Day 4
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"Where are you going, y/n?" Camilo yells, chasing after you. You run faster, back down the stairs and out of the house. You can't handle this. All of the terrible memories in that room have resurfaced.
When you get outside the house, you don't stop running. Where should you go? Where can you go? Tears start streaming down your face, and you can hear Camilo's footsteps getting closer.
"Y/n! Where are you going?"
You run a bit farther, almost making it to the river, until a pair of arms wraps around your waist, almost knocking you over.
"Hey! Let me go!" You yell, trying to escape Camilo's grasp. He completely ignores your attempt to get away, and continues holding on to you.
"Let me go!" You yell again.
"No... not until you calm down a bit," he responds. Trying to trick him, you pretend to slow down your tears and breathing. When he lets you go, you go running again.
However, once again your plans fail. This time, he tackles you, and grabs your wrist to keep you from leaving when you both stand up.
"What do you want?" you ask him, tears still flowing from your eyes.
"I want to know why you ran off, and if you're ok."
"Well... it's a long story...."
"It's ok, I have at least an hour."
"Oh, ok... can we go sit by the river?"
"Sure."
When you get to the river, you sit there for a moment, trying to collect yourself. When you stop crying, you tell him the stories from your childhood room.
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Y/n flashback:
It was a summer evening. I was 7.
I was doodling in a notebook in my room, when my dad walks in. When he sees me drawing, he snatches up the notebook.
"Hey-" I mumble.
"Don't 'hey' me," he grumbles in response, "why haven't you completed your chores?"
"What do you mean? I did everything I was supposed to."
"Then why isn't there any bread on the table?"
"Huh?"
"You were supposed to put in an order for the bakery this morning so I could pick it up on my way home from work!"
"I was?"
"YES."
"Oh- I didn't know!"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T KNOW? I TOLD YOU YESTERDAY."
"Hey, I'm sorry- I must not have heard you-" you wince, tears beginning to stream down your face.
"YOU ACKNOWLEDGED IT WHEN I SAID IT. YOU IDIOT- THE BAKER IS CLOSING DOWN HIS SHOP FOR THE NEXT THREE DAYS. DO YOU REALLY WANT US TO GO HUNGRY?"
"N-no!"
"WELL I DON'T BELIEVE YOU." He throws the notebook at the desk, knocking down the pencils that were laying on the desk.
"I'm sorry-" you cry.
"You know what..." he says, "if you really want us to starve that bad, then two can play that game."
Without warning, he stomps out of the room and slams the door. When you try to leave your room a while later, you can't. He's placed a shelf on the other side of the door to lock you in. Scared, you start vigorously banging on the door.
"Dad? DAD! LET ME OUT! PLEASE!"
You weren't let out for 3 days, when your mom finally managed to move the shelf on her own. The entire time, no one fed you. This is just one of your many terrible memories of that room.