆͌̿̅̽̍Ṣ̶̛̎̍T̴̝̿̎Ö̴̼̏P̵̮͖͒͒̚ ̶̻̰͈̘̊͌͗̍̆͘H̶̛͖̳̠̥̔̌̀͗Í̴̡̠͉͑̄̊͑̕͝T̴̨͔̀͋͌T̴̻͉̗̯̦̊͐̋̓̀̕ͅİ̷̢̮̱̮͛̓̈́̋̚̕N̸̡̩͈̱͠Ǵ̶̘̒̑̽̓ ̷̛̟͓̮̈́͊̎Ḿ̵̛͖̜͙̝͙̭̫̃̀̂́̐E̴̢̨̞̞̝͎̅

W̶̥̬̯̳̫͂͘͜H̵̫͍̭̪̏̾̄̀Á̵̡̟̜̗̯͉̝̳̦̤͆T̷̨̠͍̣͔͙͓̙̈́́͛̄̚ͅ ̴͉͉͔̍̽͋́̓͋͝Ḑ̷̤̳͙̙͌̑͘̕Ì̷̺͙͕́͛͐͛͌ͅD̸̢͖͍̘̹̬͙̻̗̟͙̉̓͠ ̴̡̟̺̱̦̬̹̔̅͐̈̊͑Ì̷̪̦̱̏̽͆̚ͅ ̴̳̪̪̝̫͚̝̣͂͂͑͋̈̅͘D̸̻͗͋̐͐̃́͠O̵̫̣̔͒̈̅̈́̈̚ ̷̛͈̰̈̀̋W̶̨̨̳̖̠͎̮̹̩̞̏͑̑͜R̵̳͉͔͍͉̰̖̮̟̭͊̊͑̌̇͠ͅO̴̩͐̈́̔̌̏N̸͖̯̤̪̄͜͠Ģ̶̘̮͎͓̘͉͙̙̓̌͌̒͊̽̎̑͆͠ ̴̼̝̗͔̺̥͕̅̆̅̽̑͛̚͠I̴͙̝͌̈́́ ̴̙͠L̵̨̰̬̼͕̘̠̈́̑͝O̴̟͉͖͖̪̹̯̖͖̮͛̈̈́͋̃͝͝V̷̢̰̙̞͔͖̫̗̜̳̘̆̂̌͘Ĕ̴̗̺̬̹̮̑͗̓̽̃̀ ̸̢̛͛̄́̈́̅͝͝Y̷̤͙͉̯̳̲̭͍̙̦͛̈́́͛͋͌̋̓͌̇͝Ơ̷̡̲̼̲͈͖͍̥̐̆͗̕̚U̴̧͎̥̟̲̔̄̈̏͝ ̷͚̜͚̺̥͈̏͌̒̒̈̿̎̈́͛̏͘Ī̶̡̡̢͓̪̻͈̪̺ ̷̤͖̻͍͓̜̌̍̽W̶̧̨̯͖̬̘̬̯̬͕̍̓͆͂͛͆͘͘ͅA̷̝̬̭͉͆̐̔̆̈́̑̈́͋̅̐͝Ǹ̸̹͔͇̖̳͙͋͛̂͋̓͝͝Ţ̵̧͖̲̝̖̮͕̰̣͆̍̈́́͜͝ ̵̻̞͈͘M̶͉̐̈͌̋̄̊̓Õ̸̬̠̳͙̙̳͍̝͖̃̂M̶̗͇̯̗͍̲̤̠̑

My voice is screaming, I can feel it, but no sound is coming out. My throat is being sliced in every single place at once. I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

The hitting finally stops. I can hear IT struggling to catch his breath, towering over my limp body. My back is screaming in pain, my skin burning red hot from the welts under my dress. My breath chokes under its own weight.

"Go make me some fucking food. I bought your shit already." IT growls, before lurching back to the living room. It slumps back in his chair, and I hear the spark of a lighter.

I wobble to my feet, wiping my hair out of my eyes. My vision is blurred from the tears, and I squint hard to clear them. My legs feel like toothpicks, and I grab the wall for support. He turns the TV up louder, tuned to a black-and-white western. Drowning me out.

I stumble to the kitchen and open the freezer. I dig for an ice tray and shakily grab a handful of cubes, then rip a paper towel off the rack. I wince as the ice hits my raw skin, but the pain for a brief hot flash goes away and evens out. Hopefully there's some ointment left upstairs, but I don't know what to do about the bruising.

I look at the table. The absolute fucking basics he got me; noodles, a package of meatballs, boxes of ramen and pasta, a jar of sauce and cans of vegetables. I open the fridge and it's mostly bare, save for the jugs of milk, juice and six packs of cheap beer. A baby roach scurries by, hiding in the nooks of the shelves.

A six-count tray of cupcakes sits ripped open, only one left.

I glance back to the living room and back again at the cupcake. I slowly remove it from the tin and take a bite. The orange-cream icing is tangy, but doesn't have enough butter. It's too heavy on sugar and too chunky, they should've whisked it longer.

I could make better.

…

I quickly fixed dinner. Simple, spaghetti with the meatballs and a generous serving of sauce. I sprinkle a dash of salt on and serve it onto a plate. I grab a glass, pour soda and grab the food to take into the living room where IT usually eats. I can't recall the last time we actually sat down and ate food in the same space together. Not since middle school, when he took his turn.

