“You can come out when you’re ready to be reasonable.”
The door closing. The lock clicking.
I was six years old and I’d refused to smile for a photo. That’s all I’d done. Refused to smile.
I blinked hard, forcing myself back to the present. Back to my yard, my house, my life that Mom couldn’t touch anymore.
“Fuck this.”
Rage, hot and sharp, burned through the fear. I marched across the grass before I could talk myself out of it. My hand shook as I reached for the ball, but then I paused. Straightened. Stared at the shed. Ridiculous to be scared of something so… innocuous.
Without thinking, I grabbed the warm metal handle, twisted, and yanked the door open.
The smell hit me first. Grass clippings and dirt and motor oil. Completely different from that other shed.
I stepped inside.
It was small and dusty, with muted light filtering in through the Perspex window. Just a bag of fertilizer in the corner and some old tools on the shelf.
Nothing scary. Nothing threatening.
See? You’re fine. You’re okay.
I took a breath. My heartbeat slowed. I was standing in a shed and the world hadn’t ended. Maybe that meant I was stronger than Mom’s voice in my head. Maybe that meant I could be the person I wanted to be.
Outside, the wind roared.
The door ripped out of my hand before I could turn around.
Slam.
The latch clicked.
The sound ripped through me like a fucking gunshot in the small space. The silence that followed was worse.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
“No.” I lunged for the handle, yanking on it.
It didn’t move.
“No, no, no!” I threw my shoulder into it. “Hey! Is anyone out there?”
The walls seemed to shrink instantly, pressing in on all sides. The light from the window wasn’t enough. It was too dark. Too small. The smell of dust twisted into the smell of old oil and trapped heat.
You can come out when you’re ready to be reasonable.
My chest seized. My throat closed up.
“Please.” I was crying now, hot tears streaming down my face. I slammed my fist against the door. Once. Twice. “Help! Someone help me!”
But there was no one. Just like before.
My legs gave out and I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. The walls were too close. The space was too small. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except sit there and shake and cry like the stupid, dramatic little girl my mother had always said I was.
You’re being ridiculous, Emily.
