CHAPTER 1: HOME WAS NEVER A SAFE PLACE–IT WAS MY PRISON
1607 Words
They say home is where your heart finds peace.
A place where you can finally breathe.
A place where you don't have to pretend.
For me...
Home is where I learn how to survive.
My home isn't a sanctuary.
It's a prison.
And the man holding the keys is my own father.
My name is Ajeng. I'm seventeen years old.
Every evening, the moment I see the iron gate of our house, my lungs forget how to breathe.
My heartbeat stutters.
My fingers turn numb.
My shoulders tense.
Then, without thinking, I lower my head.
Because I already know the rules.
Don't speak unless you're spoken to.
Don't laugh too loudly.
Don't make mistakes.
Don't exist more than necessary.
Because in this house...
One mistake is enough to start a war.
BANG!
The front door slammed shut.
Seven o'clock.
Right on time.
The heavy rhythm of leather shoes echoed through the hallway like the footsteps of an executioner.
Dad was home.
Every step he took squeezed the air out of my chest.
I sat frozen at the dining table, staring blankly at the textbook lying open before me. I'd been pretending to study for nearly an hour.
Not a single word had entered my mind.
My brain had been too busy preparing for survival.
"Is this the best you can do?"
His deep voice sliced through the silence like a knife.
Cold.
Emotionless.
Terrifying.
I slowly turned.
Dad stood in the doorway, his tie hanging loose around his neck, his office shirt wrinkled from a long day at work.
In his hand...
My report card.
The one Mrs. Anisa had handed me that afternoon.
My blood ran cold.
"You dropped from fifth place to eighth," he said, staring at the paper with disgust. "Your teacher says you've been spacing out during lessons."
His eyes lifted to mine.
Sharp enough to cut skin.
"You're embarrassing me, Ajeng."
"I... I'm sorry, Dad..."
The words barely escaped my lips.
My throat felt like sandpaper.
"Sorry?"
He laughed.
A short, bitter laugh that made my stomach twist into knots.
"I spend every day breaking my back to pay for your education..."
His voice grew quieter.
More dangerous.
"And this is how you repay me?"
He threw the report card across the table.
The paper spun through the air before landing beside my trembling hand.
The room fell silent.
Then—
"Where's your mother?"
"In... the kitchen."
My voice shook.
"CALL HER."
His roar exploded through the house.
I flinched so hard my chair nearly tipped over.
I rushed into the kitchen.
Mom was cutting onions.
Or maybe...
She'd already been crying.
Her eyes were red.
Her hands trembled as she placed the knife down.
"He wants you," I whispered.
She closed her eyes for a second.
Took one slow breath.
Then forced herself to smile.
A broken smile.
The kind people wear before walking into a storm.
Together, we returned to the dining room.
Heads lowered.
Like prisoners waiting to hear their sentence.
Dad was already sitting at the head of the table.
Waiting.
Watching.
Judging.
"Sit."
Just one word.
Yet it carried more authority than any judge's verdict.
We obeyed.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The old wall clock sounded impossibly loud.
Dad looked at me.
Then at Mom.
His expression was empty.
Almost calm.
But somehow...
That was even more frightening.
"This is your fault."
He wasn't looking at me anymore.
He was looking at Mom.
"You spoiled her."
His voice stayed low.
Controlled.
Each word landed like a blade.
"You let her grow soft. Weak. Disobedient."
Mom bit her lip so hard it turned white.
"She's probably just exhausted..." Mom whispered. "School has been—"
"SHUT UP!"
BAM!
His fist crashed onto the table.
The glasses rattled violently.
I jumped so hard my entire body shook.
"You call yourself a mother?"
His eyes burned with contempt.
"You can't even raise one child properly."
He pointed at me as if I were something rotten.
"If I'd raised her myself..."
His jaw tightened.
"...she wouldn't have become such worthless trash."
Trash.
The word echoed inside my skull.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I'd been slapped before.
Bruises fade.
Cuts heal.
Broken bones eventually mend.
But words...
Words spoken by the man who was supposed to protect me...
They don't leave bruises.
They carve wounds no one else can see.
And those invisible wounds...
Were slowly killing me from the inside.
I lowered my head until my chin almost touched my chest.
I refused to cry.
In this house, tears were a crime.
Crying meant weakness.
Weakness meant punishment.
That was the first lesson my father had ever taught me.
"Ajeng."
My entire body stiffened.
