THE MAFIA'S BROKEN STRIPPER.

HOME BITTER HOME....

Janella finally shut down her laptop, the screen going black with a soft click that felt far more satisfying than it should have. She leaned back in her chair, shoulders aching from hours of hunching over reports and spreadsheets. The office was quiet now, most of her colleagues had left long ago, yet she was still here, drowning in deadlines.

With a tired sigh, she began sliding the last stack of files into her bag, each motion deliberate and heavy. Her stomach growled loudly in protest, a reminder that she had skipped lunch again. Between back-to-back meetings, endless phone calls, and the mountain of work that had somehow landed solely on her desk, there hadn’t been a spare moment to breathe, let alone eat.

Her gaze fell on the neatly packed food container sitting at the corner of her desk, the one Kay had sent her earlier in the day. The sight of it softened her expression, pulling the edge off her exhaustion. At least she wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry tonight. She carefully placed it inside her bag, as though tucking away a little piece of comfort.

Pulling on her coat, she glanced around the now-empty office one last time before heading for the exit. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the sound blending with the distant hum of traffic outside. She could already picture the crowded platform at the station, the steady rhythm of the train carrying her away from this exhausting day. And yet, somewhere deep down, she knew the day’s troubles weren’t over not when home held its own storms.

The train rattled steadily along the tracks, its rhythmic clatter a dull, constant companion to her thoughts. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white, reflecting like tiny fragments of a life she sometimes felt disconnected from. Janella rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring at her own reflection as if searching for answers in her tired eyes.

Her mind was a whirlwind of exhaustion, frustration, and unspoken questions. How had everything come to feel so heavy? The weight of responsibility, the endless demands of work, the constant tension at home, it all pressed down on her chest, leaving her breath shallow and her thoughts scattered. Nothing felt stable anymore; even the small victories she sometimes managed to scrape together seemed to slip through her fingers before she could fully grasp them.

Hours of sitting in traffic, pushing through deadlines, and holding back tears at moments when she was supposed to be “strong” had left her hollow. She wondered if anyone noticed the constant effort it took just to keep herself upright. She didn’t have answers, only that nagging, suffocating sense that she was losing control of the life she was trying so desperately to maintain.

When the train finally screeched to a halt at her stop, she dragged herself off, her movements heavy and mechanical. The familiar scent of her home, warm, domestic, yet faintly tinged with old memories, reached her as she opened the door.

Normally, not comforting, tonight it did little to ease the tight coil in her chest.

In the sitting room, her parents sat together, side by side, their quiet presence, a reminder of the responsibilities waiting for her even beyond the walls of work. The sight of them, calm and unsuspecting, made her pause for a moment, forcing her to brace herself for the evening that lay ahead.

“Janella,” her mother’s voice called softly, carrying a mix of warmth and concern as she stepped into the room.

“How was work today? You look exhausted.”

Janella opened her mouth to respond, but before she could form a word, a sudden, violent cough ripped from her father. He clutched at his chest, his body jerking with each hacking spasm. Panic shot through her as she watched a dark stain bloom across the handkerchief he pressed to his lips. The sight made her stomach churn violently, and a sharp, throbbing pain surged behind her eyes, sending a jolt of headache through her temples.

“Dad… what’s happening?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. Anxiety threaded through every syllable, turning her words almost into a whisper.

Her mother’s face was pale, worry lines deepening as she shook her head.

“He’s been coughing like this for a while, non-stop… but today it… it got worse. He even coughed blood, Janella.”

A cold shiver ran down Janella’s spine, and she felt her chest tighten as fear clawed at her. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but the sight of her father’s weakened state made her feel powerless. The world seemed to tilt slightly, the room closing in with the weight of the news, and all she could do was take a shaky step back, her mind racing with dread and questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

Janella’s head spun, a storm of disbelief and irritation twisting inside her as she barely registered her parents’ anxious glances. She needed space, needed to breathe, to think, to escape the suffocating chaos of the moment. Her legs carried her almost automatically to her room, each step heavier than the last.

