The Closed Door, Part 1.
The lock would only hold for so long.
“Open this door, Lillie!” His voice reverberated in my skull, enhancing the headache I’d been nursing for the last hour. The door shook as his fist lashed against the thin wood, forcing me backwards towards the open window.
I didn’t need much more time, but I needed to run.
I grabbed my trusted knapsack, a faded leather bag my Mom made me for summer camp years ago. My phone and charging cable, an extra set of clothes, and writing supplies all went into the knapsack. I snatched the small plastic bag on my dresser and stuffed it inside my black combat boot. Hoisting my bag over my shoulders, I looked around my sanctuary one last time.
Books upon books littered my floor to ceiling shelving on one wall, spilling out onto the purple carpet. All read more than once, all dogeared with notes and post-its inside. Each one a world I disappeared into when reality slapped me in the face.
My bed covered most of the remaining space, king sized and canopied with curtains out of a Victorian era. I often imagined myself a princess behind those fabrics, or a warrior queen readying her forces to save her country. The only place I could sleep soundly.
I murmured a near silent farewell to my sacred spaces.