I glance down. He's passed out, legs sprawled out in his chair. A speckle of foam dots the corner of his mouth. His table is a disgusting mess, stained glass with cigarette butts, a foul-smelling pipe and empty beer cans. I push aside some of the cans and set the plate and drink down. His shirt is stained with grease, pants unzipped slightly. The bel̶t̵ ̶h̴e̴ ̷b̴e̷a̶t̸ ̶m̵e̷ ̴w̸i̸t̷h̵ ̶l̸a̸͍͠y̷̪͑s̶̘̙̅ ̷̪̭́͆ȍ̵͘͜ṇ̷̓ ̶̦̂ţ̵̃h̸͓̆̊ẻ̸̘͔͘ ̵̤̓́g̵͈̀̇r̶̖̋o̸̟̒̂ù̶͈̫n̷̡̘̈͌d̸̢̙̄.

I stare at my father. Unshaved, unkept, inhuman. Even in sleep, always scowling in a permanent state of anger. I hate how small you make me feel. Is this the same man that picked me up from school everyday as a kid, who sang me to sleep when I cried about Mom? The man who taught me recipes to cook when we had almost nothing, waiting for his pension to pay out? Where did he go? Where is my father?

How am I gonna tell him about Kazuma?

I glare down at the glass pipe, crusted in black burn marks.

You took him from me.

The welts on my back pulsate in pain. My hand reaches forward. I have to wake him up, otherwise he'll find an excuse to scream. He always does.

"Dad." I push him on the chest.

Nothing.

"Dad, your food is here."

A guttural sound. He squints and his eyes flash open.

I point down at his plate. "It's ready."

He glances down at the table. He leans forward, picks up the plate and stabs it with a fork, twirling the pasta around. "Thanks."

I purse my lips. "Do you need anything else?"

He says nothing.

"Okay, dad."

I walk out the living room and go upstairs.

…

mangaislitt: heyy baby

kodaka17: yes my love?

mangaislitt: I made it home, sorry, I was doing chores

kodaka17: its okay, as long as you made it home safe

I step into the bathroom, finally able to take off my dress. I turn in the mirror and inspect the now red welts, below my shoulder blades down to my waist. Several of them, each screaming in agony. I gingerly touch the welts and wince, hard. Tears flush to my eyes.

On the sink is a jar of cream ointment, almost empty. I pop it open and scoop it out with my index and middle fingers. Slowly, I rub the cream on.

mangaislitt: of course hun

kodaka17: are you gonna be in school tomorrow?

The cream rubs against the raw skin, working its magic. I stare at myself in the mirror, running my finger against the bags under my eyes.

mangaislitt: I should be, why?

kodaka17: lets go on the roof for lunch tomorrow. We can watch anime and make up for the date :)

My fists ball up, and I can feel my knuckles turn white from squeezing them so hard. I squint my eyes shut, and IT's face flashes in the darkness.

God damnit, god fucking damnit.

There's a pounding at the door. "What did you do with the cupcake in the kitchen?"

I bite my lip.

"I ate it."

A pause. I shut my phone off and bury my face in my hands, gritting my teeth hard.

"Yeah, what did I expect. God knows you need the extra weight."

Thudding. He's walking away.

I stare down at the chat.

mangaislitt: I'd love that

Author's Notes: I've always found it a struggle to write abuse scenes, especially when you are thinking of your own personal experiences as you write. I've thought about this chapter a lot and rewritten how I wanted her abuse to be portrayed, to the point it completely changed the outcome of the story I originally had in mind. Concepts ranged from Dadsuki being a sympathetic struggling father to someone on the cusp of mental collapse to being an outright demented monster that goes…even further with his abuse, something I couldn't bring myself to write. It's a constant struggle to try and write scenes that both portray abuse with the seriousness it must be treated with and also to write authentic situations that are both engaging to the reader and realistic, that don't turn her father into a mustache-twirling supervillain that just beats the shit out of her for no reason. This chapter is a bit on the short side, but that's mostly because I want to push forward to the more plot-heavy chapters with scenes involving Sayori and Yuri again, who have mostly been unheard from since the Festival admittedly. I also abide by the "less is more" approach, and writing a six or seven thousand word chapter of my favorite girl being hurt is not something I can stomach for long. There have been mods and works I've seen that perhaps do not give abuse scenarios its due diligence, almost stereotyping what would otherwise be a serious predicament for the sake of a dramatic ending. Realism is something I've always strived to do with respect to depression, suicide, mental trauma, etc (notably Sayori's struggle in the early chapters).

And that's fine. I don't see it as a problem nor am I critiquing anybody; fan works are a product of the creator's environment and everyone's vision is unique, it's just something I find interesting as I mentally compare my own works to other Natsuki-driven stories, Exit Music and Fruits of the Literature Club come to mind. It's not a competition, but rather a collaborative effort. The glitched text is both a representation of the characters anger and fear, while also trying to keep the standard DDLC style of glitching and breaking. As Love and Literature continues its third act, every chapter will essentially be Natsuki-focused and try it's best to adhere to real world Japanese laws and customs (while making it relatable to the reader), as the story becomes increasingly claustrophobic and Kazuma/Natsuki's relationship becomes the driving force of the story. The outline I have in mind is something I've never seen a DDLC work do before, and I hope to treat what's to come in a respectable fashion that those still reading will appreciate. Two additional acts are in the works, and a happy ending is coming for our favorite couple. It'll just take time.

Stay tuned.