My name is Tryst

This Is Not a Love Story — It’s a Descent: TRYST by Julie Anne Addicott 🖤

Let me be loud, let me be crystal clear, let me be the voice screaming in your head before you open this book:

❌ This is not a dark romance.

❌ This is not a story of redemption.

❌ This is not for readers chasing morally gray cinnamon rolls who find the light.

This is pitch black.

This is horror.

This is the slow, surgical dissection of a soul —and it will ruin you.

💀 What Are You Really Holding?

What Julie Anne Addicott has crafted in Tryst isn’t meant to make you swoon. It’s not here to fix you or save you.

It’s here to crawl under your skin, settle in the rot, and whisper things you won’t be able to unhear.

This is psychological horror with no safety net. No mercy. No soft landings.

Just razor-sharp prose, the scent of decay, and the eerie silence of a soul that was broken long before page one.

⚠️ Before You Read…

Let’s get this out of the way:

🖤 Is it graphic? Oh, hell yes.

🖤 Are the trigger warnings longer than your TBR? Also yes.

🖤 Will it still gut you alive despite all that? You have no idea.

And if you close that final page thinking any of this was romanticized, I have news for you:

You didn’t read the book.

Or… you need therapy. Urgently.

🖤 Tryst Is Not Meant to Be Loved

This isn’t the type of book you say you “liked.”

You don’t like Tryst.

You’re not supposed to.

There’s no healing. No redemption. No magical transformation.

There’s just a boy who was raised in the abyss and never tried to escape it. Because no one ever told him he could.

And yet... you keep reading.

Not because you care.

But because the writing grips you by the throat and drags you deeper.

😶 What Broke Me

This book didn’t break my heart for the characters.

It broke my heart for humanity.

For the cruelty.

For the kids who never stood a chance.

For the real-life monsters who walk among us, wear skin, and smile.

When I reached the last page, I didn’t cry for Tryst.

I cried for all the souls who were never going to be okay.

And for the parts of us that still hope they could be.

 Final Thoughts (But Not Final Feelings)

Come if you want to be devastated.

Come if you can handle darkness with no candle at the end.

Come if you’re brave enough to look.

This book didn’t move me.

It haunted me.

Still does.

 If you’re into raw, brutal, soul-crushing horror that doesn’t hold your hand, this book belongs on your shelf — or in your nightmares.

P.S.

Rhis post contains affiliate links. That means if you click and buy the emotional trauma I just reviewed, I may get a tiny commission  enough to buy tissues or maybe an exorcism.

Amazon:My name is Tryst

Currently banned.

The author will have it soon published again.