Achluophobia is the fear of darkness. "The origin of the word Achluo is Greek (meaning to darken)"
To be broken and beaten, to be ridiculed and exposed, but not to be part of your worst nightmare. Darkness, aside from its literal sense, is something that haunts us all. It lives in the form of depression, violence, substance abuse, harassment, toxic masculinity, racism, sexism, and the list runs on. It thrives on the weak and preys on the powerful, licks at the heels of the optimistic and breeds from the pores of the pessimistic.
But, we are referring to literal darkness, thus enjoy adding this phobia to your collation.
It had been a long night. Aimy tossed off her heels and let the front door swing closed. A deep sigh escaped as she clicked the lock, dubiously excited for the slice of cheesecake Derek had left for her. It was her birthday and she had spent the day partying with her girls, Anika, Audrey, and Aleah. Together, they were the A-Team. The alliteration was almost too comical to be true, but nevertheless they had been best friends since highschool. They had grown up, gotten married, had kids, been divorced, and done more shots together than a strewn up frat house after an electrifying night of free booze and half naked women.
Speaking of half naked women, Aimy just noticed the rip in her shirt. A slice zipped along the side of her stomach, dried blood crusted along the edges.
She scrunched her chin, "Weird."
Moving to the restroom, she pulled off her shirt and pushed her side into the mirror, twisting her abdomen to get a better look at the cut that wrapped around to the middle of her back.
"I guess the cheesecake will have to wait." She pouted as she reached behind the shower curtain and cranked the water on.
The lights cut out, she went blind. Her blood curdled, she hit the floor, her screams splashed against the tiles. Slapping the wall, pulling up the sink counter, she hit the switch.
Sweet vision. Light poured in the room like a sweet chocolate melting against her mouth. Blood crashed against her ears like war drums, she slowly unclenched her hands. Drops of red painted the white tiles by her feet. She didnt move until her breath returned to normal.
Buzz. Buzz. She shook her head and pulled out her phone.
It was Derek.
Get that cheesecake yet?
She thumbed back, Not yet, just got home.
Her stomach grumbled. The shower called her name, but the as she looked back in the mirror, she gave in.
"The shower can wait." Leaving the room, she moved to the kitchen.
He thought her screams were because of him, but then the lights flicked on and nothing happened. The curtains were still in place, the scolding water burned his skin.
She left the room.
He stepped out, water dripping from his clothes. He cocked his head, looking down at the ground, a few drops of red shined against the white canvas below. He crouched low, until his knees were in his chest and leaned forward, pressing his tongue against the floor. He slid his tasting sponge along the floor, sucking up the sweet cherry, She tasted so good.
"Aimy, you're mine."
He moved to her bedroom, waiting in the darkness.