I was sent home that night for a good night's rest before the weekend came. I didn't want to go-and felt a little anxious being away from my dad-but I had to go anyway. Hizashi said he'd be in the guest suite over if I needed anything.

I needed my dad. I needed to stop acting like a co-dependent child. I needed to get a grip.

But for some reason, I couldn't. I couldn't get a grip. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my dad, a hero, someone who is gone 90% of my day, wasn't in the room over watching late night news or grading papers.

He was in the hospital. Miles away from me. I couldn't call him (his cell phone would hurt his eyes and trigger migraines, the doctor said), I couldn't see him, nothing.

It felt too familiar to me. It felt like when I was ten. When I was alone, when I couldn't talk to him. When he wasn't in the next room over, and I couldn't see him. When he was miles away from me. When I stayed up at night watching my door, praying that the men that came that night wouldn't come find me again.

I was scared. I wanted my dad to come back. I knew, rationally, he would. It was obvious he would. He was healing fantastically and well for someone who got their head bashed in by a mutated experiment creature that was probably a thousand times stronger than him.

But rationality wasn't helping me. And in that moment...that's what scared me the most.

I was still panicking. I was still worried. My head was screaming, 'there was no reason for you to be upset, because nothing is functionally wrong,' but the rest of me just said 'no.'

Part of me wondered if it had anything to do with what happened when I was ten. When I couldn't understand anything.

I curled up in my bed. Reminiscing on the person I was just two years ago.

That girl...She was so young. And naive. Maybe I still was. There were so many things I didn't know then.

Yes, I knew people died, and yes. I knew people got hurt. I knew there was more than physical pain—there was emotional pain too. That was obvious. I was hurt emotionally when my mother died, and my dad was hurt when one of his closest friends had died in an accident. He was hurt when his parents would yell at him and insult him. I know because I saw it in his memories.

That wasn't my greatest day.

I realized that I had also found out when I was eight how babies were made.

Also not my greatest day.

I laughed at the memory. I had been curious, saw something I shouldn't have, and asked my dad. He gave me a straight answer, and talked to me about how some girls would sell their bodies for sex in exchange for money, and told me stories of how unhappy those people were.

He told me that sex wasn't something to play around with. 'Sleeping around' (as it was also called) could and would lead to 'emotional scarring' and many potential consequences for both parties. He said it just wasn't a good idea until you were in a committed relationship or marriage. He said that's what it was originally supposed to be for, anyway.

He told me that sometimes, people use sex for themselves, and would have it with someone who didn't want to have sex. He said that was called 'rape.'

The vague concept of it was just... appalling to me. Why would anyone do something like that?

I had yet to find out. I scoffed to myself as I rolled over, looking at the image of my mother on my desk.

And even now, thinking back on it, I picked up the impression that my parents weren't supposed to...make me. The way he talked about it, it seemed to me that he never meant to have sex with my mom. That I wasn't really meant to be here.

But he also told me that I wasn't a mistake. Nothing ever was. Not even being with my mom. Everything happened for a reason. Even if it didn't mean to happen, it was supposed to.

The overall concept of sex was kind of disgusting to me, back then. It still is. Why would you let anyone do that to you? I mean, my dad did it...so it can't be that disgusting...

No, never mind. It's just...gross. It's even worse when thinking about my dad doing it. Blegchk!

Anyway, the week my life fell apart... Dad was out on another mission. 'Zashi was out with him. I had no one to watch me.

So here I was, I realized. A ten-year-old, chilling out in our old apartment, by myself, until someone came back. We didn't live at U.A. at the time because my school used to be closer to the old apartment complex. Dad didn't want me traveling too far too often, and he didn't want to move me around too much. He thought it was bad for my development.

The irony.

During that week, he had our neighbor check up on me every night to make sure I was okay or if I needed any help. I had the kitchen pretty much figured out, so I didn't really need any help from anyone where cooking was concerned. The cats had lots of food for the time being, and plenty of litter (Dad did that part. I just fed and watered them), and I was pretty good on my own. Pretty self-sufficient for a ten-year-old,

The neighbor was a sweet older woman who took care of her grandson, who was around 13 or so. Probably older. I recalled the routine we would have every day. She would knock politely, I would invite her in, she would look around and make sure I had everything I needed for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, make sure I got to school, then go about her day after petting the cat. The one that liked her, that is.

