LOCKED IN

I push my blackout curtain to the left and take a peek outside my window to check what the shouting I heard moments before was about. I view a small group of people, three girls and two men, none could be over twenty-five. I see now the reason for all the screams. The tall girl with long, blonde hair and green eyes is being picked up and put over one of the larger man’s broad shoulders. They look like a couple, at least from what I’ve seen on TV. My eyes linger on them for a few moments longer as my mind wanders, wondering where they’re going and what they’ll do. I notice in my peripheral vision that the other man with floppy black hair and piercing blue eyes has now stopped walking and is staring at me. He notices I see him and waves ever so slightly with a crooked smile spread across his olive skin. A crooked but cute smile. I am still for several moments, like a deer entrapped by the beaming headlights, as he’s staring me down, making my heart thump twice as hard. I take a few heavy breaths before closing my curtain, and shutting myself back into the abyss that is my apartment. 

I walk across my living room and crumble into my navy blue leather sofa that’s wearing down and is barely comfortable anymore. I should’ve gotten a new one years ago but that would mean leaving my apartment and that is a stage I am just now reaching. I glide my hands across the cushion, grazing every crack and hole that have gained over time. I sit on my vintage couch a few moments longer, thinking of the group of friends beyond my window I so badly crave to be a part of. Not necessarily their group but to simply be a part of something, anything. I let out a sigh and check my phone for the time. Five o’ clock on the dot; fifteen minutes before my therapist is scheduled to arrive.

I make my way back to my watchtower window, seeing that the batch of buddies has now migrated to a small section of grass shaded by an apple tree. The man who had waved at me earlier stands, picking barely ripe apples and putting them into a colorful bag with the words “Trader Joes” labeled along the top. I am confused by this saying but move on for I am confused by just about everything past the limits of my apartment. I take one last glance at the small circle of friends who are laughing at a joke that the short tan girl with dreadlocks made before pulling my hands away from the window, leaving handprints in the center of the chilled glass and dragging the curtains to a close.

The fifteen minutes are up, signified by the doorbell being rung by who should be my, until now, online therapist. I check my gold-lined wrist watch gifted to me from my grandfather before he passed, giving me a feeling of strength with each look upon it. I am up quickly to grab a sealed plastic bag and some gloves before opening my front door to her. “Hello!” I caw at her, opening my door not much more than an inch. “Would you mind removing your shoes so I can bag them up?” As I ask this, I can tell she is taken aback by my request but takes them off anyway. I know she understands. 

I hand her a baby wipe and some hand sanitizer along with it. I am finally done with my irrational cleanliness needs and let her in, inside my one place where I can feel safe and sanctious. 

“It’s nice to finally meet in person, Ariel.” She pauses. “But it does bring up the question, why?” She says it with a smile so full of warmth it could melt your heart. Not many say this about their therapists, but I really do love her. She’s the closest thing I’ve had to a mom, she’s gotten me over obstacles I never thought I’d overcome, and within the past year has collected the most personal information on me possible. God, I can’t wait to tell her my news! “I think today’s the day.” She’s confused now. “The day I finally go outside, maybe even stop my therapy!” Finally to leave this place, finally to get over my agoraphobia and finally to go out there again. For the first time since I was just twelve and my mother was taken from me by some desperate druggie with a gun just looking for a few bucks. They were never caught, and by God I’ve not feel safe in this world with that sicko still free. 

    “Outside! That’s- well, that’s-,” she seems off, frustrated even; I thought she’d be happy for me. She manages to plaster a clearly fake smile upon her round, porcelain cheeks that confuses me. “You’re not ready.” She says this softly but I can see the anger inside her. “Yes.” I say it simply. “Yes, I am. I’m ready to see the world beyond this goddamn apartment!” 

 “It’s too much for you, and It’s too much for me!” I don’t have a clue what this has to do with her so I let her proceed. “Who’s the one who got you here, huh? Me! And now you just want to quit because you think you’re ready? Well, you’re not and you’re too childish to even get that, aren’t you? You’re too childish to get that these sessions are what pay my goddamn bills!” I wouldn’t have ever expected a reaction like this from Darlene. The one person who has been my only form of comfort throughout the past year doesn’t even wish for me to succeed; she doesn’t believe in me, just like nobody else does, just like dad didn’t. Suddenly I am up and heading towards my balcony. I grace my hand upon the cool, metal handle attached to the sliding door separating me and the exterior world. “Jesus, what do you think you’re doing?” Darlene spouts. I am clenching the handle with all my grip as my heart palpitates inside me. I breathe shakily and smoothe the door until it’s open. Immediately I am struck by the steady breeze as I step onto the balcony floor, my heart still pounding.