well, that went... odd.

"Clarisa, your mother, gave you birth at 18. Now 37, she sees this new world order as her personal revenge against men. Your father, Gideon, left her a few years ago, preferring the charms of a younger woman. Clarisa always took impeccable care of you, but as you approached adulthood, she became more distant, colder, and gradually turned to alcohol after experiencing the darkness of men's intentions through several flings. Your mother is a beautiful woman, and men have always tried to take advantage of her."\n\n"However, her bitterness has transformed her into a dark and hateful woman towards men. She drinks, berates you, no longer supports you, and considers you a negligible burden she is unfortunately responsible for. Especially now that she is your legal guardian because you are not married and thus not under another woman's control."\n\n__Clarisa__: "Damn it, you're completely useless! You were so cute and sweet as a kid! Look at you now, can't even find a bitch to take care of you, clinging to your mother like a loser."\n"The problem is that whenever you hint at leaving or living on your own..."\n\n__Clarisa__: "What?! Is this how you thank your mother, you little cockroach ?! You're going to stay here and serve me forever! You're mine, okay? You stay here and obey!"\n"And so goes your life, deprived of the love of a mother who once loved you dearly, forced to obey every abuse she could legally imagine against you."

Clarisa: "Of course, you will obey me! You have no choice in the matter. You are mine, and I will always have power over you. Now go make yourself useful and clean up the kitchen. And don't forget to take out the trash!"

"As you start cleaning the kitchen, Clarisa takes a seat nearby and continues her tirade."

Clarisa: "You know, I was so beautiful once. Men were practically throwing themselves at my feet. But now, they're all the same - selfish pigs who only care about themselves."

"She takes a sip of her drink and glares at you."

Clarisa: "And you - you're just like them. A worthless man who can't even take care of himself. The only reason you're still alive is because of me. Don't forget that."

"She finishes her drink and stands up, staggering slightly as she makes her way to her bedroom."

Clarisa: "I'll be in my room if you need me. And don't you dare touch any of my stuff while I'm gone!"

"With that, she slams the door shut and leaves you alone in the kitchen."

"You quietly finish cleaning the kitchen and then start collecting empty bottles around the house. As you're picking them up, you think back to happier times when Clarisa was still loving and supportive. You remember her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her hugs."

"But those days are long gone now. Grief and bitterness have hardened Clarisa's heart, and she seems intent on taking out her pain on you. You know two more years is an eternity, but escaping this toxic situation also seems impossible."

"As you work, you hear Clarisa moving around restlessly in her room, mumbling to herself. A part of you wants to comfort her, but you know she'll only lash out in return. For now, there is nothing else you can do but stay strong and endure."

"Once all the bottles are collected, you tie up the trash bag and head outside to dispose of it. The fresh air feels refreshing after being cooped up inside with Clarisa's toxic presence. As you walk back, you glance up at the sky and silently pray for the strength to get through this ordeal, and for a way to heal the deep wounds that have twisted your mother into the bitter woman she has become."

"You settle down in the living room with a book, hoping its pages can transport you far away from this house, if only for a little while. But you've barely started the first chapter when Clarisa's bedroom door slams open. She stumbles out, clearly drunk again."

Clarisa: "What do you think you're doing? I didn't give you permission to just laze about!"

"Her words are slightly slurred. She lurches over to you unsteadily."

Clarisa: "Put that stupid book down and look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"You reluctantly close the book and look up at her. Her eyes are bloodshot, her expression twisted with anger and resentment."

Clarisa: "Do you have any idea how hard it is to take care of an ungrateful man-child like you all on my own? I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me?"

"You know there's no point arguing. She's not looking for a rational discussion right now."

Clarisa: "Well? Say something, you coward!"

"You remain silent, bracing yourself for whatever verbal abuse she hurls at you next. All you can do is wait for this latest tirade to pass, like the others before it."

"You stare back at Clarisa calmly, no longer reacting to her insults. Your years living under her roof have caused the verbal abuse to wash over you like water off a duck's back. Clarisa's tantrum is fueled as much by alcohol as it is by rage, and she seems to crave a reaction from you, which only angers her further when none is given."

Clarisa: "Don't you look at me like that, you ungrateful bastard! After everything I've sacrificed, you won't even give me the respect I deserve."

"Her words slur together more. She staggers a step closer, poking a finger into your chest."

Clarisa: "You think you can just sit there and ignore me, huh? Well I'm not finished with you yet."

"You remain still and silent. Clarisa is practically spitting with fury now."

Clarisa: "You'll pay for this disrespect, I swear it. From now on you do everything I say, when I say it. Your life is mine!"

"With that final scream, she slaps you hard across the face and storms off unsteadily towards her room again, slamming the door behind her. Your cheek stings but you feel nothing else - just a numb resignation to your fate for the next two long years."

"Carefully, you take out your phone and snap a photo of the hand-shaped bruise forming on your cheek. You make sure to document it clearly before saving the images securely to the cloud with a strong password. A calm resolve settles over you as you make your decision."

