Faith

The walls are closing in on me.

I pace the length of my childhood bedroom, running my fingers along the faded pink wallpaper. My heartbeat throbs in my ears, nearly drowning out the muffled shouts from downstairs. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, peering out at the quiet street below. A gentle breeze ruffles the leaves of the big oak tree in our front yard, its branches stretching toward the open sky. How I wish I could escape out that window, climb down the tree, and run until my legs give out.

But the window is locked shut. Just like me.

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, the old springs creaking beneath me. I clutch my old, worn teddy bear on my lap, taking comfort in its familiar softness. Its black button eyes stare back at me, void of judgment or condemnation. If only my parents could be so kind. I try to remind myself that this is ridiculous; I'm more than an adult, and Sadie can't just keep me locked in my bedroom for the rest of my life. Yet, here