"I know a secret. Wanna hear it?

Drunken whispers and strange inspirations, brewing concoctions and making you dwell on thoughts best left unspoken. Until they are. Then danger, danger, DANGER.

"Sure, I'm good with secrets.

But history has taught that those moments fade with time, or twist in strange ways. Differences from life once lived causing oddity to push, to prod, to pry them into even odder ideas. Ideas that, in reality, would make you insane. In fantasy, are just standards.

"I know."
"Know what, sweetie?"

And the moment strikes fear in you, when you realize you're trapped in it. Ten, fifteen, twenty years later it makes you laugh. Partially because you realize you had it, and missed it. Partially because, well, in a way, you're glad you did.

"I know what guys like to do to pretty girls."

And the moment, it fades, it twists, it resides. It wasn't her words, but her actions that determined. And your inaction that saved you. Fear is a tool, a tool you can use. Even your own.