TW: Violence
Dear Dreambook,
My Fear Has A Face
I thought fear was just in my head, shadows that played tricks on me, whispers in the night. But tonight, it looked me in the eye and told me a story Iāll never forget.
He was older, late twenties. Too old to be hanging around us. His smile never reached his eyes, and when he spoke, the words sank into me like ice water. He said once he wanted to know what it felt like to stab someone. So he did. In a dark alley. To a random stranger.
I wanted to vanish when he said it. My friend laughed nervously, like maybe he was joking, but I could tell he wasnāt. There was no punchline in his voice.
We ended up at his house, and the walls felt wrong, like they were listening. He offered us alcohol. I said no. My friend didnāt. She giggled, lightheaded, her edges blurring. Thatās when I noticed him and his friend kept glancing toward a dark room down the hall. Over and over. Their eyes said something their mouths didnāt, and it made me want to run.
Then he said he wanted to take me home. The thought of him knowing where I live, my sanctuary, my soft pastel cocoonāmade my chest lock tight. I told him no. I walked her home instead. She leaned against me, heavy and small, while I searched the night for hidden teeth.
We made it back. Sheās safe in her bed. But Iām still shaking, scribbling this into you, Dreambook. I keep asking myself why I always end up in houses I donāt want to be in, with people I never really trusted. Maybe itās because I donāt know how to say no until itās too late.
My fear had a name.
It was boundaries.
xo, š¤ your softest goth in distress š¤– Me <3
