Chapter 4- Close Walls

When the woman finally left, the door clicked shut again. This time it sounded even louder, like the whole room was listening. I stood still for a long moment, waiting to hear her footsteps fade down the hallway.

They didn’t fade. They just stopped. Like she was standing right outside.

Charlie pressed close to me. “Don’t move yet,” he whispered. “She might come back.”

I didn’t want her to. My hands were shaking, and the lights above hummed like angry bees. The room felt too bright, too empty, too clean. It didn’t feel like a place for a person. It felt like a place for… things.

After a while, Charlie nudged me. “Okay. Look around. But don’t trust anything.”

So, I did.

The bed was stiff when I touched it, the blanket tucked so tight it looked glued down. The pillow was thin, almost flat, like it had been pressed under something heavy. I sat on the edge, and the mattress didn’t sink at all. It felt like sitting on a cardboard box.

The table was small and metal. The chair was the same — cold, hard, and too light, like it might slide away if I leaned on it.

I walked to the tiny window. It was too high, but I stood on my toes anyway. All I could see was sky. No trees. No buildings. No people. Just pale blue nothing.

“It’s like they don’t want you to see the world,” Charlie said. “Just this place.”

I swallowed. My throat felt tight.

In the corner of the room, there was a little cabinet. I opened it slowly. Inside were folded clothes — all white. A shirt, pants, socks. No colors. No patterns. Nothing that felt like me.

Charlie frowned. “They want everyone to look the same. That’s not good.”

I closed the cabinet quickly.

The room didn’t have much else. No pictures. No books. No toys. No soft things. Just the buzzing lights, the cold floor, and the walls that looked too smooth, like they were hiding something underneath.

I sat back on the bed and pulled my knees to my chest. The room felt bigger now, but not in a nice way. More like it was stretching around me, waiting for me to get used to it.

Charlie sat beside me, even though I couldn’t feel his weight. “We won’t stay,” he whispered. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

I nodded, but something inside me twisted. A tight, hot feeling crawled up my chest, like my heart was trying to climb into my throat. The lights buzzed louder, sharper, almost angry. The walls looked too close and too far at the same time. My hands started shaking again, worse this time.

“Caroline,” Charlie said softly, “breathe.”

I tried. I really did. But the air felt thin, like the room had swallowed most of it. My breaths came out fast and tiny, like little hiccups. My fingers dug into the blanket, and the fabric felt wrong — too rough, too scratchy, like it was hurting me even though it wasn’t.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispered. “You’re okay. Just slow down.”

But I couldn’t slow down. My thoughts were running too fast.

She locked the door. She said this was home. What if I can’t leave? What if Charlie’s wrong? What if he’s right? What if I’m stuck? What if I’m stuck forever?

My chest squeezed tight, like someone was pressing a heavy book against it. My legs bounced without me telling them to. My eyes kept darting around the room, searching for something safe, something familiar, something that wasn’t white or buzzing or cold.

Charlie leaned closer, his voice trembling. “I know. I know it’s scary. But you’re not alone. I’m here.”

The room felt like it was tilting, just a little. The tiny window blurred. The bed felt too hard. The air felt too thin. My heart thumped so fast it hurt.

He reached for my hand — or the idea of my hand — and even though I couldn’t feel him, the gesture helped. Just a little.

“You’re safe right now,” he said. “You’re scared, but you’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and curled tighter, trying to make myself small enough that the room couldn’t see me anymore.

The buzzing lights kept humming. My breath kept shaking. But Charlie stayed beside me, whispering soft, steady words until the panic slowly loosened its grip.

Not gone. Not fixed. But quieter.

For now.