Social Anxiety Disorder

chapter three

it's been almost a year since I updated and I sincerely apologize, but I will try to continue this book. although, it's going to end up a bit differently then I originally planned, so it isn't as cliché.
you'll see.
also, there's an abusive trigger warning in the entire book.
-=-
I woke up on the floor the next morning, my back against my wooden bed frame and my cover dragged against the floor. I blinked a few times, groaning as I looked around. It took me a moment or two before I realized I was laying on the carpet.
I licked my lips, getting up and stumbling a bit. Glancing at my electric clock, sitting on my nightstand, I jumped back in realization of the time.
"10:23?!" I almost shouted, tripping over the covers that have been grabbing at my feet. I sat up, quickly, kicking them off and running towards my closet. I grabbed the first thing I saw, a navy blue shirt, throwing it on.
Why didn't my alarm go off?
I slipped off my pajamas, throwing my casual wear on for school. I opened the door in a rush, freezing as I remembered what day it was.
Saturday.
I sighed, relaxing tremendously. As I turned around, I began to walk towards my bed, picking up my book on the way. I sat down with it, putting it on my lap. As I opened the book, I tried to recall yesterday, something I usually did in the morning. But, as usual, it was all a blur. I recalled getting detention suddenly, my body shivering as I remembered how my mom reacted. My hand glazed over my pants, and, as expected, I flinched as the fabric touched a bruise. I took a deep breath, the part of me dearly opening it wasn't real falling apart in disappointment.
I shook my head, as if just with the simple movement my mind would be free from my own thoughts.
Flipping a few pages, I turned my attention back onto my book. It was a fantastic story, one that I've read many, many times before. It helped me escape from the cruel claws of reality, making my mind flow into the book as if I was the character itself. Experiencing adventure, action, slicing anything that gets in her way. The character was strong and confident, she stood up for what she believed in even though she was commonly demeaned for it. I longed to be her, even for a day.
Strong, confident, assertive.
I smiled, faintly, at the thought of not crying in fear every time I was yelled at, or shake at the thought of meeting and speaking to new people. I wanted to be the character, but I knew deep down that I could never have the confidence she does.
I looked down, surprised to see small, wet spots on my book's page. Putting a hand to my cheek, I realized that I was crying. At first, I thought nothing of it until I heard footsteps from downstairs.
Jumping up, I put my book down, walking quickly to my mirror. I saw my eyes, puffy and red, and wiped my tears. I dabbed my eyes, trying to make it look a bit more normal.
I couldn't let her see me cry.
I knew what would happen if I did. More yelling, more screaming, more tears. As if I was thrown into a circle of sobbing, not escaping until my eyes deciding that it was enough tears. Or, even worst, being thrown into a dark room. Knowing that the light switch is right above you, but if you turn it on she will grab and hit you. Knowing that if she continues to hear you cry, the longer you'd be stuck in the dark room. The longer you'd be exposed to more dangerous, horrible monsters that will grab you and shred you alive.
Although, I'm not afraid of that anymore. After being locked in a dark room for so long, you begin to feel comfortable in it. You begin to realize that you are actually kept away from the monster.
Because the monster is right on the other side of the door.