A Dance With Gabriela

"What if she ends up noticing my fear?" I ask my mom, my voice shaky due to the anxiety of what's about to come.

My mom wants me to move to another house, an apartment in the city, and I don't think I am ready for that. Or will I ever be. It's been so long and I am still as scared as the first day.

I have managed to keep my distance from men by never leaving the house. And if I am leaving, I am inside the gates of my home. I only feel safe there. And the sight of a man, even by seeing him through the fence, has had me running back in the house trembling and locking the door.

Yes, I am afraid of men.

No, I am terrified. I cannot look at man and not see him as someone who will hurt me. A threat. A danger.

"Doctor Erica said that maybe a change of environment will help, Gabriela. I guess that is why you have never gotten better, you are still in the house where it all happened. If you go and stay with Delaney Caldwell just for a few months or weeks as her roommate, you could be better. I am not saying you will be alright again. I'm just saying that maybe you will be able to at least be in the same room with a man without running away and hiding."

I look at my mother's face for long seconds, processing everything she just told. I understand that this can be for my own good, but we have tried everything and nothing has worked for me so far. I couldn't even be around my uncle, my mom's brother, without getting scared.

"My trauma won't allow to be around a man, mom. You know that."

My mom takes my hand into hers and she squeezes it. She is looking at me with pity in her eyes, as her own wells up with tears. "Gabby, please. Don't say no to this baby girl. If you don't want to do this for yourself, the do this for me, then."

This already feels like too much to ask in itself. How does she expect me to survive out there?

"And what if she has a boyfriend and he comes over? Then, what? Delaney will think I am crazy when she sees me running from her boyfriend. This is a really bad idea, mom."

My mom sighs when she hears that. But I know that sigh very well, and it's one that tells me she hasn't given up yet. My mom takes the newspaper again and scoots and reads the advert for me. "Look, Gabriela. This girl, Delaney Caldwell, is looking for a roommate for her two bedroom apartment. She says you will have your own bathroom that even has a bathtub and a huge sink. She is a girl, Gabby. So you will be around a girl, not a boy. It will just be a new environment for you with the hope that some change will help. And you will be just 20 minutes away from home, so it's not like I am sending you into another world. If anything happens you can always come back home, you know that."

I truly don't want to do this. But if my mom and the therapist think this might help, I have to at least try."Okay, fine," I say, defeated. I quickly add with a warning in my tone, "But if I see a man, I will run back home immediately."

My mom chuckles, even though she knows very well that I am not joking. As she tucks a hair strand behind my ear, she says with a huge smile on her face, "That's all I am asking."

With that, she takes my phone from the coffee table and gives it to me while pointing at the girl's number in the newspaper advert.

With a chuckle while shaking my head, and then I dial the number and give her a call.

And that is how the girl agrees for us to meet in two days for me to come over and see the apartment.

And that was how my mom got me to finally leave the house in 15 years.

My mom had to drive me there and help me up the stairs to the second floor and I had my eyes closed and covered with eye mask. That was the only way I would get to that apartment. Driving there would have been hard because if I saw a man walking down the street I would probably scream until my mom takes me back home. Going inside the apartment building would have even been worse if I saw a man walking towards us.

So, she had to take me herself and it was not until we were at the door that I removed my eye mask and knocked.

Delaney's flat was really nice looking, not too small and not too big. It had a big living room, with a big screen TV and two comfortable looking white couches, one a two-seater, and the other a three-seater.

When she showed me the room I'd be staying in, I almost drooled. It was that beautiful! It had a big bed in the middle, a window with a breathtaking view of the city and a closet that big, I could use it to hide when I a man shows up. Hopefully not. But when I saw the bathroom, I almost took back my words of this being a bad idea.

I think she saw my expression because she just smiled to herself. The bathtub was huge. And I mean enormous! I almost launched myself in there and stayed there forever. I could already picture myself lying in there for hours. Mmm.

There was a big mirror with cabinets aside and a small window. It wasn't really that big, but I loved it nonetheless. A big window would show people outside, anyway.

This room definitely beats my old room, as this is more modern. I guess a change in environment doesn't sound so bad right now.

Then we went to the kitchen where we would talk. The kitchen was in black and white and it was big. I didn't actually like to cook, but I'd sure love to spend some time in here. The kitchen had a counter table in the middle and we sat down.

