The Closet

“There was only one rule: don't open the door.”
Mommy told me. No matter what you hear, do not open the door.
But this is a hard rule to follow because he's hurting mommy and I want to help her. She doesn't know it but I'm really tough. For a moment I imagine I'm Spiderman and I lasso Harold in my web and fling him off the side of our one story house.
Harold is like a balloon and I pictured him disappearing further and further into the sky until he is gone.
6 loud knocks outside, “YOU STUPID CUNT!”
I pull at the bottom of my powder blue dinosaur pj's. I have a wedgie and I'm kind of thirsty. Mommy woke me up and made me get in here. I wonder how long it will be this time. I don't like being here, it smells funny in the closet. It smells like Harold’s black socks when he takes them off when he gets home.
“Harold please.”
I'm standing on shoes, I'm standing on one of Harold's nice shiny black shoes, the tops are kind of hard so I move my feat around till I'm standing on my mom's sneakers, they are much softer. I'm getting tired of standing and I crouch down.
The coats and clothes in plastic bags are soft. I push them around so I can lean back against them, but they don't end up being a good pillow. I sigh in frustration from not being able to get comfortable.
I wonder how much time has passed. My head bangs on the back of the closet…it was really loud.
“What was that?” I hear a chair slide, a dull rasp as it moves against the grain of the hardwood floor in the kitchen. “What the fuck was that?” Loud thuds across the floor closer and closer to me. I feel warm pee soaking through the cotton of my pj's and run down my legs cold.
“Harold no!” Mommy is screaming, I hear the clumsy steps and shuffles as mommy follows Harold to the closet.
My stomach makes a gurling sound as I stare at the door knob, watching it slowly turn at first .. and then.
The knob twists violently and the light shining into the closet is bright after being in the closet so long. I squint and wince in pain as Harold grabs and pinches my collar bone, my entire little shoulder fitting into the palm of his hand, his fingers dig into my flesh.
He throws me a few feet across the room and it feels like lightning when my butt hits the floor, the back of my head feels cold where it cracked against the coffee table. I stare into the clouds of popcorn ceiling as the warm blood pools around my shoulders, my mother is crying and I am gone.


***If you or someone you know has been a victim of domestic violence help is available. Call 1-800-799-7233 to speak with a crisis representative.