monologue referring to painting of girl

I'm sitting here, motionless. I glance around the room wondering when my father will return. He left me in this room, he says it's a "test of my will power". I haven't behaved well lately, on my sisters birthday I took a bite of her cake before she did, on Christmas I opened my presents too early, and last night I ate dessert before dinner. I stare at this little gift sitting on the floor, wrapped so intricately. I think about all the various possibilities. What does this little box contain? I hold my hands tight together, intertwining my fingers, trying to hold myself back. I squirm around in the chair, and imagine that chains are holding me down and constricting my every move. I hear footsteps in the hallway, coming closer and closer. Suddenly, my father peeks through the door. He sees me struggling to pass this test of will power, and a smile crosses his face. He utters two words: "I'm proud." He then turns around and closes the door behind him.