dad[dy] bxb

2.

Five hours after his dad locked him in the closet, Cal pisses on himself.

He doesn't realize it happening until it's too late and when it does Cal doesn't make a move to salvage the situation. There's nothing he can do now; it already happened. The strong scent of ammonia makes him gag and he wonders why he isn't used to the smell by now. This isn't a rare occurrence. He still wets his bed sometimes, despite being fifteen. It doesn't happen a lot, not like it used to, and the warm wetness soaking his legs and thighs shouldn't make him cry and grip his hair in frustration because it isn't anything new.

But he should have seen it coming. He wasn't even dozing off. Was he so preoccupied by his thoughts that he didn't even realize he was peeing on himself?

Cal goes to a kneeling position, grimacing when the previous warm liquid is now cool and sticky against his skin. He knocks on the door a few times, hoping his daddy is in the office doing his work like he usually does during this time of day. "Daddy?" he calls, voice rough from all the screaming he did earlier. He clears his throat. It hurts, chaffing whenever he swallows. It feels like a sore throat but worse. It feels like the time daddy made him suck ten of his colleagues when he was eleven and still learning how to swallow down cock. "Daddy, I wet myself..." Cal waits for a response but there's nothing. He knocks again and tries louder this time, despite his painful throat. "Daddy! I-I wet myself!"

He waits again. Counts from one to twenty.

Nothing.

Cal knows it's to be expected. Daddy never opens the door this early. The knowledge that he'll probably be stuck in this closet for weeks terrifies him out of his mind. He keeps himself huddled next to the door and resolutely avoids looking around, keeping his eyes fixated on the blank wall before him. As the hours pass, the silhouettes in the room becomes more and more discernable and he could identify some of the things stocked inside; a mop leaning against the far end of the wall, boxes of different sizes with unidentified contents, various cans and bags overflowing with...something.

He doesn't want to look closely, because the more he looks, the more they look like the monsters from his dreams.

He pulls his knees close to his chest and hugs himself to appear as small as possible. Tries not to think of how the room feels smaller and smaller every time he closes and opens his eyes. The walls around him is stationary, he knows this, knows that moving walls only happen in moves and not real life. Knows that daddy isn't evil; he wouldn't install this kind of thing in their house to torment Cal.

And yet it closes in on him all the same.

With each tense breath he forces himself not to hyperventilate on the stagnant air. He should be used to this. He's a big boy now, why is he still so scared of the dark? Why is he still so afraid of flickering shadows and invisible creatures and the walls and the silence? Why something so trivial? So fake? It's no big deal! Nothing is going to harm him. Daddy's not going to let anything or anyone hurt him. It's going to be okay. Daddy's mad because he disobeyed and punishment is in order, just like it has always been. If he's been a bad boy, he needs to be disciplined. He will learn from his mistakes and daddy will love him again and everything will be back to normal once he's released from confinement.

It's going to be okay.

And yet.

Why is he still sobbing? Why is he still screaming, backing himself up even closer to the door even though he knows there's nowhere else to go?

He calls for daddy but he never comes.

Why isn't he coming? Cal is terrified out of his mind. Daddy said no one will harm him. Does that include himself? If he were to slit his wrists and let his blood seep out from underneath the tiny horizontal gap in the door, will daddy panic and release him?