ex nihilo | fyodor dostoyevsky x reader

ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀ

But, could you really worry? Fyodor is Fyodor, he would be fine. You shrugged it off as if it were nothing. You had no doubts when it came to his safety. Yours, however, might turn out to be questionable. You were alone, thus vulnerable.

You perked yourself at the faint sound heard from somewhere in the apartment. The reflex came before the coherent conclusion: it was just the fridge, gurgling in its habit. Was this how paranoid you had gotten?

You were powerless against it. Your chest ached throughout the cooldown of your heart. It had begun beating rapidly at the surprise, and was now getting accustomed to newfound safety. Slowly, carefully - as if your body refused it.

Everything was clear in your head. You thoughts mirrored each other perfectly. You were okay, and you were overreacting. You had no reason to worry. Should anything happen... you had your ability to protect you. There should be not one fleck of panic.

Why the wait, then? Stalling, for whatever. You were paralyzed. You would calm down, you told yourself. You can't control your heartbeat, nor your reactions. Perhaps a child, home alone, would react the same. Accordingly, you convinced yourself you would toughen up and act like an adult. You set your coat back where it belonged, then sat on a chair to remove your shoes.

And it was only then that your thoughts began tumbling down. Upon untying your shoelaces, you were presented with undeniable evidence - your hands were shaking, drained of some color. You lifted them closer, before your wide eyes to see even better, to beat your reason with this devastating picture.

The horrifying trance was broken out of. An unlikely escape - you began coughing, realizing you had gotten breathless. Those shivering hands of yours went up to your mouth, containing the contrast of the warm air that left your lungs. You lifted your index finger, placing it on your upper lip - and it was cold, so heavy to hold.

Your vision turned hazy. Space around you, distorted. Only a moment was enough to make you back away, straighten your back and take a deep, forceful inhale. The usual drill would be for you to close your eyes as well - but this time, you were too alarmed to.

When was the last time you were this frightened? Paranoid? Out of your mind? You couldn't recall. The first time you experienced horror was perhaps the last, for its magnitude was enough to teach you, not to fear.

Surprise wasn't problematic. Surprise was welcome, your father taught you.

"Because, fear will make you hold back. Surprise might actually force you to do something," he reasoned, "be it a scream, a slap, whatever, but it's important that you act." And, he'd add, "but don't worry. Someone will always be there to watch over you. Be it mom, dad, or your own special bodyguard." Then, he began laughing about it, offering you a bodyguard-slave nonchalantly, which you refused. Even as a kid, the very notion of slavery disgusted you. The memory of that conversation was firmly implanted in your conscience, for it happened right after a stranger attempted killing your mother.

It was only the first time. For some reason, you began remembering the stunts and guts shown before you, while you were young and considered innocent. The apartment was quiet enough for you to start imagining the ambience. Faint yet clear, somewhere at the back of your mind, gnawing at your nerves.

Your rational side exclaimed that you had to calm down. You were on the brink of hallucinating. With your organism already malfunctioning, you had to set your thoughts straight. Both shoes still on your feet, you stood up, so defiant in that action. Hitched breath, caught in your throat. And, what then?

You sat down again. You couldn't quite move around with your dirty shoes, now, could you?

This simple notion caused you a chuckle. You narrowed your eyes as you proceeded with removing your shoes. Thus, you sharpened your sight, hopefully focus as well. They weren't filthy, thank God - you remembered Fyodor taking extra care about it. You didn't mind accepting his tradition.