you, who wakes up in your bedroom, all comfy and warm under the covers and in your pajamas. you, who notices that it is saturday, meaning you had no school today and sits up. you, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes. you, who has been sleeping so heavy lately for some reason.
you, who glances around the room, taking note of the small changes it has had over time. you, who isnât sure how to feel about it. you, who notices that your bedroom door is closed. you, who knows that this is unusual. you, who canât remember if you closed it or not at some point but you are pretty sure you didnât.
you, who is about to get out of bed to use the restroom but you swear you hear footsteps down the hallway by your room, the second floor of the house.
you, who assumes it is your mom, but probably your dad coming to check-in on you like always. you, who knows this is nothing peculiar that this is something he often did since you were little, happening most of the time.
you, who hears heavy thumps outside your door, so you deduce it must be your dad. you, sitting patiently like the nice child you are. you, who is starting to feel a bit curious now that are a bit more lucid, slowly starting to realize that the bedroom door is really closed, a rule that has been broken one way or another.
you, who hears the doorknob start to make noise, turning until it stops, and you hear a different sound. you, who feels so confused but you swear you hear the snap of a mechanism inside the door knob too. you, who processes it all slowly, you who feels your breath hitch when you realize that you just got locked in.
you, whose brows have furrowed. you, who goes into an immediate state of denial. you, who hears someone retreat from your door. you, who throws your covers off yourself, a few stuffed animals hitting the floor.
you, who carefully walks up to the door and stares at the handle. you, who cautiously puts your hand on it and twists. you, who feels your heart drop when it wonât fully move.
you, who does it again and again. you, who is frowning and starting to tug backwards on the door. you, who isnât liking this. you, who just wants out now.
you, who after sometime realizes it isnât opening. you, who feels yourself tremble a bit as you take a step away from the door. you, who isnât quite sure when you ended up on your bedroom floor.
you, who sits there stunned on the ground, breathing getting harsher and faster. you, who thinks that surely your parents wouldnât lock you in here your own bedroom, right? you, whose body feels all weird as you sit in you knees, trying to wrap your head around everything. you, who doesnât know what is going on in your house anymore.
you, who puts your clammy hands and presses them against your knees, arms taut, as you try to calm down, tension flowing through your body.
you, whose bottom lip starts to tremble as a soft sob left your throat. you, who starts to cry for the first time since your childhood, a real emotional, not silent, cry. you, who feels warm tears drip down your face and onto your hands and knees as your head leans downward. you, taking in soft stuttered breaths.
you, who just doesnât understand anything. you, who feels confused and canât identify whatever else you are feeling. you, on your circle carpet that was a new addition to your room, courtesy of your parents. you, whose face has already started to become wet from crying.
you, who starts to feel tears slowly slip off the back of your hand. you, who canât believe this is happening. you, who tries to think hard and rationally like you usually do, used to do. you, thinking if you were in trouble and didnât know, trying to think if you did anything to make your dad parents, your dad angry.
you, who canât believe they have done this to you. you, whose little sobs and sniffles fill up the room. you, who just spends your time feeling your emotions freely, feeling more vulnerable than usual.
you, who looks up in a slow reaction to your dad who walks into your room over an hour later, saying something about laundry. you, who was to busy crying at first to even hear him come in, you who just sees that he has appeared. you, who turned quiet for a moment, staring up at him through wet lashes.
dad, who feigns slight surprise and sets the basket down and coos and asks what is wrong. you, who finally moves a little, bringing your hands that have turned into fists and wipes at your eyes as you cry again.
dad, who sits next to you and rubs your back and pretends this wasnât the reaction he was hoping for. dad, who listens to you try to voice out and string together some sort of sentence but struggles. dad, who sees you cry so softly, seeming to be very fragile.
dad, who already knows what this is all about so when he hears words like âdoorâ and âlockedâ, he fakes putting what you are saying together.
you, who still cries but is at least processing what your dad is doing. you, who just feels a warm, large hand massage circles into your back and hears sweet words being said.
you, who brings your fists down and shakes your head, looking in the direction of your dad but not at him, looking downwards and past him at something random object in your room. you, who sounds more coherent as you bring up the fact he locked you in, a quiet whine pushing past your lips.
dad, who immediately denies that, trying to shush you and bring you closer to him. dad, who says that âof course he didnât honeyâ. dad, who explains to you that âdad would never do that to you. look at you, all worked up hm?â
dad who hugs you and tugs you against him as you continue to cry but is calmed down enough to hear him more clearly.
dad, who says that the door must have been jammed, which must have made you âscaredâ and have âbig feelingsâ.
you, who responds to his denial with a simple âyes you didâ as you hiccup a bit now. you, who feels yourself be situated in a lap, hand bringing your head to rest on a shoulder.
dad, who rests his head on top of yours, saying how you must be feeling confused, calling you silly. dad, who sticks to his story of the door being jammed which is starting to make you question it all.
dad, who cements your self-doubt of the truth by saying âdad wouldnât do that, why would dad want you all stuck in here by yourself,â remarking how that would be unsafe.
you, who nods a bit, agreeing with the closest thing that sounds like what might be happening with you, because you are still too worked up and upset to even think clear enough to correct
you, who after some time has calmed down a bit and is trying to process everything. you, who is starting to feel self-conscious about this all. you, who sits up a little bit but is still in the embrace of your dad.
you, who stares out into the hallway as you try to think hard, eyes meeting the wooden railing of the stairs before turning towards your dad. you, who just stares at his chest because you donât want to look at him.
dad, who wonât push you too much, and make you hold eye contact, he isnât a monster after all.
you, who is quiet now and sits in silence, face warm to the touch from all the crying you did. you, who feels shame from crying in front of your dad.
dad, who notices your slight shift in emotions and immediately squashes that. dad, who canât let you feel insecure about this because it just ruins his plan.
dad, who starts to whisper softly, going on about how tired you must be after getting so upset, how sometimes you just have to get all your bad feelings out and that is okay.
you, who nods slowly and shifts and presses yourself a bit closer to your dad, liking his warmth and trying to seek comfort without realizing it.
dad, who knows that you would never have done something like this before, especially not crying or letting him touch you right after either. dad, who knows that if this happened months ago, the current outcome would be gone.
dad, who fights back a knowing smile and shields his darkened eyes as he rubs your back more. dad, who thinks this couldnât have gone better.
dad, whose plan has worked. you, who has started to be worn down.
an: very fun, very cool, very slick. noooo, donât continuously emotionally distress your child to get them back under your thumb and confuse the ideologies that have been imposed on them. anyway, I like the idea of something so small (but not really small), and something that has been constant routine almost your entire life changes, somehow in some way signifying that something really is happening and is different.
also want to say that I do chose words like âfeeling weirdâ specifically. the concept that you canât articulate or identify everything that you are feeling because you havenât fully conquered that skill. although you are sweet and a great classmate and communicator, you are lacking socioemotional skills for sure lol. sometimes the phrase has context in which I have an idea and feeling in mind, sometimes I like to put it in certain areas for interpretation.
edit: hi! this has been in my drafts for awhile. I thought, hey, might as well upload it! I wanted to have my aunt done first but who cares :) hope you enjoy! please leave feedback!