Delaney asked me on my opinion and stated a few rules. She wasn't picky. No smoking in there. No parties without her knowing. No loud music in the night. She also mentioned to inform her when I have a guest coming over, and she will do the same.

I agreed to move in. I was actually excited. We talked about payment and we both agreed to split the bills.

Then we got to knowing each other. She talked mostly because I'm not really the talkative type and I don't trust people easily anymore. The only person I have talked to since I was 6 years old is my mom. Maybe some of her friends when they came to visit, but they were all females. She made sure no man ever came home.

I found out she was 27 years old, so only 6 years older than me, and that her brother bought her the flat. She was so easy to talk to and I immediately liked her. I hoped we could become good friends.

She said I could move in right away if I wanted. And that had my mom wanting me to move in the next day.

And the next day, I was already all packed and my mom driving me there again promising to visit me soon. I only took one suitcase with me because I was not planning on staying here for too long. I am pretty sure I won't last a month, or even a week, before something has me calling my mom while hiding in a corner begging her to come get me.

When I got there, Delaney wasn't there just as she said. She had told me she worked until 4 o'clock and I was there at 3.

And so here I am right now. Hoping that this isn't going to end in tragedy. For me at least.

I make myself comfortable in my new room and then went exploring. The first thing I do for the bedroom is put a black curtain that I brought with me and cover the entire window making sure I cannot see anyone passing through the road.

I work as a writer and that job is one that has me not forced to leave my home, just like I need. I write novels and have a personal blog I run. It's enough money that has kept me running and will because I barely spend it anyway because I don't go out, I don't do shopping, I don't even have Netflix. I only need my computer and my fingers, I don't need to leave the house or go to an office. So this helps me never run into my trigger in any color, shape or form.

Having to work from home as a writer is the perfect setup, given my deep-seated fear and trauma around men. This allows me to maintain a safe, comfortable environment where I am away from any of them and I feel safe. I cannot be scared here. I can live my life without having to constantly navigate uncomfortable social situations. Working remotely as a writer gives me the flexibility and control she needs, while also providing a productive outlet for me to process her experiences through my craft. The writing itself has even become a therapeutic tool for me, a way to explore my emotions and gradually work through the trauma.

I decide to take a shower first after unpacking my clothes and putting them in the closet. I want to be all fresh before I start writing my new novel.

I have already written the idea down, given it a storyline, and named the characters. I have even written the chapter ideas down, all the way to the epilogue. I am set and I want to start writing the novel immediately.

I have decided to call it, 'I'm in love with a monster' but I might change the title as the story continues. It's about a girl who falls in love with a serial killer. A wanted man who escapes from prison after getting the death penalty, just the night before he is executed. He is a man with demons, but a man with a complicated past. He isn't really a hardened criminal, there is more complexity to his backstory. He has a reason for killing those specific people he killed and I want this girl to get close enough to him for him to fall in love with her and reveal it all to her. And also, for this girl to help him heal from his demons. I want this girl to see something in him and nobody else sees as everyone sees a monster, and he treats her with gentleness and love, an opposite of the monster the whole world knows. This girl will be able to get him to let her in and her love for him and his love for her will help him fight his demons and defeat them.

I think about that story as I am in the shower putting shampoo in my hair and washing it.

I have written so many romance novels where the love interests save each other from their monsters under their beds. Actually, that's all I have written.

I guess I write this hoping that one day someone will save me from the monster under my bed, too.

Hehe. I chuckle out loud at that thought. That's fiction. Such things don't happen in real life. Who would just choose to help a broken girl or boy and try to save them because they love them?

Such things only exist in my head and in movies and fiction books.

(Movies, heh. I don't even watch movies. I can't watch movies.)

People prefer dating and loving people that are put together and have their shit figured out.

Maybe. But what would I know? I have never been around a man to know what they are like. But the only one I was around traumatized me to the point that everything in a trouser is scary to me.

But despite my fear of men, I still write them in my novels.

I guess that's the only place I am not afraid of men.

It's like, that's the only place I feel safe around men.

