Staring I stay on the rocks of the walkway. Loneliness feels like an eternity, I wish I never left, but I had to. With all the punches both emotionally and physically it seemed like my only option. It’s been four years… no contact. I almost had nothing. My “mom” who I still refuse to accept as who she really is clarified everything was hers and nothing could ever be mine. 

My “mom”; long black hair approaching her lower back, and pupils more like a black hole than an area of sight. It was like she could never see me for me, or even see me at all. “Aleena! What did I say!” My mom would scream and that’s how I knew it was my time to enter The Basement. “The Basement” refers to seeing how long I would last in an elevator-sized room. In order to get out, you had to promise to stay in the house for a week. She hated for me to see the real world and socialize. It was not like she wanted to keep my innocence, she wanted me to feel secluded from the world. That's one of the reasons I left. I needed to see the world. But I soon noticed that living in this “real world” was no better than an elevator-sized room with no family, belongings, or knowing where to go next. 

“You will never make it, it’s better you stay here. You’re not cut out for this world.” My “mom” piercingly screamed. She always screamed. 

“You both trapped me here, I feel less like a human and more like an object,” I said as my eyes watered. Then the punch hit like no other, I was used to them but not compared to this singular one. My nose seemingly turned black and blue in an instant. I stared into her two black holes of eyes trying to receive some empathy that families should have for one another. At least the families in the “real world.” But we are in a fake world, a world filled with never-ending lies. She looks me up and down with a smirk and says “You're here to stay, you will never make it out there. Is it not fun here?” with a subtle yet quite noticeable wink. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to stop the tears from plummeting out. She hates tears. If she were to see my cry, her argument would be strengthened. “I love it here,” I said with a slight smile trying to hide my fear. She moved her hand closer to my face and yanked my hair. She walked away. 

That was the interaction that set it off. It was like I just knew I had to go. My life was bad but not as harsh as my life has been these past few years. I left when I was 12, now I’m 16. I taught myself everything. I had no siblings to stay for. Just one brutal “mom” to flee from. I remember the day I left like no other, it was the devil's hour. I climbed out my window with my backpack on filled only halfway because my “mom” made it clear I had no belongings; they were hers and only hers. I was scared but not enough to stay. I was more scared to remain in the same house as my “mom” than to be in the unknown. My future, which could be filled with nothing my homelessness seemed more like home than the seemingly looking one. 

When I entered the “real world” I was in complete shock. But I had nowhere to go. The first few weeks I spent on a bench in the park or against a bank wall which had a slight roof over the ATM which made for a great shelter to settle in. But it was too much to handle. I walked until I found an orphanage, my hands were shaking as I was walking in knowing I could be placed into a “real home.” I never was. No one ever adopts teenagers. They walk in and immediately ask for the younger kids, preferably under the age of 5. I walked in with so much hope but I soon realized it won't be reality. Why can’t I have a “real life” in the “real world?” After a few years of living there, although they treated me with much respect, I felt so alone more than I had in my fake home. I lost hope of getting a better life, maybe I didn’t deserve it. So I left. And now I’m here, standing on the cobblestone walkway leading up to my fake home that I wish would turn “real.”

I need to go in, but if my “mom” was that terrible to me with such minor mistakes, how mad would she be now after 4 years and me escaping? But she never made an effort to find me. At least I don't think so. The orphanage would be the first place to go but I guess not. Maybe she thought of me as her fake child. At least that's all I felt I was. It was like I was her punching bag. I hope she changed. I scuff the bottoms of my shoes on each gray cobblestone I walk across, trying to delay the most I could from knocking on the door. My teeth sink into my lower lip; the taste of blood arises. I look up from the walkway and see the door, which the outside I never saw since I was trapped. I had only seen the other side—wishing to get through. I wanted another chance at a family. I watched hundreds of kids walk out of the orphanage with a huge smile on their faces looking up at their new parents. If I couldn’t get adopted I needed to try to feel that way with my “mom.” 

