At first, Jack couldn't feel much at all. All he had realized was that yes, he was still alive. Maybe. His entire word was black and numb. No noise. No feeling. No smells. No tastes. Just black. Slowly, his senses began to return. At first, it was just touch. He could feel that we was laying down on something. He was on his stomach, his head laying on its side. His back was still numb, but he could feel with the rest of his body. He could feel a dull, throbbing pain in his stomach. Where the hell am I? He then felt something in his nose. It was small, plastic and flimsy. What's this? Other than the numbness and the discomfort in his nose, he felt very comfortable; whatever he was laying on was soft. Then came his sense of hearing and smell. He could smell bleach and sterility. He could hear a soft succession of beeps, then his own breathing. He heard the sound of a magazine's glossy page peeling as it was turned over. Then came his taste. That was awful. A nasty, putrid taste that lingered not only in his tongue, but his entire oral cavity and throat as well. God this tastes awful...

His last sense to return was his eyesight. It took all of the strength he could muster just to open them. He was met with blinding white light. He winced and skewed his eyes shut. There was a rustling of papers.

"Jack?" The voice seemed so distant and foggy. But Jack could hear his name. All he could manage was a moan. He felt the floor shake with running footsteps, then a hand on his bare shoulder. "Jack! Jack can you hear me?"

Who are you? Jack tried as hard as he could to speak, but could only manage the slightest of a whisper.

"Who..." Jack paused for a long time. "Who..."

"It's me, Jack. It's Uncle Jerry." Jack could feel the air disturbed in front of his muzzle, and he smelled the faint smell of oily canine fur. He opened his eyes.

It took his eyes some time to adjust, but the picture eventually came into focus. A mutt, with German Shepard markings and large, floppy ears. Uncle Jerry. Jack looked at Jerry confused for a moment, then it came flooding back to him. The apartment. The thunderstorm. James. And the extension cords. Oh god the extension cords... Jack began to cry, weakly sobbing and wheezing.

"No no no, it's okay, it's okay." Jerry tenderly put his hand on top of Jack's head, gently stroking him from the top of his head down to the side of his neck. "You're okay."

"He's... he's going to get me!" Sobbed Jack. "We need to get out of here... He's going to get me..."

"Shh, shh, it's okay," said Jerry. "He won't get you here. You're safe now."

"He's in here!" Jack began to breathe heavily, gasping for air. "He's here! He's in the apartment!" Jack tried to move his arm. However, it was gripped and held in place.

"You're not in the apartment Jack." Said Jerry. "You're in the hospital."

Jack stopped. The beeping, the smells, the soft thing beneath him, the thing in his nose, it all made sense.

"How did I get here?" asked Jack. "Where's mom?" Jack opened his eyes again. This time he noticed something on jerry's head. A massive bandage on the right side of his forehead. "What happened to you?"

"Look Jack, you just need to sleep right now. You need to recover from your surgery."

"S...surgery? I haven't had any surgeries."

"Look, just try to sleep for me, okay?"

Jack was so tired he obliged almost instantly.

"He came after me." I said, hugging myself and shivering at the memory as I leaned further into Cassandra. "Yeah he was drunk, but that doesn't change anything. He was so scary, just beating me and throwing me around. I was powerless. I couldn't do anything."

"Wait, so what happened to Jerry?" asked Cassandra. "Why'd he have a thing on his head?"

"He walked in on it." I replied. "He saw what James was doing. He got into a fight with him. James ended up getting away by smashing a wine bottle on his head."

"Oh my gosh..." said Cassandra. "How bad was it? Your injuries, I mean."

"Pretty bad." I said frankly. "The scar isn't from the beating itself. The scar is from the surgery. There was so much damage they had to stich me up real good and even put a skin graft on it. The kick to my stomach also caused internal bleeding. Thankfully they stopped it, but I was in bed for... shit I can't even remember how long now."

"Did... um..." Cassandra carefully mulled over her choice in words. "Did he ever try to go after you again?

"Not while I was in the hospital, no." I replied. "There was police outside my room the entire time. The judge made sure that happened, and also issued a restraining order and an arrest warrant for James."

"Wow." Cassandra breathed deeply for a few minutes.

"You alright?" I asked. I felt inexplicably better than five minutes ago. Maybe therapists aren't such a ripoff after all. Then again, I was getting this for free....

