In this padded cell, trapped within the confines of my own mind, I get lost to the merciless cycle of reality and despair. The room closes in on me, and I’m adrift in a sea of torment, praying for release. For the elusive savior that never comes.
“Mama!” I cry, banging on my bedroom door. My hands and arms hurt, but I can’t stop. I’m so cold, so hungry. I want to sleep, but the floor hurts, and the room is starting to smell bad. I claw at the wood. “Daddy! Please!”
No one comes.
No one ever comes.
I fall onto the floor and curl into a ball. My body shakes from crying, but no tears come, either. Maybe they’re all gone.
Just like my parents.
I think I fell asleep because suddenly, my bedroom door is opening, and my mom is picking me up. Her hands are soft, but she’s not. She’s rough and squeezes me too hard. I don’t care. I’m happy she’s here. I’m happy she saved me.
“I’m so hungry,” I cry, shaking in her arms. “Where have you been?”
“Shut up,” she hisses, squeezing me tighter when I start to slip. I’m seven, and even though I’m small for my age, she is too. She’s smaller now than she used to be. She looks older. Tired. Her voice is deeper and angrier.
She scares me.
I swallow back another sob as she turns away toward the hall. Over her shoulder, my eyes catch on my empty, dark room, and my heart hurts. I used to have things. I used to have a soft bed and toys and books. I used to have clean clothes, but now the only time I get to wear them is when I go see my friends.
It’s been days, maybe longer, since I’ve seen them.
I blink, and then my room is gone, and my dad is yelling. Mom drops me, and I fall to my knees, crying out.
“He’s too big for that shit,” he snaps. “You’re so fucking ridiculous, Mia!”
“Shut up—” Her mouth closes, and I see her eyes go big as she swallows. I bite my cheek, ignoring the pain as I climb to my feet and stand in front of Mom when he stomps over. His face is red, and somehow, he looks older, too.
He looks scary, too.
I love my dad in the way all kids love their parents, but mostly, mostly I think I hate him.
Because Mama is mean and scary, but my dadhurts.
He stops in front of me, and his eyes narrow. Slowly, his lips lift in a cruel smirk. They flick between me and Mom. I’m so small in front of him, and the longer we stand here, the more tired I become. I can’t remember the last time I ate. Still, I don’t cower. My arms cross over my chest, and he laughs.
“Gonna protect that bitch, huh?” He smiles.
I step forward, and I think I hear Mama laugh, too, but that doesn’t make any sense. “You’re not going to hurt my mother anymore.”
Then, she does laugh.
It’s loud and confuses me. My arms fall, and I turn to look back at her. Her long blonde hair isn’t blonde anymore. It’s grey and dingy with grease streaked throughout. Her clothes used to be perfect…always perfect, but now they’re old and dirty. She’s dirty.
She doesn’t even smell like my mother anymore.
“Oh, you think you can protect me?” she huffs, rolling her eyes before glancing at my father over my head. Her face changes into something I haven’t seen before—not from her. “Show him, Lucas.”
I never even see his fist coming.
When he finally stops, Mama scoops me off the floor again, and I think, just for a moment, that maybe she’s sorry. Maybe she’s going to take care of me. Maybe she’s going to make the pain go away.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she carries me to a big closet. Dad opens the door, and metal clangs, making my stomach twist.
“Wh-what is that?”
