Reyna was old. Like really old, 11 years old in fact. There was always a silence that appeared when we thought about her age and that she would probably... Alder didn't like to think about that prospect. Neither did I, but as someone who experienced pet deaths quite commonly at my work, I guess I could say I'd come to terms with it. It was a situation Reyna's age that caused a bit of friction in my and Alder relationship. Nothing we hadn't handled before.

Alder was stroking the ginger she cat whose grey muzzle was lying weakly on his lap. His expression was one of a sad smile. Reyna then leapt off his lap and skidded instead of landing perfectly. "Alder..."

"I don't want to lose her Sully," he mumbled. I walked over to him and hugged him.

"I know Alder."

"S-she's too special t-to me," Alder was sobbing now. Emmalyn was in her room. "I-I don't want her to die."

"I know, Al, but no one lives for forever." I knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say as Alder's warmth left as he forced himself out of my grasp. His gaze was hard and cold and any sign of how distraught he'd been a few seconds before was gone.

"You think I don't know that?" His tone was cold, with no sign of warmth. His eyes were narrowing. I internally gulped. I had screwed up, and I knew it. "Do you have any idea what I've been through? Have you forgotten? My mother died, my father KILLED MY SISTER, HOW HE ALMOST KILLED ME? AND NOW I'D LOSE MY CAT? OUR CAT?" He stood up, glaring at me. I merely stared aghast at him. I knew this was all my fault. In a moment of idiocy I had completely forgotten how much death Alder had been through. He sighed. "I need a walk, I'm sorry," he said, grabbing a jacket off of a chair and walking out of the door slamming it behind him.

I fell back, blank-minded, onto the couch with my eyes looking at the ceiling. Would we ever come out of this? We'd come out of things like this before but....

A vision of a brown haired, green eyed man passed in my mind. I jumped, the vision was so... clear as if the man was standing in our kitchen. Frightened, I walked into my and Alder's room and searched for Creek. My stuffed animal comfort object was in the corner. I picked up the fox and hugged him, stroking his fur. I wasn't having an attack, unless I didn't know if I was.

My mother being pushed into a wall, my father grabbing her arms violently. My father clearly drunk and threw her into the wall again, causing her to yelp and hold her left arm. Her terrified expression...

It was so.... vivid. Creek was still clutched close to my chest.

"Zane? What are you doing?" My mother's voice fell on deaf, drunk ears. My father grabbed her again, this time forcing her into a table until she screamed.

I felt my legs moving as if my body wasn't communicating with my brain.

Eventually my legs gave way wherever I was and started crying loudly, Creek was still with me.

"Zane! You did WHAT?!" I never understood this part of the flashback. My father pushed my mother into a wall again.

"Mommy...? Daddy...?" My voice sounded younger and weak. I could only watch in horror. The vision version of my mother noticed me then, and shouted at me.

"Sullivan! Go to your room!" She sounded really scared. I couldn't move, I was frozen to the spot. Then I noticed a streaming of red liquid coming from my mother's side, and she was hissing in pain. I'd never told Alder the extent of my attacks, how clear they were. Would I ever be free of this? I opened my eyes briefly but my vision was blurry.

I hadn't told Alder the extent of the violence my mother experienced. I didn't understand much when this first happened or when my first attack happened. I was like why do I get these bad flashbacks? Do they stop? Will they ever stop? I was so wrapped up in the vision I didn't notice that someone had walked into the bathroom.

Emmalyn was horrified.