And then there was recovery.

Dominic had gotten arrested and charged with domestic assault. George didn't care how he got punished. The only thing he cared about was progress.

He was working towards something normal. He wanted to stop flinching when Ivory moved her hand toward him, he wanted to stop picturing blue and purple paint strokes on his skin. No, not paint stroked, bruises. Calling them anything else was excusing Dominic's actions, making them something beautiful.

He went to therapy every Wednesday and although he didn't feel it doing anything at first, he told himself to be patient, that this would help him in the long term. He knew he wouldn't forget the memories of Dominic, but he would learn to cope with them.

He started eating again, and he started filling the silence of the house with all the normal noises. The wheelchair crossing the room, the coffee machine, his humming.

He also went back to work at the library. They excused his absence due to the circumstances, and he was welcomed back by Lydia in particular. The one who made cookies of course.

They went out after work sometimes and talked about normal human things like politics and books. She would smile down at him and he stopped thinking about Dominic's bearing teeth. He would hold her hand sometimes and wouldn't think about being forced downwards by tattooed arms. One day, she kissed him and he didn't feel Dominic's unwanted and unwelcome breath on his neck.

As for Ivory, she was recovering in her own way.

She tried new makeup and experimented with her outfits a little more than usual. She went outside and shooed away boys that would ask for her number. She got another piercing on her ear, on the side.

She also turned down Silver Quill's offer of publishing her book. She went to bookstores and didn't get anything. She'd just go to the coffee stand in the store and read for hours. The girl at the counter didn't tell her to go away. One day, they started talking. And then the lady said her name was Cory. And then she read Ivory's manuscript for "Dreaming of Shadows'".

"I'm saving up to start a publishing company of my own," She said one day. "and when I do Ivory, mark my words, your book will be the first one I publish." Then she would slide a coffee over the counter and wink at her, and Ivory knew she wouldn't be charged for it.

George brought Lydia home with him one day. Ivory gave George a questioning look when she wasn't looking, and George shook his head. Ivory had no reason to be afraid.

In fact, all suspicions flew away when Lydia passed Ivory a cookie behind her back and winked at her. There was no scary aura around her, and nobody who makes chocolate chip cookies this good could ever want to hurt people.

When it was time for her to go, she gave Ivory a warm smile and patted her hand, a warm and affectionate gesture. Motherly even.

She saw her lean down and plant a kiss on his cheek, and George looked the happiest he'd been in a while. When he came back inside, he looked up at Ivory questioningly, and he couldn't have been more clear: "Is she ok?"

Ivory looked back down at him and put a hand on his shoulder, a smile on her face. "Yes George." She nodded furiously. "She's so good." They both collapsed into happy, nervous tears.

And as for the cats? Well, most of them showed up at their owner's doorsteps, happier and plumper than before. As for the ones that didn't, well... Neither Ivory or George want to go into detail. All I'll say is that they're resting in peace.

Ivory brought Cory home one day. George gave Ivory a questioning look when Cory wasn't looking, and Ivory shook her head. "No, we aren't dating. That's gross." Her face said. And while Cory didn't pass George secret cookies like Lydia did to Ivory, she gave him bright smiles and enthusiastic compliments.

"I just can't get over how amazing it is!" She said about his new pastel pink wheelchair.

And they were happy, or relatively so. Silence was peaceful, relaxed. Sometimes, that was all there was. And that's important. Because without silence, we'd never get to just stop and be ourselves for a while.

One day, three sharp knocks on the door sliced through that silence.