The house is quiet, but not in the peaceful way. It’s the kind of silence that feels heavy, pressing in on you from all sides. You can still hear the echo of their voices, sharp and biting, bouncing off the walls long after they’ve left the room. The things they said sting worse than any bruise could. Words you wish you could forget keep repeating in your head until you can’t tell if you’re remembering or hearing them all over again.

You pace the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to breathe. One. Two. Three. In. Out. But the air feels thick, like it’s fighting you. Shadows stretch long across your bedroom, and when you blink, they move. At first, you think it’s just your imagination. But then you see them—dark figures crawling out of the corners, faceless and towering. They whisper, voices low and distorted, telling you everything you’re already afraid of: you’re worthless, you’re broken, you’ll never get away.

Your chest clenches. Your throat burns. And before you know it, you’re running. Out of your room, out of the house, your bare feet slapping against the pavement as you tear down the street. The night is cold, but your body is hot, feverish with panic. The shadows chase you, creeping at the edges of your vision, until the world feels twisted and wrong.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you mutter to yourself, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

By the time your legs give out, you’re somewhere unfamiliar. The streetlights blur into halos. Your breaths come in broken sobs, hands clutching at your hair as you sink to the curb. You feel lost. You feel like you’re drowning.

And then you hear it—tires crunching on gravel. A car door slamming. Footsteps.

“Hey.” A voice. Low, careful. You know that voice. Rafe.

You look up through tears, and there he is, standing a few feet away. His usual arrogance is gone, replaced with something you’ve never seen on him before: worry.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, but his tone is softer than the words. He crouches down, trying to catch your gaze. “You’re shaking.”

You can’t explain. You can’t find the words for the shadows, the whispers, the way your mind feels like it’s splitting apart. You just shake your head, trembling harder.

Without thinking, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a second to ground you. “Okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You want to believe him, but the figures still hover at the edges of your vision. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder, and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t see them—but he sees your fear.

“Hey.” His hand finds yours, firm and steady. “Look at me. Not out there, not behind you. Just me.”

You force your eyes to his, and for a second, the noise in your head quiets. The shadows blur. Your breathing is still uneven when Rafe helps you to your feet, his hand steady against your back. You stumble, your knees weak, but he doesn’t let you fall. He guides you toward his truck parked a few yards away, the headlights glowing faintly in the dark.

“Come on,” he mutters, opening the passenger door for you. “You need to get out of here.”

The seat is cold beneath you, but it feels safer than the open street. The shadows don’t follow you inside. Rafe shuts the door gently, like he’s afraid slamming it would shatter you. When he climbs in on the other side, he glances at you, his jaw tight, then starts the engine.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks quietly, but you can’t answer. You’re too lost, too tangled in your fear. You just shake your head, tears still streaking your face.

He exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel. “Alright. Don’t worry. I know a place.”

The road hums beneath the tires as he drives. You watch the blur of streetlights and dark trees, your heart still racing, but slowly, the distance from your house and from the voices begins to calm you. The black figures fade with every mile.