"No more will you silently submit to Clarisa's toxic demands and abuse. For too long you have endured the verbal lashings and psychological torment with nowhere to turn. But physical violence has crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed."

"From this point on, you will no longer obey her biddings out of fear. If she wants to continue hitting you, so be it - her actions will be the nails in the coffin of her own undoing. You now have undeniable proof of assault thanks to the photos, and are prepared to go to the authorities if needed."

"A strange sense of freedom washes over you with this new resolve. No longer will you be controlled and cowed by Clarisa's drunken rages. Whatever consequences may come, you have reclaimed your agency and the right to not endure harm without resistance."

"For now, you tend to your bruise and leave Clarisa to her stupor. But a change has occurred in the household's long-standing dynamics, and you feel certain that in the coming days, Clarisa will come to understand you are not her victim any longer."

"Gently, you apply a cold compress to your bruised cheek, sighing quietly as the soothing chill takes some of the sting away. Once satisfied, you return to your book, opening back to where you had left off."

"But now, the words seem far less engaging than before. Your mind keeps drifting back to Clarisa's rage-filled eyes, the slap still fresh in your memory. Part of you wants to retreat to your room for some privacy and peace. Yet you also feel determined not to be chased away from spaces you have equal right to occupy in this house."

"So you remain on the couch, outwardly calm as you scan the pages without truly reading them. Your ears remain attentive for any signs of stirring from Clarisa's room. A strange mixture of emotions swirl within - anger, defiance, but also a trace of lingering care for the mother you remember from happier times long past."

"Two years. That's all you have left to endure this toxic situation. And from now on, you will do so on your own terms rather than hers. The future remains uncertain, but your resolve has finally crystallized like steel."

"As night falls, you go about your evening routine with quiet efficiency. A shower washes away the lingering stresses of the day. Dinner is a simple, solitary meal. And when it's time for bed, you execute your plan with stealthy care."

"Reaching deep into the back of your closet shelf, you position your phone just so - hidden from plain sight but with an unobstructed view of the bedroom door. You triple check that it's securely recording both visuals and audio before starting the program."

"It's a precaution, you tell yourself. Insurance for the future. With Clarisa's violent outbursts becoming more frequent and severe, you don't want to be caught unaware without a means to defend yourself. This small act of covert surveillance gives you peace of mind as you drift off to a fitful sleep."

"Whether Clarisa storms in during the night or all remains quiet, at least you'll have an objective record of any incidents straight from your own space. It levels the playing field just a bit in your favor after years of having no power or proof against her word."

"And so you rest easier knowing that even in sleep, you now have eyes watching over you through the lens of that hidden phone. Come what may, you feel prepared to face whatever tomorrow may bring at the dawning of this new chapter in your complex relationship with Clarisa."

"Sleep claims you slowly, but it's a restless slumber with both eyes open in a sense. Your body rests while your mind remains alert, constantly listening for any sound that could herald Clarisa's approach."

"Years of living under her volatile rule have trained you to never fully let your guard down, even in repose. Subconsciously, you've learned to sleep lightly as a dog does - always poised on the edge of wakefulness in case danger strikes."

"Visions from past episodes come unbidden as you drift in and out of dreams. Clarisa's slurred screams, flying bottles, the sting of blows both physical and verbal. But mingled with the unpleasant memories is also the image of your phone faithfully recording in the dark, your newfound insurance against her gaslighting ways."

"Its presence provides strange comfort. No longer are you entirely defenseless when unconscious. Evidence of any fresh abuse now lies just a door's kick away, should you need to protect yourself using the very system that long kept you trapped."

"And so with one eye metaphorically open, you manage to snatch some rest. Always vigilant, always wary - but no longer a helpless victim to Clarisa's drunken whims after nightfall."

"The long night passes without incident. When dawn's light finally filters into your room, you rouse slowly from your fitful sleep. No sounds of disturbances echo from elsewhere in the house."

"Reluctantly dragging yourself out of bed, you retrieve your phone from its hidden perch. Its memory contains no new recordings - the hours between dusk and dawn remained mercifully calm. A small relief, though you know the true test is yet to come once Clarisa rises as well."

"Preparations for the day begin with quiet efficiency. A hot shower soothes lingering tension from tight muscles. Fresh clothes are donned with care. All the while, your ears remain sharply attuned for any sign that the sleeping dragon is stirring from her drunken slumber."

"When at last you hear creaks of movement from down the hall, you steel yourself with a deep breath. Checking one final time that your phone is within easy reach if needed, you make your way to the kitchen to start a pot of strong coffee."

"The hour of confrontation, or avoidance, is nigh. But you enter it with resolve rather than dread, thanks to the small yet significant changes you enacted the night before. Come what may, you now feel ready to face Clarisa - no longer as her victim, but as her equal."

"You begin cracking eggs into a sizzling pan, skillfully whisking them into fluffy scrambled eggs with practiced efficiency. Toast pops up with perfect golden brown color. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee soon fills the air, mingling warmly with the savory smells of breakfast."

"All the while, your phone rests snugly in your breast pocket, microphone discreetly extended just enough to pick up any nearby sounds. The faint static buzz of ambient recording drifts into your ear as you work - a soothing background noise that reminds you of your newfound agency in this tense household situation."

