Chapter 4

Mom looked a little caught off guard. "Suit yourself."

I nodded. "Let's go home."

The next day, I put on makeup for the first time in a while. When I left, I didn't want to look like a wreck. Dad noticed and asked, "Where are you going?"

I paused. This was the first time in my life he'd ever started a conversation with me on his own. Instead of answering, I asked him a question of my own. "Dad, do you hate me?"

He was quiet for a moment. "No."

I smiled. That was good enough. At least someone in this house didn't hate me.

Mom walked in just then. She lit up when she saw Dad was actually home, but he brushed right past her without a word. Her expression froze, and her hands clenched at her sides.

"I've agreed to have a documentary crew film here," she said.

I didn't understand, so she went on. "It's about documenting real episodes from people like you, people with phobias. They're short on authentic footage, so I told them you'd give a live demonstration."

I stared at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

She said it like it was nothing. "They'll lock you in the dark room, film the whole thing, and use the footage in the documentary."

My body went rigid, but I didn't have the energy to lose it anymore. I didn't even have the energy to say no. It wasn't like I'd never fought back, but I always lost, so none of it mattered anymore.

"Fine. Let them film."

It would be the last image of me left in this world.

She was so pleased with my obedience that she kissed me on the cheek for the first time I could remember. "That's my good girl."

The crew arrived fast. They set up infrared cameras inside the dark room, the kind that could capture every terrified expression on my face in sharp detail.

Mom gave me a push. "Go on in."

I walked in numbly, watching the light disappear from sight. Within seconds, the raw, physical terror crashed over me.

I wanted to hold it together, but I'd underestimated how powerful claustrophobia really was. The familiar trembling hands, cold sweat, and ringing in my ears all came flooding back at once.

I curled up on the floor and clenched my jaw so hard the taste of blood filled my mouth. I'd bitten my tongue hard enough to draw blood.

I wanted to cry, but the thought of the disgust in Mom's eyes stopped me, and I bit down on my wrist instead, refusing to let a single sound escape.

When the half hour of torture was finally over, the door opened, and I was lying face down on the floor. The first thing I saw was my own face on the camera monitor, ghostly pale, smeared with cold sweat and drool. And beneath the monitor, live comments were scrolling nonstop across the screen.

"Kind of gross, but I actually learned a lot about claustrophobia."

"So, this is what the textbooks mean by convulsions and loss of facial control. The more you know."

There were no insults, but the chill that went through me was worse than any of them.

Mom cleared her throat. "See? The viewers are all praising you. After going through this, you're one step closer to being brave."

The more she talked, the more satisfied she looked. "If you want to be my child, you can't be a coward. You have to overcome every fear."

I forced a thin smile. "Got it."

The crew shut down the livestream and packed up. Mom walked them out.

I climbed to the rooftop, 20 floors up, and called her with the wind whipping around me. "Mom, what does the bravest person in the world look like to you?"

She sounded confused on the other end. "Obviously someone like me, who isn't afraid of anything."

I stepped over the railing. "No. It's someone who isn't even afraid to die."

Her voice dropped instantly. "What are you saying?"

I smiled. My voice was barely above a whisper now. "Mom, today, I'm the bravest person in the world."

The phone slipped from my hand. With a smile, I took one last step forward, and I was finally free.