I wake up from a sleep I didn't know I had entered. I don't know how much time has passed since I noticed the sun begin to rise, but when I look at the windows, the sun is bright and almost blinding through the barred windows. I still can't see the world outside, but the sun warms me on the inside.

I rub my temple with my thumb and forefinger. I feel like I'm recovering from a migraine, but I'm not. It almost feels like I'm hungover, but I can't even remember the last time I had a drink.

The room feels smaller than it was last time I was awake. The air smells more stale, too. I can't explain it, but it feels like a lot of time has passed since that last time I was conscious. Instinctively, I reach for the door handle again, then hesitate. I can't feel heat radiating from it, but I still don't trust it.

I grab a pillow off the bed and pull the case off. Using it like a glove, I wrap my hand around the door handle. It's still how, but manageable. I pull down hard, but the door doesn't budge. It must be locked somehow. From the outside, maybe?

I want to cry, but I won't give myself the satisfaction. I won't give that satisfaction to whomever it is keeping me in this room.

I look around this room and take in its features. It strikes me as familiar somehow, but I don't know where I know it from. It looks like a hotel room, except for the long windows at the top of the walls. The comforter on the bed is bright and colorful, and reeks of the 90s. The table beside the bed is covered in a thin layer of dust, but it looks exactly like the same standard nightstand that's in every hotel room I've ever visited.

So, what is it about this particular nightstand that seems familiar? What is it about this room that stands out in my memory?

I close my eyes and suddenly I'm six years old, smuggled in the coziest, most luxurious bed I've ever slept in. It's so warm I can't imagine ever getting out. But I also can't contain my excitement. Today is the day. Today is the best day of my very short life. Today is the day I get to go to Disney World.

We checked in late last night, and I didn't get to see anything. But today's the big day. Today all my dreams come true.

"Get up," my dad's angry voice hits me hard. "The hell is wrong with you? Get up."

My body goes completely stiff and I wait for the hand to come down. The waiting is the worst. The knowing that it's coming, the fear and anticipation. Because once it comes, it's all over. But it's unbearable when it's happening.

"I'm sorry," I apologize instinctively. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Apologies are like armor. But they're not 100% effective. They don't always protect me from my dad's anger. But they do sometimes, so I'm willing to try every time.

"I'll get up. I want to get up. I'm sorry." I close my eyes and wait, but the pain never comes. My armor works this time and relief washes over my body.

I leap out of bed and grab a set of clothes out of my suitcase. As I'm pulling on my shorts, the blow comes and I'm knocked to the ground. My ear is ringing and my eyes water, and I'm confused as to how I got here.

I try not to cry. If I cry, he'll say, "I'll give you something to cry about." He already did, but he won't understand that.

"What the hell are you doing?" He stands over me, looming like a giant surveying the world. "Your mom already set out your clothes."

I look over to the nightstand beside my bed and see a stack of clothes folded neatly. I didn't see them before. He could have told me they were there. When I tell him as much, his hand darts toward my face again. I recoil, which only makes him angrier.

"You think I won't tear that ass up just because we're at Disney World?"

This time, I can't help it. I start crying loudly. I'm trapped. I have nowhere to go and I don't know what I did wrong.

"Jacob, stop," my mom hisses from the doorway of the bathroom where she had been showering. "Do you want somebody to call the cops and say we're beating children in here?"

"Let them come," Dad shrugs. "The law protects my right to discipline my children."

"Please," Mom sighs heavily. "Just stop. We paid a lot of money to come here. Can we not get kicked out on the first day?"

When Mom turns to look at me, fear bubbles up in me again. I don't want her to be mad at me, too. I don't even know what I did to make Dad angry.

"Get dressed, Joshua."

I nod at her slowly and put on the Dumbo shirt she had set out for me. Dumbo was my favorite Disney character. I wanted to be able to fly like him. I wanted to be able to do amazing things, even when the people around me thought I couldn't do anything.

My Grandmother always thought I could do anything. When I laid in her bed and watched Reading Rainbow, she'd tell me how proud she was of me. She'd say that my love of books showed how smart I was. She'd tell me that one day, I was going to get out of here.

I miss her. I wish she could have come to Disney World with us. She would love this hotel room. She'd make getting dressed into some game. She'd keep Dad from hitting me again. Grandmother always protected me.

By the time Mom is dressed, Mean Dad is gone and Happy Dad is asking me what things I want him to buy me from the gift shop. Happy Dad loves to buy me things. Happy Dad works so hard to see me laugh. He does the best character impersonations, and he tells the best jokes. Happy Dad is my favorite person in the whole world.

We spend the day in absolute bliss. We eat waffles shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. We ride Dumbo three times. We watch live shows. We even try, unsuccessfully, to pull the sword from the stone. It is the perfect day.

It's so perfect that I almost forget about the morning. Almost. But as we stand on a crowded street, watching a parade of lights and much beloved characters, Dad picks me up and puts me on his shoulders. His hand rests on a tender spot on my side where I fell into the wheels of my suitcase. I wriggle to get away from the pain. There's nowhere to go. Dad won't put me down and I can't describe the pain to him, not here in front of everybody.

So I sit on his shoulders and cry in the most magical place on Earth while Minnie Mouse blows kisses from a passing float.

When I snap out of this memory, I can't stop thinking about that trip. It was the best and worst trip of my entire life. When Dad was happy, he was very happy. He lavished me in stuffed animals and frozen treats. He got my name embroidered on a Mickey Mouse hat and waited in line with me to get the autograph of every character I met.

But when Dad was mad, he was very, very mad.

On our last night, while we were eating dinner on the water watching the fireworks show, Mom told me that I was going to be a big brother. My whole life changed after that.

As I dwell on that thought, I heard the click of a lock from the wall beside me.