Chapter 2 A Doorless Room

On the seventh day after I started writing a diary, I threw up in the exam hall during the monthly exam.

The moment I received the paper, the noise in the room suddenly became muffled, as though I had been dragged to the bottom of the ocean.

The supervisor's footsteps, the rustling papers, the announcement overhead—everything blurred into a buzzing noise.

My heartbeat drowned every sound. It pounded in my chest, and it was unbearably painful.

My homeroom teacher helped me to the corridor and called Mom.

…

Half an hour later, Mom rushed to the school.

Ms. Romano said, "Nadine doesn't seem well. You should take her home to rest."

"There's no need." Mom fished the report out of her bag.

Lately, she had been carrying it around. The papers were visibly frayed.

"She had a checkup a few days ago, and she's absolutely healthy. Isn't it too much of a coincidence to throw up right during the monthly exam?"

A few students came into the hallway to fill their bottles. Their curious eyes darted between the report and my face.

Ms. Romano's voice dropped to a whisper. "It could be that she's stressed."

Mom's eyes were reddened with emotion in an instant. "There's no way she's stressed! I basically neglected my needs to take care of her. When she said she's unwell, I immediately took her for a checkup. The result clearly mentions she's not sick! I don't understand why she pulled another stunt right now. What else should I do?"

My classmates' piercing gaze pinned me to the spot.

I recalled the last exam. Overwhelmed by discomfort, I rushed out of the exam hall.

The moment Mom arrived, she slapped me in front of everyone and scolded me. "Stop being a drama queen. Why can't you just sit the exam like others?"

I argued that I was not feeling well, but she immediately shut me down and insisted I was talking nonsense.

I added that my heart was beating unusually fast, but she believed that I was only trying to skip the exam.

So today, she turned to me and asked, "Are you able to continue the exam?"

I nodded. "Yes."

She was relieved to hear that. "See? She's tough and can handle it."

Ms. Romano escorted me back into the hall.

As I walked past the back row, someone whispered, "Isn't she having depression?"

Another student sneered. "No way. It's more like a delusion. Her mother even brought the medical report to prove that she's faking it."

They let out muffled laughter.

I returned to my seat and picked up the pen.

My head was swimming, and I could barely recognise the questions on the paper. I tried to write my answers slowly, word by word, but I struggled to hold on.

…

In the afternoon, Ms. Romano summoned me to the office.

Mom was already waiting there.

My incomplete exam paper was spread out in front of her.

She did not spare me a second glance. Instead, she clutched Ms. Romano's hand and shed anxious tears. "Ms. Romano, you have no idea how hard my life is. When Nadine said she has issues, I took her for a checkup right away. Now that the result shows she's fine, she still refuses to cooperate. I wonder what else I can ever do to please her."

Her accusations drew other teachers' attention to me.

Someone offered her a tissue.

Ms. Romano sighed sympathetically. "You surely carry a heavy burden on your shoulders, Mrs. Tucker."

Then, she turned to me, saying in earnest, "Mrs. Tucker is a good mother. You should be more grateful."

I nodded. An apology left my mouth. "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have done that."

When we went home, Mom snapped a photo of my unfinished exam paper and posted it in the family group chat.

'Nadine threw up during the monthly exam again and didn't finish her paper. She always throws a tantrum during the exam. It's getting old.'

Aunt Ghita rushed to support her. 'The girl is running away from her responsibility again. She needs to be disciplined.'

Uncle Orion echoed their opinions. 'She's fragile. Sometimes I wonder if she's your daughter at all. How did she become such a weakling when you, her mother, have been independent since you were young?'

As always, Dad's reply came last. 'She probably overthinks it again when she's alone. Next time, leave her bedroom door open. Don't let her lock herself in the room.'

That very night, he entered my room with a toolbox to unscrew the hinges.

I watched by the bed as he removed the door.

Mom watched him work outside with her arms crossed.

"Isolation attracts negative thoughts. Last time, you threw a fit and stopped us from taking down the door. This time, you're not getting away from it. This is the last time we tolerate you"

My trembling hand grabbed the doorknob.

This was my last straw.

I wanted to appeal to their reasons, but my mind kept racing with what harsh words she would spew and how she would cry that it was for my own good.

The idea discouraged me. In the end, I said nothing.

From that day on, my room was left without a door.

Whenever I wanted to change, I could only do it under the blanket.

Even when I had trouble falling asleep at night, I did not dare to toss and turn in bed.

Mom would pass the corridor frequently to check whether I was crying.

It was already midnight the fourth time she checked on me.

I heard her bragging to Dad. "Look, she's behaving now. We should've set boundaries long ago. All we did before was coddle her."