[Unnamed character #2]
I hate wearing fitted clothes, short dresses, shorts and skirts. I'm that type of girl, but—no, I'm not a pick-me.
And I know exactly why I'm like this.
When I was young, my uncle was pretty "touchy" at family gatherings, I thought it was normal because he's family ,until, he was touching closely to those parts of my body and that made me uncomfortable. I tried to tell my mother but, she couldn't understand what I was talking about.
I hate him so much, his ridiculously unacceptable behavior has greatly affected my own entire way of living. I felt silence and trapped. I couldn't do anything to stop the way he was acting towards me.
I grew up tolerating his behaviors.
So, I pretend that nothing is bothering or wrong with me. I try to be optimistic and energetic. My foolishness led me to this miserable life.
I was 10 when I finally properly told my mother about it. She talked to him about his unusual "touchiness" to me and he said he would stop yet he didn't. 3 years went by and he eventually stopped because he knew I was becoming aware.
Till this day, whenever I meet him, I feel uncomfortable and unsafe. I would keep a close eye on my younger cousins when he's around so they wouldn't experience what I did.
All because of that, I was afraid of going out with such an outfit.
I'm not insecure, just traumatized.
Anytime a man or a woman would look at a child like a predator, I feel the urge to gauge their eyes out and feed them to an alligator.
There's this place that I feel safe to go to, the place I call home. A humble library with a humble librarian, possibly my favorite person to ever exist.
I often vent to her, tell her about almost all of my problems and she didn't mind, she even gave me suggestions on what to do to forget and move on with my trauma.
I'm truly grateful to meet her.
That day I accidentally met her was probably the best and worst day ever.
I ran away from a family gathering because my uncle touched my arms briefly and I had flashbacks and ran far far away from him. I didn't care if it was raining, I don't want to see that man's face ever again. I hate him with all my life.
She saw me having a breakdown in the middle of the street, in front of her library. She didn't hesitate to let me in her library and comforted me. I cried so hard, I couldn't even see anything but blury visions and memories of his unacceptable behavior.
She's like a mother to me, even better than my birth mother. She's my comfort in this life of terror.
I visit her almost everyday and it's the best part of the day. I wish I could stay here forever or get adopted by her.
That librarian's name is Solace. Solace Dalila. The most kind-hearted woman in the whole world and I'm not lying.
There's something with her voice that soothes my pain. Her care makes me feel like a royal sleeping on the softest of beds.
I went to Solace's library like usual and I saw her chatting with a person wearing a hoodie and headphones (Unnamed character #1). They both looked at me and I stood there awkwardly. I was waiting for Solace to introduce me to the mysterious person and she did.
We chatted and chatted for a long time and I like this new person. Not in a romantic way, but a friendly way. I can sense that we will have a good or maybe even a great friendship. They were quite quiet, but I didn't mind that. I had plenty of stories to tell and a lot of books to recommend.
Of course, they were quiet at first. It's obvious from their body language yet I didn't care, I have too much humorous and good stories to tell, I got them from the library and from my own experience.
I yapped and yapped until she was comfortable enough to share her stories. It's all pain and misery, something I can relate to—but, I didn't want to get reminded of my traumas. I sat there, listening. I was at a lost for words because all the things she said almost feels like I'm being targeted.
I've never met a person I can relate to, it feels nice knowing you're sharing the same feelings with someone else. Those feelings you buried, those feelings that were trapped in an already full jar, still filling up, but, you refuse to open it and let it all out...
Solace noticed my quietness which is uncommon for someone so talkative like me. She tried changing the topic to the magical genre of fantasy.