My hand reaches towards the door, but I immediately take it back. My breathing gets heavy. Is this a mistake? I creep away from the door in fear. I place three big knocks on the old wooden door. My heart races as I realize what I had just done. I see a light flicker on in the hallway, my “mom’s” black hair is a clear sight through the window on the top of the door. I bite my tongue and pitch the side of my thigh as I wait for what’s to come. 

The door shoots open and I’m there face to face with my “mom.’ She looks worse than ever, her black circles are impending almost like she had not slept for weeks. She’s so pale. “Aleena, what are you doing here?” she said in a seemingly concerning tone. 

“I’m sorry.” is all I could get out. She stares at me in such disgust but yet of joy at the thought of all she could do to me now that I am back. In a flash, she whips her left hand, the same one she used to punch me with to my forearm, and drags me inside. I tried to fight but I knew it is over. I’m trapped. Again. 

She pushes me against a wall—a wall I forgot existed in the very back of the house. Secluded. Secluded. I repeat that word in my head again and again. I’m alone, we’re alone, what is she possibly going to do with me here? Alone. Both of her hands are on my arms now, sinking into my sink almost like she’s making indents. 

“Don’t be sorry, your here to stay now. For real this time.” She mockingly says. Suddenly I realize what she means by this as I look up. Cameras. Everywhere. At each corner of the room, there’s one, moving at each settle movement. As hard as it is, I take my eyes off the cameras and switch my attention to the front door, the one I just got forced into. A lock. A big lock. One with a thousand combinations. Why would she add all of this, if I left? Are there others?

Her knuckles clash against the bridge of my nose. I look down and see blood gushing down my neck onto my shirt. She slaps me. Again. And again. This was a mistake. A really big mistake. She has changed, but for the worse. “I told you, you would never make it out there, you deserve to be here, with me.” she says with her famous smirk. I nod as I place my fingers against both sides of my nose trying to stop the blood from rushing. 

“Can I have a napkin, for my nose?” I say with complete fear in my eyes. 

“You know where they are… in your room. Oh and there’s a few others up there, your siblings.” She says smiling. My heart jumps out of my chest. Siblings! I take a deep breath in and realize what I just got myself into. I slowly trek up the stairs which make a creaking sound each step up. It’s silent once I get up the last stair. I approach my door, well my “mom’s” door, and hesitate. My hand reaches out toward the doorknob and I turn it slowly. I flinched, and my eyes squinted toward the led light. A boy and a girl around the age of 3 poke their heads out of their hands. And I immediately see the same fear I had in their eyes. 

I say to try to reassure them, “I know this is weird, but don’t be scared. I was once here, I’m her daughter.” I remember my nose and quickly cover it with the sleeve of my shirt. At first, they stare blankly. Do they know how to talk? 

“Are you here to help?” The little boy says while shaking. I don’t know how to respond, this wasn’t the ideal reason I came back. But I know this happened for a reason. 

“Yes, I’m going to help you two escape, I did a few years back. I know how to trick her.” I say sincerely. 

“Then why did you come back, if you were free?” The little girl whispers. I knell down to her side, “ I don’t know, I felt like I should.” I say trying not to scare her. All I can do now is attempt to make their childhood better than mine. “Let’s head to bed, I’ll wake you two up when it’s time.” I say smiling. 

I decide to stay up all night, so I would not miss the hour we need to leave at. As I remain awake, my attention wanders around the room. Cameras. I bite my lip and lay a punch into my pillow. I should have known. All of a sudden I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I quickly turn on my side and close my eyes to make it seem like I’ve been asleep for hours. She enters the room and places a lock on the side of the door. She turns around and walks out the door. The sound of the lock becoming clasped is apparent. I place my hands over my face and start to sob. I get the urge to scream so I cover my face with a pillow and scream silently into it. Maybe we are all trapped here. For good. In a fake world.