Chapter One: I'm Not Dead, Yet.
Maybe it was my "teen against" that triggered it, or I was just expressing my emotions like my therapist says I have a lack of. Or maybe, just maybe it was just the fact that I haven't stepped outside since I was five? No, the real reason, was a letter. A fucking letter of all things, that surfaced it all, an acceptance letter. My father irate beyond belief. My mother, just silenced letting my father talk for this one, once again choosing him over me. Why? I couldn't tell you. The envelope funnily enough was ripped in half across the room, thanks to dear old dad.
I was eighteen, a legal adult, I could smoke and sign my self up for the army if I wanted. The thing that stopped me was a sweaty pissed off man that just so happened to be in our living room. I would forever be that same five year old little girl to them, weak, lost, and broken. It was pathetic, they are pathetic. I stared at the ground, glaring.
"You are not going," my fathers voice tight and angered.
I felt his stare on me, daring for me to question, I just smiled.
"Rage is a good sound for you dad, your really scaring me there," mockery lacing every word.
"Abel," my therapist pleaded over the phone, "listen to your father, and George, maybe you could.."
Dad hung up on her, typical.
"You are not leaving this house, even if it means I have to bolt that damn door shut," he said pointing towards it.
"Try me," I said, glaring.
He slammed his hand on the wall, glaring at it all the while.
"Why not dad? Hmm?" I said crossing my arms across my chest, "I'm not that week little girl anymore, you can't keep locked up here," I yelled.
"Sweetie," my mother started.
"No, I'm sick of this. I sick of being in my room," I said pointing towards ceiling.
"Abel, I'm sorry but your father and I decided. Dr. Morgan said that it would be too much for you to handle."
"You're not getting it are you?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I havent seen a thing for thirteen fucking years of my life," my voice raising. "I'm not some animal that you can keep locked up. I want to live, breathe, meet new people. Hell, even sitting on the porch to breathe in the air. Can't you allow me that?" I said.
"Sweetie, I'm sorry," she said as she put her hand on my shoulder, "but we can't let you. How about tomorrow I let you open the window for a little bit? Sound good? Now why don't you go to sleep, we'll talk about other options tomorrow morning."
I hear her walk away, each step echoing in my head, walking away like it was nothing, like I was nothing to her. I glared at the floor, before I felt my way to the stairs. I heard my parents door shut, and I walked up the stairs, determined more than ever to get out. I walked up to the room and waited until it was dead silent in my home. The hall closet held my mother suitcases, so I grabbed them and packed everything and anything. I took money that I had saved from over the years from selling things over the internet, something my parents had never figured out. The last thing I heard was the father clock ringing its haunting tone, it was 3am, I had 3 more hours before they noticed. I looked back inside, shook my head and headed for the buses.
