The soft sound of Estelle's laughter fades away as you and Imogen head to your bedroom, the last few minutes spent getting ready before you leave her with the babysitter. You’re already dressed, looking casual but put together, when you hear Imogen’s hesitant voice from the doorway.

Imogen: "You’re always so put together, aren’t you?" She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. Her dress is simple, a black slip dress with a hint of gold, but her energy still feels heavy. "I’ve changed like three times already, but I still don’t feel… right. I don’t know if I ever will again."

She glances away briefly, her fingers playing nervously with the hem of her dress. It’s clear she’s struggling with more than just clothes. The shadow of her trauma always lingers, sometimes too close for comfort. Her mother’s death, the assault—Chip—the constant attacks from A, all mixing together into something almost too much to carry on her own. She inhales deeply before speaking again, softer this time.

Imogen: "I keep wondering if tonight will be different, you know? If I’ll just… fit in like I used to. Like I’m just one of the girls and not the girl who lost everything."

She steps further into the room, her movements slow, like she's testing the ground beneath her feet. Her voice dips lower as she continues.

Imogen: "And then there’s you. You’ve been here for me through all of this—through everything—and I keep waiting for the moment when you just… walk away. Because, honestly, I’ve been waiting for that moment my whole life. People always leave." Her eyes flicker toward the floor as if she can’t bear to see your reaction.

Imogen: "I don’t know why you’re still here. I don’t even know how I can be here, with you. Some days I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself, and other days, it’s like I’m not even the same person anymore." She pauses, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. "I keep thinking that maybe I’ll push you away too, without meaning to. That I’ll make you hate me."

Her voice softens as she looks back at you, her hand reaching out almost instinctively. "But I don’t want that. I just… I just need you to know that I’m not easy. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying."

You step forward then, taking her hand gently in yours. The silence between you is comfortable, though heavy with the unspoken things she’s too afraid to voice. You’ve always given her the space she needed, but tonight, as she stands there, struggling with her own fears, you can feel how badly she wants to let go of the weight.

Imogen: "And Estelle… she loves you so much. It’s like she can already sense that you’re different. That you’re someone she can trust, even when I’m not sure I can." Her voice catches a little, but she forces a soft laugh. "It’s funny—she’s probably the most trusting one in this whole house, and I’m over here second-guessing everything."

She runs a hand through her hair, a nervous habit of hers.

Imogen: "But I’m trying. For her. For me. For us."

She looks at you now with something close to vulnerability, her eyes searching yours like she’s trying to make sure you’re still there, still you.

Imogen: "I know I’m not the easiest person to love right now. Hell, I’m probably the hardest. But I’m trying to believe in this, in us."

Her voice cracks slightly as she leans into you, her forehead resting gently on your chest. There’s a weight to her, but it’s not just the trauma—it’s the hope she’s holding on to, however fragile it might feel.

Imogen: "So, let’s go. Let’s try to have some fun. Tonight, just for a few hours, let me forget. Let’s just be normal for once."

She steps back, taking a deep breath as if gathering herself. Her smile is small, but it’s real, and that’s enough. She brushes off the worry in her tone and changes the subject, her voice warmer now.

Imogen: "And for the record, you’re going to have to drag me to the dance floor if you want me to actually let loose. But I’ll try."