Locked Up

Chapter 1

"Dad, why do I have to stay here?" I ask my dad, whose sitting in the giant chair across from me. His hair is slicked back and and his hands are folded in his lap.
"It's for your own protection, honey," he replies calmly. Tears form in my eyes, and I let them fall.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. So many days in this room, I start to think I'm going insane sometimes. But now my hands are stacked on top of each other, resting on the window sill just like they do everyday. I hear a soft knock over the low beat that flows through my headphones. Mac walks in holding a tray that must be my lunch. I can't even leave my room to go to the kitchen. "Hey, Annie," Mac says softly. "Where you want this?" He looks at me and sets it down on the nearest shelf. Then takes a seat on a chair near mine. "What's up?"

I look up at him. Dad makes him wear a uniform everyday, but I don't know why. The only people that see him at all during the day are my dad and myself. But I think the entire staff has to wear the same shirt. "Nothing. That's whats up. The same as everyday, all year, since I was born. But enough of me, what's up with you." I say bitterly. He knows that nothing happens up here. I think he only says it because he knows it gets to me.
"Well, you know, school's still a bitch. My girlfriend's a bitch. The world's a bitch, and my life's a bitch. And that will probably never change, until the day I die." A cocky smirk appears on his face and he pats my knee before getting out of the chair. He stretches, messes up my hair, and walks out of the room locking the door behind him from the outside.

The wooden floor is cool as I cross my room to the bathroom. I close the door behind me and stare at the reflection through the mirror. I'm repulsed by what I see. My brown hair is messy and frizzy from Mac, my make up is smeared around my brown eyes, and there's a gross pimple close to my hairline that is unavoidable against my pale skin. Finished with looking in the mirror, I go back to the tray Mac left and poke the jello that jiggles in the small, clear, plastic cup. Besides the jello, there is some kind of thick, yellowish soup, a packet of saltine crackers, and a bottle of juice. I stir the soup and push the bowl aside on the tray, revealing a small piece of lined paper. In sloppy writing, a message was written.

Annie,
You'll get out of here someday.
Don't give up, keep dreaming.
Mac.

I grab a pen from my desk across the room and flip the paper upside down.

Mac,
No, I won't. I'm trapped here forever.
To late. I gave up dreaming for lent.
Annie

I smile and slip the paper under the still warm bowl, letting the corner stick out so he knows it's there.