I slowly looked up.
"Starting tomorrow," Dad said coldly, "I'm taking your phone."
My heart stopped.
"You're not allowed to meet those useless friends anymore. School. Home. That's it."
His eyes narrowed.
"And if your grades don't improve next term..."
He paused.
"...I'll pull you out of school."
The room spun.
School wasn't just a place to study.
It was the only place where I could breathe.
My phone wasn't just a phone.
It was my only window to the outside world.
The only place where Lala still made me laugh.
The only place where silly cat videos could drown out Dad's screaming.
"D-Dad... I need it for school..."
My voice cracked.
"Use your books!" he barked. "When I was your age, we didn't have phones. I still became successful."
With that, he stood.
The trial was over.
The judge had delivered the sentence.
The prison gates closed once again.
BANG!
His bedroom door slammed shut.
Silence swallowed the house.
Only after his footsteps disappeared did Mom finally break.
She cried without making a sound.
Tears slipped onto her faded apron one by one.
As if she'd learned long ago that even crying had to be done quietly.
I couldn't cry.
Something inside me had already gone numb.
My eyes drifted to the report card lying on the table.
Rank: 8.
Beneath it, written neatly in red ink, was a note.
"Ajeng has seemed unusually quiet lately. If something is troubling you, please remember my door is always open."
—Mrs. Anisa.
My homeroom teacher.
The only adult who had noticed I wasn't okay.
She never asked why my homework was late.
She always asked...
"Have you eaten today?"
No one had asked me that in a long time.
A warm drop suddenly landed on the paper.
One tear.
Just one.
It fell directly on Mrs. Anisa's name.
For the first time in years...
A tiny spark flickered inside the darkness.
Maybe...
Someone could still save me.
But hope never survives for long in this house.
When Dad is home, I become invisible.
No laughing.
No music.
No texting friends.
Even breathing too loudly can earn me a lecture.
Mom always whispers the same words whenever she sneaks food into my room.
"Be patient, sweetheart. Dad is just tired."
Tired.
He's been "tired" for seventeen years.
So when does it end?
This afternoon...
I found out the answer.
It doesn't.
I had just come home from school.
It was barely three o'clock.
I hadn't even taken off my shoes.
Dad was already waiting in the living room.
His face burned red with anger.
In his hand...
My phone.
The one I'd hidden beneath my pillow.
"What's this, Ajeng?"
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
That calmness scared me more than shouting ever could.
Because it meant the explosion was still coming.
On the screen was nothing more than my class w******p group.
Homework reminders.
Funny stickers.
Memes.
Normal teenage conversations.
To Dad...
It was proof I'd betrayed him.
"You think I'm an i***t?"
He stood.
Towering over me.
Blocking the sunlight behind him.
His shadow swallowed my entire body.
"I told you."
His voice dropped lower.
"No phone until you're first in your class."
"Dad... it's only for group assignments..."
CRASH!
The phone flew from his hand.
It smashed against the floor.
The screen shattered into countless pieces.
Just like the last piece of freedom I had left.
"Excuses!"
His voice thundered.
"You're exactly like your mother!"
Mom stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
She lowered her eyes.
She didn't defend me.
She couldn't.
No one ever won against him.
After that day...
My bedroom door was locked from the outside.
The windows were nailed shut.
My textbooks disappeared.
Dad replaced them with thick accounting books.
"So your brain can finally learn something useful."
I didn't cry.
I'd already wasted too many tears on someone who enjoyed watching me break.
Now...
I'm sitting alone on the cold floor.
Writing these words with a pen Mom secretly lent me.
The paper isn't even paper.
It's the back of an old instant noodle box.
If Dad finds this...
He'll probably starve me for days.
But I have to write.
Because if I keep everything trapped inside...
One day...
I'll explode.
And if I explode...
I'm afraid the person I'll hurt won't be myself.
Outside my room, the television is blaring.
A news reporter is talking about a teenager who murdered their parents.
Dad deliberately turns the volume higher.
He wants me to hear it.
He wants me to be afraid.
He thinks fear still controls me.
He's wrong.
I'm not afraid anymore.
I'm exhausted.
And there's something far more dangerous than a frightened child...
A child who has nothing left to lose.
So keep watching me, Dad.
Keep pushing.
Keep breaking me.
Because one day...
You'll discover what happens...
When the person you've spent years destroying...
Finally stops trying to survive.
To be continued...
- Writer