One time, I met her grandson. And because I could read his mind, I did.

He seemed...lonely. Tired of life. Tired of everything that had happened to him.

His mind was fuzzy. It was noisy. Like, all his hopes and dreams had been chewed up and spit back out at him. All kinds of trouble he had been through, all kinds of hurt. I didn't know whether he was abandoned or his parents had died, and I couldn't really tell.

His hair was all kinds of messy-it looked pretty unbrushed but at the same time, it stuck up like an antigravity purple mop.

The day it happened, I remember like it was yesterday. It will never leave me, I don't think, tragically enough.

I just got home from school and was doing some of my homework as I was waiting for the neighbor to come by. Since it was around winter-time, the days were getting darker quicker. There wasn't very much snow (surprisingly), but it was cold.

I had sat on my couch, facing the window. Our room was on the seventh floor of the complex, so I only got a view of the cityscape from a bird's eye view. I watched the sunset as it went down.

When I finally had nothing else to look at, I returned to my reading. Sleepy decided to join me, falling asleep on my lap.

"Fitting name," I had said aloud, stroking his back.

I don't know what happened or who said what next, but I do distinctly remember a strange shadow by our window.

The cats went on full defensive mode. They were alert, they were stiff, they were inconsolable. I didn't know what to do or what to make of it.

I heard a loud BANG on our door.

I hit the floor, just like Dad taught me, and army-crawled to the window. I locked the windows and closed the curtains before booking it to the door and locking it shut as well.

I then hid underneath the sink, stuffing the cats in my dad's room as I pulled out my phone.

I called my dad.

He picked up almost immediately.

"Samiko? What is it?"

"Dad, there's someone or...something at our door," I told him. "I locked everything and shut the curtains but it's still trying to get in."

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"Where are you?"

"At home...?"

"No, in the apartment. Where are you?"

"I'm under the sink," I said quietly, "They're banging on the door, I think they're gonna break it down."

"Alright. I'm going to call Miss Shinsou and tell her to stay inside and not check on you. You hang in there, okay? Call the police. You hear me? Don't do a thing. Just stay quiet and call the police."

"Okay, I will."

"Alright. I'm almost done here. I'll be back in no time."

"Please hurry," I whispered as he hung up.

I dialed the police immediately.

"This is 119, what is your emergency?"

The banging continued outside on the door. I remember shouting. People yelling on the outside. I couldn't tell what they were saying. But it definitely wasn't nice and it was aimed towards me.

"Hello, police?" I tried to keep my voice from shaking. "My name is Aizawa Samiko. Someone's trying to break into my apartment."

"Alright. How old are you, Samiko?"

"I-"

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

I was so scared.

"I'm ten years old," I all but whispered.

"Alright. Make sure you stay calm, Samiko. The police are on their way. Where do you live?"

I told her all she needed to know. She told me not to hang up. She told me to stay calm, stay quiet, and stay hidden.

The door broke. Then the window.

I covered my mouth to muffle my scream.

"They're in!" I whispered desperately.

"Alright. Just stay calm. The police are almost there. Don't hang up, Samiko. Don't hang up."

I held the doors of the cupboard under the sink as tightly as I could, holding my breath to become as quiet as humanly possible.

"Come on out!" I heard a man yell. "We know you're here!"

"Are you still there, Samiko?" the lady on the line asked.

I stayed quiet.

That silence under the kitchen sink...I won't ever forget it.

"Samiko?"

I still didn't respond.

"Dial the number three on your keypad if you're still on the phone, Samiko," she told me.

I hurriedly did.

"Alright. Stay quiet. The police will be right there."

I heard footsteps coming in my direction. I held my breath tighter. I turned my phone's volume down. I also turned down the screen brightness. I wasn't stupid. I knew how to hide.

I remember the exact thoughts that went through my head as the men spoke.