Once inside, she let her bag tumble to the floor with a thud, sinking onto the bed with a shaky exhale, desperate for a moment of calm.

But calm was nowhere to be found. Her eyes immediately landed on a shocking scene: a used plate, carelessly smeared and left abandoned right in the middle of her bed.

And worse, there, sprawled across her mattress with a disturbingly casual air, was Isabella, completely absorbed in her phone, snapping selfies as if nothing were amiss. Janella’s chest tightened, a mixture of disbelief and rising fury knotting in her stomach. She felt her jaw clench as the weight of irritation pressed down on her.

With a frustrated groan, she dropped her bag again, the sound of it hitting the floor echoing her internal exasperation.

Seeking some semblance of control, she stormed to the bathroom, only to have her anger spike further. Her eyes fell on a used sanitary pad carelessly left on the floor, an affront to decency and common sense that made her blood boil.

Her fists curled tightly at her sides, knuckles white as her heart raced uncontrollably. She couldn’t believe the audacity. With a harsh exhale and a surge of anger she could barely contain, she pivoted sharply and stormed back into her room, the tension thrumming through her every nerve.

“Isabella!” Janella’s voice rang out, sharp and trembling with rage.

“Why do you always go out of your way to make my life miserable? Is it not enough that you contribute nothing to this house that you leave everyone to pick up after you? Must you also take it upon yourself to turn your own life into chaos and drag the rest of us into it? Why are you like this? Why are you such a....such a filthy, careless pig?”

Isabella didn’t so much as glance up from her phone. Her lips twisted into a cruel, lazy sneer, and her eyes shone with a wicked satisfaction.

“Shut the f**k up,” she spat, her words dripping with venom, each one a deliberate strike.

“And if you can’t wait for me to finish what I’m doing, then do it yourself. I swear, you’re so pathetic, Janella. Always acting like you’re better than everyone else in this goddamn house.”

Janella felt a hot flush creep across her face, anger and humiliation mingling into an almost unbearable heat. The words cut deeper than she expected. Beneath the fury, beneath the urge to strike back or scream louder, there was a raw, aching pain that twisted in her chest. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut: this wasn’t just about a messy room or a thoughtless act.

No, it was years of built-up frustration, neglect, and resentment, all boiling to the surface at once. Everything she had endured, every irritation and disappointment, seemed to converge in this single, explosive moment. She felt the weight of it press down on her, making her knees feel weak, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.

Her voice wavered as she struggled to keep it steady, the tremor betraying the storm of emotion inside her.

“Do you even realize how much damage you’ve done? How much pain you’ve caused without even caring? This isn’t just about a room, Isabella, it’s about everything. It’s about the years of being overlooked, disrespected, and dismissed. I’m done pretending that your behavior doesn’t affect me.”

"Go to hell Bitch." Isabella replied.

Janella dug her phone out of her bag, the weight of everything pressing down on her. Without a word, she stepped outside. Her mother’s voice followed her, soft and worried.

“Janella… what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, only slipped her phone open and began typing.

Display name: My Heartbeat

Janella: Just got home from work, Kay… my room is a whole crime scene.

There’s a used plate on my bed, a used sanitary pad in the toilet not even thrown away… and guess who’s lying there taking selfies?

Kay: Don’t tell me… Isabella? 😒

Janella: Yep. I told her about it and she told me to shut up and clean it myself if I can’t take it. I’m tired of her nonchalant attitude, Kay. I really am.

Kay: Baby… I don’t like the way she’s stressing you. It's the weekend, pack a small bag and come sleep over at mine tonight.

Janella: Kay…

Kay: I’m serious. You need rest and I miss you. Plus… I can’t wait to devour you 😏🔥

Janella: 😂 You’re impossible.

Kay: Yet you still love me. Now hurry up before I change my mind.

Janella paused, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the storm inside her, a sense of relief washed over her. Maybe tonight, she could escape the chaos at home and just… breathe.