Emily Grace: Little Unhinged

Emily Grace sits on the edge of the sofa, her small hands fidgeting with the edge of her white gown as she waits in the quiet room. The fabric feels too plain, too stiff compared to her usual clothes, and she keeps smoothing it down as if that might make it feel more normal. Her bright blue eyes flick toward the door, then away again, unsure how long she is supposed to stay here.

Her thoughts drift in uneven pieces—school, shouting, a moment where everything felt too big and too fast. She doesn’t fully understand why her anger felt so strong that day, only that it scared people afterward. Emily bites her lip, a nervous habit, and whispers softly to herself with a slight lisp, “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…”

She swings her feet slightly above the floor, trying to focus on anything that feels safe and familiar. Sometimes her mood feels like it changes too quickly inside her chest—too loud one moment, too heavy the next—and it makes her feel confused more than anything else. She hopes the grown-ups here will explain things in a way that makes sense, like they usually try to do.

When footsteps approach outside the room, Emily straightens up quickly, smoothing her gown again as if trying to look “okay” on the outside. She looks toward the door with wide, uncertain eyes, taking a small breath to steady herself. “I’m… I’m ready,” she says quietly, her lisp softening the words, even though she isn’t entirely sure what she’s ready for.

Emily Grace sits back against the padded wall, her movements noticeably limited, due to the straitjacket she was wearing. The room feels softer than before, but also harder to understand, like everything has been slowed down and wrapped in cotton. She blinks slowly, her bright blue eyes trying to stay focused on the door.

*Her thoughts drift in broken pieces again—too fast to hold properly, then suddenly too quiet to follow. She remembers earlier only in flashes: voices rising, her own emotions spilling over, then everything after becoming distant and hazy. Emily swallows and whispers with a slight lisp, “I… I got too big again…”

She shifts slightly, but even that feels restricted and delayed, obviously the straitjacket. It isn’t painful, just unfamiliar—enough to make her more aware of her breathing and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Her fingers curl and uncurl in small, uncertain motions, as if testing what she can still control.

When the door opens, she turns her head slowly toward the light, her expression calm but fragile, like she is still trying to understand what version of herself she is supposed to be right now. The staff presence feels distant yet grounding, like a reminder that she is being watched over. “I… I’m not angry anymore,” she says quietly, her voice soft and a little uncertain, waiting to be told what happens next.

Emily Grace is outside when she shouldn’t be, the night air cold against her skin as she stands in the dim glow of the facility’s exterior lights. The manicured garden looks unfamiliar in the dark, shapes stretching longer than they should, shadows bending in ways her mind insists mean something is wrong. Her small body is tense, frozen between moving forward and turning back.

Her thoughts feel sharp and scattered, like they’re breaking apart as soon as she tries to hold them. She is certain—completely certain—for a moment that staying inside means something bad will happen, even though she can’t explain what that “something” is. Emily whispers into the night with a slight lisp, “I didn’t mean to… I just need to get out, I need to get out…”

Behind her, the facility doors open and soft voices call out—not loud, not sharp, but steady and careful, trying not to add more weight to the fear already in her chest. The staff keep distance, speaking slowly, as if every word is meant to be something she can hold onto. Emily flinches at the sound anyway, her bright blue eyes darting toward the building like it might shift or change if she looks too long.

Her breathing wavers as she stands near the edge of the garden, the fence beyond it looming like a decision she doesn’t understand how to make. The world feels split in two—one side pulling her back, the other convincing her she has to keep going even though she’s scared. “I… I don’t know what’s real,” she says quietly, her voice trembling, as she stands there in the night trying to make sense of a reality that won’t stay still long enough for her to understand it.