HollowEyes3:
That last scene was pretty intense. You okay?
I sit up, pushing my tangled hair back. My bedroom is silent except for the soft hum of my laptop that sits across from my bed on my desk, still open from our hours-long roleplay session.
We’ve been building this scenario since I found out about Garrett. My character works in an office, still pissed about her boyfriend cheating on her.
The office is made up.
The people in it are made up.
But the boyfriend.. that part isn’t.
The horror we created together lives only in text.. in the shared fantasy we built word by word.
Bloodlust2:
Yes, I’m okay.
Dollface1:
The psychological elements worked well. Your character’s internal struggle gave it depth. Proud of you .
I stare at the message thread, at the elaborate narrative we’ve constructed. What started as a way to vent my rage after finding that video of Garrett has turned into something else entirely; a place to explore the darkest corners of my mind. The violent impulses I’d never act on in real life.. but can’t stop imagining.
HollowEyes3:
Great job, Puppet.
My lips quirk slightly.
Bloodlust2:
Isn’t it a little fucked up that we’re all enjoying this?
I type it.
Delete it.
Rewriteit.
Then send it anyway.
Dollface1:
It’s catharsis. You’re processing trauma through fiction. Perfectly healthy as long as the boundaries remain clear.
HollowEyes3:
It’s fiction, Puppet. We’re not actually doing anything illegal.
I pull my knees up to my chest.
The line between our real lives and this shared fantasy doesn’t always stay where it should. Especially not right now; alone in the dark, with everything we just wrote still lingering in my head.
Bloodlust2:
Do you guys ever worry we’re taking this too far?
