Nightmares are also dreams Part 31-Tara

This body paint is something else. I could not believe that was me in the mirror and yet it felt like I was seeing myself as the truest me I’ve ever been. Being a fox makes sense to me. Like all the world has been slightly out of sync until I saw the truest expression of my self in the mirror and now the last tumbler has clicked into place and all I need do is walk through the now unlocked door.

I exit my room and notice Pel is doing that oh so attentive unattentive nonchalance thing he does when he is self-satisfied with some ploy of his. My eyes flick over to Sara. Her look says it all. If eyes could light fires, I’m sure Pel’s tux would be in flames.

I follow my last instructions and present myself to Pel. I know he loves me but I always feel the slightest moment of fear before he speaks. I can’t seem to find a way to get the thought that he’ll harm me out of my head. It’s not even some fear that the other shoe will drop. It’s just that the look of possession and lust and ownership in his eyes look just like Mark’s eyes. He’d be hurt if I told him that. It’s not how he sees himself. Not as a predator but as a protector, but those eyes are the same. Until he kisses my forehead and whispers in my ear, “How’s my sweet fox girl doing?”

I don’t know how he does it. Maybe the tone of voice? But just a whispered question and I’m blushing and my skins normally so pale that I blush all over. But he’s waiting for me to say something, and with a little hiccup, I say, “I’m a very happy fox, today.”

He takes my hand and turns us towards Sara.

With a smile, Pel says, “Well, my dears, ready to take some pictures.”

I struck silent. Sara’s eyes hold the same predatory gleam that Pel’s has. The same desire and possessive need pours from her.

I startle when Pel leans over to me and whispers, “You know, foxes are predators too.”

This may be hubris or futile

I don’t know if this applies to anyone reading this
Or if I even have the right
But I’m in a position to say it so it’s my responsibility
If he or she(they, etc) harms you, you have my permission and my hope that you leave.
That you go and find someplace safe. That you seek out what help is available and you go.

I know it’s not my place or even if it will do any good but know that you are better than the person inflicting you with trauma and you, in no way, deserve whatever harm is occurring.
You deserve a life free from fear, free from harm.
No one has the right to harm you. No one has the right to physical or mentally torture you.

If you are waiting for someone to say, leave. To be given instruction to go. Then this is it. Go. Leave and never go back.

I want (obverse)

To scream
To cry out
To confront you
To kiss you
To hold you
To walk away
To burn the building down
To do anything to get your attention
To hide from ever being
To shout out, “why do I still love you!”
To beg you,
anything, anything to stop hurting
To plunge myself out of emotions and back into physical pursuits

And deep down, I thrash and strain, attempting to wrench myself free, while secretly hoping, you’ll say the word
Anything is better than this half state