"Yeah, yeah." Cassandra re-adjusted her posture. "This... this is just a lot to take in. I mean, one second you're completely normal, then the next you're having a... thing." Thing was a nice way to put it. "And you didn't tell me any of this." A lump formed in my throat. What was I supposed to say?

"...look, I'm sorry for not telling you. I just didn't want to dump this on you. I was waiting for a bit longer."

"Well that kinda backfired, didn't it?" I could tell by her smirk that she was saying this in a playful way.

"What would you prefer? I scrawl red lipstick over my face? Quote the Joker?" I tilted my head twitched. "Do you know how I got these scars?" Cassandra burst out laughing. ...okay that joke wasn't nearly as funny in hindsight, but after what happened it might as well have been Chris Rock giving us a private show. Besides, that was the first time I ever joked about it.

What the hell is going on with me?

Cassandra peeled away from me and stood up. She looked at the alarm clock at the side of my bed.

"Oh dammit, we're are SO late!"

"You still want to go?" I asked. Cassandra paused and looked at me confused. I could feel my cheeks burning. "Well... it's like halfway done now. We wouldn't be nearly drunk enough." Cassandra chuckled.

"Well I can't disagree with that." She said as I stood up and walked over to my dresser. I could feel her looking at my scar again. But this time, I didn't mind it. I felt nothing. No embarrassment, no shame. I actually felt a bit excited. I opened the second drawer from the top. It was full of shirts; T-shirts on the left, button-up and semi-formal shirts on the right. "Hm." I could hear the disapproval in Cassandra's voice. I paused.

"What?"

"Nothing!" she said, quickly and nervously.

"Come on now Cassy, I've told you... well almost everything. Don't hide it. You can't hide it forever."

"Well... okay fine." She averted her gaze. "I... um..." She dug into her pocket and began fiddling with her keys. "I'm just going to make myself a coffee, okay?"

"...okay." I watched her in the mirror as she walked out of my room. Just before she stepped out of the doorway, she took a quick peek at my back, then quickly walked down the hallway back to the kitchen. I turned back to my drawer and pulled out a green T-shirt. What is up with here? I thought to myself, Why did she sound so disappointed? I was just reaching for- I stopped dead in my tracks. I chuckled to myself and tossed the shirt back into the drawer. This was going to be fun.

A happy homemaker Cassandra was not. She didn't cook much. And she certainly didn't clean much either. A kitchen might as well have been a foreign nation for her. She always had trouble finding things in her kitchen, let alone one she didn't know. As I walked down the hallway I heard the cupboard doors opening and closing as she tried to find something. I rounded the corner. Our eyes met. She briefly glared at my chest, then quickly looked back to the cupboard.

"Erm... where are your mugs?" She asked as I walked into the kitchen.

"Right here." I purposefully turned so that she could see my back as I reached up for the cupboard door. I looked back and caught her staring at my back again. Our eyes met for a second, then she quickly turned away. I chuckled.

"Shut up." Mumbled Cassandra, swiping the mug from my hands.

"You dig scars, don't ya?"

"No, I don't dig scars David. I'm not a dog."

"Oh really?" I stretched and flexed. Her eyes became fixated on my back. "Looks like it to me." She batted me between the shoulder blades and made her way to the coffee maker. She had put a frown on her face, but I could tell by her flicking tail that she was enjoying it.

"You're ridiculous." She said as she started up the brew. "If I asked you to take off your shirt an hour ago, you would have had the same reaction as a priest being asked for sexual favours."

"Well if you asked me to in public, I would probably still have the same reaction. But after talking to you and getting that weight lifted off of my shoulders, I'm not afraid of showing you anymore. Besides..." I hugged her from behind, pressing my chest against her back. "You like it."

"I so do not!" She stammered as she squirmed away from my hug.

"Oh really? Why else did you get so touchy-feely with me? And why are you so aroused? Hmmmm?"

"David! I am not aroused!"

"My nose has two-hundred and twenty-five million receptors in it. Don't think I can't smell it."

"Shut up!" said Cassandra once again. Though this time, she couldn't hide her smirk.

"Aha, I can see your smile! Don't deny it. Embrace it!" I looked at the pot of coffee. "Coffee's done." Cassandra stared at me for a moment, confused.

"Oh! The coffee! Erm - yes, the coffee." She poured it into her mug. She took her coffee black. I always joked how the hooks on her tongue meant that she couldn't taste very much. She took a sip. "So... I still have a few things I want to know. Can we sit down?"