In a book I am writing. I don't know if that makes sense but since I have such a strong and debilitating fear of men in my real life, then the fictional world of the romance novels I write is the one of the only places I feel truly safe and in control when it comes to male characters and relationships. In the pages of my books, I can construct the male heroes and romantic storylines exactly how I want them to be - strong, caring, and ultimately not a threat to me. I have full authorial control, which allows me to explore intimate male-female dynamics without the crippling panic and vulnerability I experience in actual interactions.

But I can't read someone else's book about romance, though. If in one of those pages, the man ends up hurting the woman, I will have a panic attack and everything will be worse for me. That is also why I don't watch movies, too.

The core idea that the fictional worlds I create provide a rare sense of safety and control is still there. However, I have a key vulnerability - the fear that even in these "safe" narratives, the male characters could end up betraying or hurting the female protagonists. This adds an extra layer of anxiety and trauma for me. While I can find comfort in crafting the romantic storylines, the possibility that they could mirror the pain and betrayal I've experienced in real life is enough to trigger my panic. I can't even fully immerse myself in other people's romance novels or films for this same reason. If the man hurts the woman...

I don't know how many times I wash my hair with my thoughts still lingering there, but I only realize I am completely lost in thought when I hear the door bell, which makes me jump out of my skin, almost.

Who could it be?

Please, let it not be that Delaney has a guest and it's a man. She never mentioned having a guest, though.

I turn off the shower and step outside.

My phone is in the sink and I check what time it is and it is exactly 4 o'clock. So it could be Delaney. Maybe she forgot her keys and has no choice but to ring the doorbell. I wrap a towel around myself and rush to the door and open it. And what I see there makes my blood freeze.

That is not Delaney Caldwell standing there.

There is a tall man wearing a black suit with a white button-down and a black tie. He has dark brown hair,chocolate brown eyes and full lips that are smirking at me. He looks me up and down and I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. I remember I am only in my towel and I suddenly feel very self-conscious and under-dressed.

"Hello there, you must be my sister's new roommate," the man says in his low, deep tone. His voice has a slight gravel to it that sends a shiver down my spine. He sticks his hand out, towering over my small frame, his fingers long and calloused. "My name's David Caldwell."

Immediately, my heart starts to race, pounding in my ears. My breath catches painfully in my throat, as if an invisible hand is squeezing my windpipe. My palms grow clammy and I can feel myself starting to tremble, my whole body shaking uncontrollably from head to toe.

The man's smirk drops as he watches me slowly backpedal away from him, my eyes wide with unbridled terror. I stare at him as if he were some sort of terrifying monster, a fear gripping me.

David opens his mouth, about to speak, but I don't wait to hear it. I let out an ear-piercing, bloodcurdling scream that causes the man to flinch back. Without a second thought, I turn and bolt, running headlong into my room. I slam the door shut behind her, locking it with trembling hands.

I fling myself onto the bed, burrowing under the covers until I am cocooned in the safety of my bedding. I pull the blankets up over my head, hiding from the world. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe, gasping for air. Tears stream down my face unchecked, my whole body quivering.

'I just saw a man. A man was right in front of me,' I think frantically, the realization sending me into a full-blown panic attack. I begin biting down my hand hard on the side of my thumb, the pain a desperate attempt to ground myself and regain control. But the trembling refuses to subside, my mind racing with irrational fear.

As I tremble uncontrollably under the covers, my panicked thoughts continue to spiral.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it thundering in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. Each labored breath feels like a struggle, as if the air itself is thick and heavy, refusing to fill my lungs.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, but all I can see is the image of the man - David Caldwell - seared into my mind. The memory of his imposing figure towering over me, his deep voice, the sight of his outstretched hand reaching towards me. It's all too much.

I curl in on myself, knees pulled up to my chest as I continue to bite down on the soft skin of my thumb, harder and harder. The sharp pain is the only thing grounding me, keeping me from getting completely lost in the maelstrom of terror and panic coursing through me.

Tears are streaming down my face unchecked, dampening the pillow beneath my head. I can barely draw a full breath, my lungs seizing up as I fight against the overwhelming urge to hyperventilate.

Every nerve in my body is on high alert, ready to flee at the slightest provocation. I feel trapped, cornered, with nowhere to escape the onslaught of my own panicked thoughts.

In the confines of my bed, cocooned under the heavy blankets, I have never felt more vulnerable, more terrified. I just want it all to stop, to make the fear go away. But it continues to consume me, leaving me paralyzed and utterly helpless.