When I opened my eyes that morning I couldn't feel the usual ache. I felt pretty weightless. I sat up in bed, got up to walk to the bathroom, as usual.

But I fell asleep on the couch last night. It made me do a double take of my room.

My walls were pink, which they hadn't been in years, flowers, and butterflies littered the walls, along with some posters of cartoons I hadn't watched in a while.

There was the kitchen toy set I had in my room until I was 13. I was heartbroken to throw that thing out but I can't remember the last time I thought about it.

I looked into the mirror on my desk and saw a face I didn't recognize. Funny to call it a face actually. More like a fuzzy "abstract" drawing I used to scribble onto these walls. I'm sure they're still stuck between the layers of paint.

I could only come to one conclusion, I was dreaming. And I guess now I was lucid, not like it mattered.

I heard muffled fighting from down the hall, a usual occurrence in my childhood. Though for the first time in my life I would focus on the words my parents exchanged.

"If you don't care about me, and you don't care about our daughter, then leave!"

My parents fought a lot, I didn't know why when I was younger but I have more context now.

"I love both of you more than anything!"

My mother's voice shouted back.

Sure you did.

I made my way down the hallway. As I walked it seemed to get longer and thinner.

"I know you don't work with them for money! You work for them because now you have an excuse to disappear!"

When my father echoed the last word the lights flickered and shut off. But the many doorways still had light seeping into the hall.

"Fine! Then I'll go. Have fun breaking the news to your daughter."

Your not our.

So that's how she left. Disowning me before she did it. If I could cry in this dreamscape I would.

I stopped in front of the closest doorway. I looked in to see a ghastly scene.

The first time I realized my mother was bad. I know it's amazing, I used to think she was good.

I looked onto the old memory.

She had barged into the house at around 2 am, I had fallen asleep on the couch while watching something on the tv. From angle of the door I couldn't see what. I must've been about 8.

I jolted awake when I mother slammed the door. We had one lock, which barely worked most of the time, but she locked the door anyway.

She was out of breath, sweating, and battered and bruised.

"Y/n, honey." She knelt down in front of me. "Go to your closet, and don't make a sound. I'll knock 3 times when it's safe alright?" She ushered a sleepy me up from the couch and into my room.

She never knocked three times, I waited until I heard birds chirp. Terrified for my mother.

I walked into the living room and saw her passed out on the couch with a beer.

It still didn't make any sense.

I walked down the hallway looking into each room, all past memories I can look onto from an outside perspective.

All the birthdays she missed, when she taught me to shoot a gun, all the martial arts classes, the first time she went out on a bender. You get the picture, bad mom. Except the martial arts classes, those were fun.

I made it to the end of the hallway. I was in the alley with Bakugo. The villain just threw him against the brick wall and the gun was shaking in my hands.

Bakugo was still trying to stand up and fight. On his hands and knees, bruised and bloody, he was still trying to rips his head off.

Seeing myself kill a man from an outside perspective was less jarring than experiencing it in the moment.

Seeing myself breakdown made my heart sink.

It reminded me of the little girl who locked herself in a closet. Scared, crying, waiting for the three knocks.

But I wasn't left alone till the sun came out, because Bakugo got up as soon as he was able.