MCYT oneshots

Claustrophobia - Tommy

T/W Past abuse, Mentions of death, Mentions of Murder.

Tommy's P.O.V

People knew that I was claustrophobic, I had mentioned it a few times in streams and off-call conversations so it was something that all of my friends were aware of. Of course, that was all they knew, they had no insight into the cause of such phobia or the extent. No, that wasn't something that I told people, in fact, the only people that knew were the people that caused it and then my social worker and current foster parents. It was on my record, something any adult watching over me was supposed to be made aware of. I should probably go from the start. Ignore my bluntness.

When I was 4 my parents were brutally murdered. In front of me. Now, it's not something I vividly remember, more of a distant memory from a past life, only really showing in my nightmares but nonetheless traumatising. Then, I was placed in the system. My first family was surprisingly nice, it's not often that you get a good family first try. I thought my life would be fine. I spent 2 years with them when their biological daughter died. She was only 3. She had run out into the front of the house when no one was watching and crawled into the road by a blind turn. The driver couldn't have known she was there. Anyway, after that, they were in such grief that they called my social worker and asked for her to take me back as they were scared something like that would happen to me too. I've never blamed them, the poor people were distraught - rightfully so.

So there I was, once again, this time I was 6 though. Not that it made much difference. It was 4 months before another couple came in, looking to adopt. I was the 'lucky' chosen kid. This house however was much different from the last. The parents already had two sons (which they hadn't mentioned) one of which was extremely violent and liked to use me as his human punching bag. The other son tried to protect me when he could but he was a smart and liked kid usually going out with his friends or doing after school clubs, so he wasn't around very often. My social worker came for a surprise visit 6 months in and upon seeing my bruised and battered body, she pulled me from the house.

Half a year passed so I was 7 when I got taken to my 3rd house. Now, by this point, you're probably wondering, where does claustrophobia come into this? Well, you'll find out now. This was the worst house of them all. The parents were absolute monsters. They only fostered me to become their slave. I did everything that they asked of me and if I didn't or it wasn't up to their standards... I would be punished. These punishments included beatings, being locked outside for nights on end, food restrictions - more than normal - but the worst out of all of them... Was the closet. There was a sturdy wooden closet in the basement of the house and the father would lock me inside, chaining it shut. That's where my extreme claustrophobia stemmed from. The pitch-black, the fact I could barely fit in it even though I was severely underweight and overall pretty small. My shoulders were pressed against either side of the wall making me hunch over myself, knees to my chest - I guess that's where my bad posture and intense back pain came from. I would scream until my throat bled, scratching at the walls until my fingers were rubbed raw but no one ever came. The basement was pretty deep and we were living in a small village that was quite secluded so I guess it made sense that no one heard. I would be locked in there for days at a time only being allowed out for scheduled bathroom breaks.

It was a night where I had been locked out of the house when I decided to call it quits. I didn't know if I was strong enough to take living in that house much longer, physically or mentally. I stumbled down the dark streets trying my hardest to ignore the deep, throbbing ache in my empty stomach.

Eventually, I came across a phone booth and called my social workers number. She had made me memorise it from a young age so I would always be able to call for help. The problem was, the couple I had been staying with, didn't have a working landline phone and if they did, it was kept hidden away. My social worker picked me and brought me to the hospital where I had to stay for 2 months. Turns out severe malnutrition was worse than I thought and I actually had some serious spinal damage from 'the closet'.