#it feels like i'm bashing my head against a wall or trying to squeeze blood from a stone

[werewolfsmile]

How to write a new novel that has no characters, no plot, and only vague vibes:

no idea

[mlmxreader]

Trauma | Dan Torrance

summary; you and Dan open up about your childhoods to each other.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE, SUICIDE, ETC. THIS IS SUPER DARK

Dan wasn't sure he wanted to be here, to be sat with you in your childhood bedroom, he could sense how dark things were and how shadows crept into the light and burned it away; he could sense the pain, and he could almost feel it, but even still, when he looked at you and saw you studying the room, he knew he had to be here.

He wasn't sure what had happened to you in your childhood, he wasn't entirely sure of the story, except that he knew that your trauma was very much like his own; he knew that since the day he met you, his shine had been drawn to you since the day you looked at him from across the street, and as he grew closer to you, the tugging of his shine had only grown.

"We can leave," he told you. "We can pack up and leave, I-"

"It's fine," you shook your head, clearing your throat. "Sooner or later we all have to face our own demons, right?"

Dan nodded, letting out a little grumble as he cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"My mother," you started, voice growing shaky, "she... when I was a kid, she used to beat me... pouring boiling water down my back, smashing my head against walls, choke... choking me as she pinned me to the floor... kicking my ribs and pulling my hair... she used... she used to... there were a lot of things she did..."

He knew that your mother was very much like his father; short tempered and violent, instilling fear into their children and spouses. He knew. He understood. "Sounds like my dad..."

"I guess, yeah," you whispered. "But, y'know, being here... I can still picture the blood on the walls, and the way my dad used to try and get between her and me and how he... he used to end up with broken bones and shit."

"My dad once... he chased me and my mother with an axe," Dan shared, "he told my mother he wasn't gonna hurt her, he was gonna bash her fucking brains in - right the fuck in... he tried to get better, he did, but that hotel, it... it made him so much worse."

You hummed softly, sadly, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his as you sighed heavily and squeezed your eyes tightly shut. "I've never told anyone this before, but... after my mother hit me with her belt, I... I stole it, and I tied it to the ceiling fan and tried to... tried to hang myself, but it was too short and I couldn't... I didn't... I should've died that day, Dan... I should've died..."

Looking down at the floor, the old and frayed red carpet, the little burn marks from secret cigarettes and the stained blood from he didn't even want to guess what, Dan ran a hand through his hair; he had been in your shoes, he could remember when he was sleeping on the streets and stealing food stamps from women with needy children, he could remember the darkness and how it dimmed his shine. He could never truly escape the darkness. "No, you shouldn't have. You're here for a reason, (y/n), we all are. We're all here for a reason."

"Dan, I'm a terrible person," you quietly cried, tears streaking down your features and leaving marks in your skin, wet trenches leading the way to Dan's soft jacket as you did your best to hold back the rain. But some storms could not be controlled. "I'm a fucking terrible person, I mean - if I was a better kid, if I was smarter, and nicer, and better behaved and-"

"None of that matters," he told you, his voice sharp like a knife but soft like a woolly blanket. "None of that... it doesn't matter. What she did to you was wrong, and even if you were a terrible person, our beliefs don't make us better people, our actions do... and you... I know you're a good person."

You sniffled a little, trembling, your voice shaky and uneven, cracking and splintering and tearing at the seams. "I guess we're both a little fucked up from our childhoods, huh?"

"We're traumatised," Dan corrected, his voice soft yet low. "But it's okay, we'll be alright."