I woke up late feeling sore and sick. My stomach lurched and I ran towards the bathroom. I didn't make it in time and vomited on the hall carpet. Shakily I wrapped my dressing gown around me and walked out into the living room. Jack was asleep on the couch, the book from last night resting on his heaving chest. Quietly I crept over to the kitchen trying not to wake him up. I opened the cupboard, turned on the tap and made two cups of tea. He could drink his when he wakes up. My stomach was groaning. Maybe that's why I still feel sick. I pop in the toast just as Jack starts to stir. He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light coming through the blinds. Groggy and still tired he looks up at me.

" You look better. How are you feeling?" he asks, stretching.

"I feel better" I lie. " You hungry?" I say trying to change the subject.

"Famished!" He said, seeming to have bought the lie.

I walked over, handed him some toast and a cup of tea then went to sit down next to him. I crossed my legs on the couch and curled under the blankets. We just sat in silence for a while as we ate. I looked across at the book discarded on the table, To Kill A Mockingbird, a classic by Harper Lee. Jack stretched out a hand and turned on the TV but I was just a whirl of bright lights and white noise. I shut my eyes and the comfort of my living room faded to a dark cold forest with a still and silent black lake shining in the moonlight. In the dark there was a shrill scream, then I opened my eyes and the dream vanished.

Jack was shaking my shoulder violently. I scrambled out of the blankets and curled up on the couch. I was cold clammy and sweating and for the second time in two days my head was spinning. I couldn't hear the sound of Jack asking if I was ok. I couldn't hear the tv ads blazing in the background. All I could hear was a sharp ringing in my ears.

"Soph! You told me you felt better! Why did you scream? What happened?" The sound of Jack's voice was quiet and distant.

I tried to think back to the silence of the forest, to surrender to the thoughts and memories pounding at the back of my head. Yet again the thought was gone. Jack was standing above me his muscular jaw clenched as he loomed over me. When he saw my eyes open he told me to stay still and rest my head. He went to the kitchen and got me a glass of water and some nurofen. I heard the click of the kettle as he prepared a cup of tea. The potent smell of coffee drifted over to me. He must be stressed.

He walks over and turns off the TV. Placing the tea in front of me, he walks over to the bookshelf. Seemingly in thought he stood there staring at the bookshelf. When he walked back, he was carrying a small black book with gold lettering down the side. He sat down next to be and began frantically flicking through the pages as if he was searching for something. A rush of relief flowed over his face as he found what he was looking for. He turned to a page titled "blackouts". It was a book about alcoholism.

He thinks I'm a drunk! He thinks that I waste my life drinking to drown away my anxiety and depression. He can't even say it to me. He is just reading the chapter like everything is starting to make sense. I don't even drink! Well I drink like a responsable adult. I have never been fond of alcohol because of my dad. I would come home from school to Dad sitting on the couch smoking with a bottle of beer in his hand and a few more on the floor. His "little treat" he used to call it. After he drank he would change and become a completely different person. Which was the reason my mum left, followed by me and my brother. I have never liked alcohol and instead of feeling like a remedy it felt more like the cause of my pain.

He placed the book in my hands. I was furious, slowly working my self up to tell him how I felt, but I just couldn't do it. He cared about me and I couldn't just throw it back in his face. I read. I didn't read it for me but for Jack. I learned that when you black out you make no memories. "When you rapidly consume a bunch of alcohol, a roadblock basically goes up between the immediate and short-term memories, says Mark Rose, a licensed psychologist and addiction researcher. To go a bit more in-depth, when they're exposed to alcohol, the brain receptors that create memories in the hippocampus shut down." This can't be what is happening. I don't remember drinking any alcohol. But then again I don't remember anything really.

"Thanks Jack. Maybe this will explain what happened last night"

Jack seemed satisfied and with a few words of consolation, he left for work. Picked up the phone to call my boss; there was no way I could come into the office today. Luckily he was in a good mood and gave me the week off to recover my health. I snuggled myself into the blankets and turned on my phone. My eyes were blurry because I was so tired. I decided to turn on a podcast. Soon I fell asleep to the sound of quiet voices in the comforting embrace of the blankets. Mozart jumped on the end of the couch and curled up his long fluffy tail around his head. His warm purrs were calming and comforting, no matter what I do at least I know for certain Mozart will always love me.