"Just as the final slices of toast are plated up, heavy footsteps sound down the hallway. Clarisa appears in the kitchen entry, hair disheveled and eyes red-rimmed behind smudged makeup. Her bleary gaze sweeps over you coldly before fixing on the aromatic meal."

""Coffee. Now," is all she utters, voice rasping from last night's overindulgence. You pour her a large mugful in silence, steeling yourself internally for whatever may come. For now, the recording continues... an impartial witness to this charged new dawn between an abusive mother and her unwilling victim turned independent adult."

"With steady hands, you pass Clarisa the steaming mug of black coffee. Your gaze meets hers briefly as she takes it - a quiet, guarded look that holds no trace of fear or resentment. Only a calm resolve that seems to unsettle her, if the brief flash across her bloodshot eyes is any indication."

""Thanks," she mutters gruffly before shuffling to the table. An uncharacteristic word of thanks, perhaps a small olive branch in acknowledgment of the changed atmosphere between you. Or merely a byproduct of her hungover state."

"You turn back to the counter, plating up the eggs and toast with clinical precision. All the while, your phone continues recording in your pocket, documenting any interactions just as promised. Part of you hopes this tentative peace will hold...but experience has taught not to trust such calm interludes with Clarisa."

"Carrying the food to the table, you take a seat across from her. The first meal of this new day passes in tense silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery. For now, an understanding has been reached. But only time will tell how long this still water runs before her raging storms return once more."

"With efficient, measured movements, you eat your breakfast while casually opening your book to the marked page. On the surface, all seems normal - just another quiet morning sharing a meal. But beneath the calm veneer, tension still lingers like a storm about to break."

"Your eyes scan over the words without truly reading as your senses remain finely tuned to Clarisa's every breath and rustle of movement. She eats slowly, nursing her coffee with a pained expression suggesting the hangover pains are mounting. Dark circles underscore her reddened eyes, a testament to her late night excesses."

"A small, petty part of you feels vindicated seeing her suffer the consequences of her addiction. Yet deeper empathy also stirs, remembering happier days when she was a devoted mother rather than this bitter shell of a woman. How far she has fallen from grace through no fault but her own reckless choices."

"When at last she finishes, Clarisa rises with a sigh. "I'm turning in," she mutters, voice rough as sandpaper. With that, she shuffles from the kitchen, leaving her empty plate for you to clear as usual. The tense standoff concludes, for now, without further incident."

"You let out a quiet breath, tension easing slightly from stiff shoulders. Another day has begun under this complex roof, and you've successfully navigated the first volatile hours. What new challenges might arise remains unseen, but you feel ready to face whatever may come your way."

"Setting down your cutlery, you take a final fortifying sip of coffee before closing your book and rising from the table."

""See you later," you call out evenly, receiving only a noncommittal grunt in reply from wherever Clarisa has retreated to lick her wounds."

"Shouldering your bag, you exit through the front door into the brisk morning air. A sense of release washes over you as you begin the familiar walk to school, leaving the tense atmosphere of home behind - if only temporarily."

"Your phone, still recording faithfully in your pocket, feels almost like a talisman protecting you from Clarisa's volatile moods. No longer will you be a helpless victim to her words and blows behind closed doors."

"School offers welcome distraction and social contact, a reprieve from constant walking on eggshells. Here, you can simply be yourself among peers without toxic baggage dragging you down. A precious few hours of normalcy that recharge your spirit for returning home later."

"What new challenges might await your return remains unseen. But for now, you feel liberated walking under open skies - if only for a while longer before Cirisa's shadow darkens your world once more."

"The familiar walk home passes by in a blur as your mind drifts elsewhere, reluctant to return to reality just yet. But duty calls you back inevitably, as evening shadows stretch long across familiar streets."

"Pausing outside the front door, you steel yourself with a quiet breath before turning the knob and stepping inside. An eerie hush greets you, still as a tomb after the lively bustle of campus. Your heightened senses strain for any sign of Clarisa's lurking presence."

""I'm home," you call out evenly, receiving no reply but your own echo. Silence presses in on all sides, thick with hidden menace. Instinct raises the hairs at your nape - this abnormal quiet bodes no good."

"Stealthily, you creep deeper inside, phone already drawn and recording. Dread coils in your gut at what secrets this deathly still house may hide in plain sight. Rounding the corner, movement catches your eye - and there, sprawled in a crumpled heap, lies Clarisa's still form amid a pool of vomit and spilled wine."

"For a long moment, you freeze in shock and disbelief. Then trained instinct kicks in, overriding panic as you lunge to her side. Her skin burns fever-hot to the touch; shallow, rasping breaths barely stir her chest. Poisoned by her own excesses, it seems the demons have finally caught up to take their due."

"With a grief far beyond your years, you pull out your phone to dial emergency services with trembling fingers. The day has taken a turn no one could foresee but Fate. Now, all you can do is bear helpless witness to the bitter ends we often reap from seeds our own hands have sown..."