Emotional Closet Novels & Stories

“Unlike you, who smells like testosterone and mild trauma.” “I am trauma,” I mutter under my breath. She snorts. “At least you’re self-aware. That’s step one. Maybe there’s hope for you.” “I doubt it,” I say. “I’ve been emotionally stunted since birth.” She doesn’t respond for a second. Then, almost thoughtfully, she says, “That explains your terrible taste in jackets.” I glance down at my perfectly normal black zip-up. “What’s wrong with my jacket?” “It screams brooding loner who peaked in high school.”

He pulled her along and threw her into the closet, locking the door in a rush before Emily could get her balance and rush to escape the room. “You’re going to listen to me!” Jackson says from the other side of the door. “I’m locking you here for the rest of the day, till the smell goes off. I can’t afford your stinking body to affect my whole house. You should stay inside this closet forever and I’ll come for you whenever I want you. As for breakfast or lunch or dinner, you’d be getting none, until you figure out where that smell is coming from inside your body.” “Jackson!!! You can’t do this! You can’t lock me inside the closet. You can’t do this to your wife!” Emily kept crying as her frag

"Jess, please don't feel sad about my departure, and don't blame yourself. The choice I made has nothing to do with you. When I was little, every time my parents fought, I'd hide in the closet. It was dark and cold inside, but in that tiny space, I felt safe. "At that time, the small closet was my whole world. Later, you pulled me out of that place. The world outside was so big. It wasn't dark, but somehow, I never felt safe. I guess I overestimated myself. Someone who spent so much time hiding in small spaces could never adapt to a world this large.

I slam my eyes shut in disappointment, “Shit! Shit! Shit! I thought I got rid of them? They weren’t convinced enough? When the hell did they walk into this place?” I bite my lower lip as I slowly push my head out of the wardrobe, giving an awkward laugh, then I slowly step out, covering him with my body in the process, still trying to hide him… another foolish mistake. I’m not sure who I’m protecting, tho, the police officers, or the devil I have in my closet. “Who’s in there with you?” The officer barks, the particularly annoying one always standing by the right. “No one,” I lie, trying to come up with a believable explanation because apparently, the last attempt was a total fail! “I kinda

I said and sat down on my bed. She came inside my room and closed the door slowly. "You know, there are people who don't feel emotions at all. They don't feel happy, or sad, or angry, guilt, they don't feel anything." I explained to her. "And I'm one of those people, kid. I can't feel emotions." I continued. "So, the rumors are true. You're just like your sociopath mom, who is in jail right now. Well, why would I be surprised? You're a daughter of a nutcase." She uttered with a very unfamiliar tone.

“I don’t think it is. People express emotions in different ways. Doesn’t necessarily have to be through crying. Sometimes, what we feel is so overwhelming that even tears won’t suffice.” I know because I’ve been there. As a kid, I used to cry whenever I felt neglected by my parents, but it reached a stage where I stopped. Not because I ran out of tears or got tired of crying, but because I’d already developed a wound so deep that not even crying would heal it. “What if he doesn’t feel anything at all?” Nikolai goes on. “What if he’s buried his emotions so deep that all he feels is emptiness? Numbness? Would that make him a freak?”

" Tristan's voice was thick with tears by the time he was done speaking. However, I simply looked at him coldly while peeling his fingers away from my hands. "It's too late, Tristan," I said. "I've already left the closet, and I'm never going back inside ever again." Tristan had confessed his true feelings much too late.

The quietness makes the ache inside me stronger, but the warmth of those cherished times still lingers like a comforting hug that eases the sadness amidst the emptiness. The closed door to my father's office at the end of the hallway stands as a strong emotional barrier for me. This room is filled with memories of my experiences with him, bringing back a sense of nostalgia. As I approach the door, I feel a mix of hesitation and desire, as it represents both what I know and what I don’t. The emotions tied to opening this door reflect a complicated relationship with my past, which makes me hesitant to step inside.

“I just didn’t know how to handle everything so I pushed you away” I’ve never been good at communicating my feelings. I've never been good at even acknowledging them. When I’m stressed or over emotional, I shut down. I try to bury them so that I can function properly. Pushing my emotions down is usually better than acknowledging them. Now I know that isn’t healthy at all. “Are you okay now?” “Not all the way, but I will be” I assure her. I don’t know how I plan to do that, but I was going to come out of this stronger.

A bittersweet smile spread across my face, followed by a clenched fist that found its way to the shower wall with a satisfying thud. They were holding back. They kept their emotions in check because they didn't want me to feel the pain. They were being cautious, perhaps even too careful, at the cost of their own emotional resolution. I ran my fingers over the mark on my neck, that indelible symbol of connection, intimacy, and, in its own way, a commitment complicated by the very nature of who we were. I pressed against it lightly, then more firmly, an attempt to send a signal, a ripple through the emotional tapestry that bound us. In my mind, I was nudging them, prodding them to deal with th