"Come on out," someone said in a sing-songy voice. "We know you're here. We're not going to hurt you."

I highly doubt that.

"We just want to talk."

Likely story.

"Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Why should I believe you?

I sat there and prayed I wouldn't be found, squeezing my eyes shut and keeping my breathing steadied. I hoped that my heart wasn't beating hard enough to be heard. I prayed that one of the men didn't have some kind of a sensory quirk.

I heard footsteps stop right in front of the cabinet. I was near the back of it, so if he reached in, he would have to reach pretty far to get me.

But he still could have. And I knew that.

And that scared me.

The cabinet door opened. I covered my mouth.

I saw someone look in. He smiled evilly.

"Well, look what we got here," he said, reaching in.

I screamed.

.o0o.

I realize now...I don't fully remember all that happened from then. I was grabbed by the guy, and he threw me on the floor. He sat on me and said some things that made my stomach churn. He started moving against me.

I was screaming, and screaming for him to stop. trying to fight him off. He slapped me. Asked me questions, tried to take off my clothes.

I was too small. I couldn't fight him off.

I sighed, realizing now that I was remembering this, I was getting a grip. I was gathering my thoughts again. I had my feet under me, so to speak, once more. I was...comforted by this memory...

No. Comforted isn't the word.

I was numbed.

I still remember what he did, the other men tearing apart my home.

He tied my hands and feet together, put duct tape over my mouth when I wouldn't stop screaming for help, screaming for him to stop moving against me.

I couldn't get out of his hold. I couldn't do anything. I was at the mercy of these villains.

And I was mortified.

I kept hearing them say something about 'Eraserhead. We need Eraserhead. Where is Eraserhead.'

I knew he was my father (obviously), and they did too, but I wasn't going to say anything. I couldn't say anything. Because if I said anything, it was going to be the truth.

And they couldn't know the truth. Not at any cost.

And besides that, there was duct tape on my mouth. That didn't stop me from screaming. And screaming. And crying. And screaming.

The man on top of me...started touching me. Just on my front, and my legs, but...

I didn't like what he was saying, even though when I think back on it, his words and voice all sound like someone stuffed cotton in my ears.

I just couldn't stop it-no one else would either. They just watched. Watched while I cried, and tried to thrash, watched as he laughed and ripped the duct tape off my mouth and laughed while I screamed in pain and terror yet again.

And my apartment was on the very top floor. The room underneath us was vacant. No one was coming for me.

And...that must have been where I passed out, because I barely remember anything else. Small flashes of pain. Flashes of purple, of a fight breaking out. More yelling, but not from any of the men's voices.

But... everything else...it's blank.

I'm different now. Than the girl hysterically crying at the men who wouldn't listen anyway. I prided myself on that. I could defend myself now. I could get out of a situation like that if I had to. I know how to fight, how to get to their weak points, how to run. How to scream 'fire' instead of 'rape.'

The next thing I remember, I was in my dad's arms in the car. We were on our way to the hospital. I was wrapped in a blanket and shivering. It wasn't a cold day.

And even that's a little fuzzy.

I'll never forget the aftermath, though. The people at the hospital used a 'rape kit' on me. It didn't make sense to me at the time, but my grandmother kept beating it over my head once I lived with her not long after that.

I was raped.

Two therapists were prescribed to me before I was released from the hospital, one of them with a memory quirk, kind of like mine. I have no idea what the diagnosis was.

The weird part was I felt the same, even after everything. A little tired, sore, maybe a little weird, but...not anything that big. Like, when you read something a little too gory in a mystery novel than what you're comfortable with. It goes away. And it did.

But no one acted like it would.

I sighed, bringing myself back to my bed, with my dad in the hospital, Hizashi in the guest room, and me. Here.

I looked at the picture of my mom. I thought about how similar we looked, how much she looked like Na-Chan.

I decided that memory could wait for another day. Trips down memory lane are my second favorite pastime, and it seemed like my emotions were stable enough that I could go to bed now. I didn't want to change that.

I turned off my lamp, rolled over and fell asleep.

.o0o.