Confronted with a wailing Sophia and not knowing what had caused it, I picked her up and carried her inside. There were far too many possibilities, had her mother done something? Or maybe Clark. Or was it some sort of stress-reaction, caused by insomnia, that was now breaking its way to the surface?

As I carried her, I realised that she was shaking, almost as if she was cold. That physical response caused me to seriously worry that there might be some sort of a shock-component at work, something other than a psychological problem, or maybe that the psychological problem was causing physical symptoms. Mind over matter and all that. It worried me, because it was hard to pin down problems that originated in the mind and even harder to fix them. A broken bone, I could splint, a cut I could suture but how could I help Sophia if the problem was in her mind?

For now, I decided that I would try to be there for her, whenever she was awake. After taking off her shoes and still carrying her, I moved into my bedroom. There I sat on the bed, my back against the headboard, and started stroking Sophia’s back. Now, patience was required, until she managed to talk to me, there was little I could do.

Her wailing slowly turned into quiet sobbing, soft sobs that ripped at my heart. Someone had hurt my dear Sophia, hurt her badly. As I sat there, I realised that I was gently rocking her, while humming something akin to a lullaby. That caused me to almost laugh, was I mothering Sophia? It was a strange thought, strange and more than a little uncomfortable. My thoughts about Sophia were far from motherly at normal times and I certainly did not want them to turn motherly.

After some time, the sobbing grew quiet and I realised that, once again, I was holding a sleeping Sophia, after she had cried herself to sleep. Carefully, I extracted myself from her grip, stretching her out on my bed, cleaning her face and changing her into comfortable sleeping clothes.

Once I was done, I had to flee the room, or I would risk waking her, which was unacceptable. Outside the bedroom, I was finally able to relax some of my emotional control, letting the sadness I was feeling when I saw her cry out. And not just the sadness came out, the helplessness that I could not protect her, or help her, the anger that someone had hurt her in such a way. All those bottled up feelings broke free in an explosion that can only be described as a screaming, crying fit. I was not sure if I was about to start punching random objects or curl up in a ball and stop moving.

After the fit, I was able to think a little clearer and get control of myself again. The worst of my emotions had drained and I would be able to be strong for Sophia again. So, just in case she woke up because of a nightmare, I went back into the room, changed into sleeping-clothes and pulled her into an embrace. She mumbled something in her sleep, but it was indecipherable.

The rest of the night, I kept myself awake, trying to soothe Sophia whenever she started to get restless, to assure her that everything was fine, that she was safe, that I was there for her. I was not sure what had happened, but whatever it had been, she would be able to face it better, after a good night's sleep. Especially since I suspected that she had not had one since we slept together Sunday night.

Some time Saturday morning, around eleven, Sophia started to stir in what I considered a healthy way. She had almost twelve hours of sleep, which should have recharged her, so if she was waking up normally, all the better.

“Mhhhhhmmmm....” She made a cute, growling, or maybe purring noise and stretched herself in my arms, almost like a cat.

“Good Morning, Cat.” She said, as she opened her eyes, before blinking in confusion.

“Good Morning, Sophia. How about we have some breakfast and you tell me what happened?” I asked in a gentle tone.

“What happened…?” She asked in a confused voice, scrunching her face up, thinking. “I was at home, doing homework… Then....” Her voice petered out. “I… I don’t know.” Her voice started to sound panicked. “Why can’t I remember?!”

“That, I do not know. You came here yesterday night and you were stressed. Maybe, it is because of that.”

Her inability to remember added to my worries. Over the night, I had read a little more about trauma-responses and short-term memory loss was comparatively normal. It might come back, all at once, due to some sort of trigger.

“Why not take a shower, while I prepare breakfast?” I asked.

“Hm? Yeah, okay. I need to get back home, or mom will have a fit.” As she spoke, I noticed tears forming in her eyes and running down her face. She seemed ignorant to them, so I did not mention them, but took note that mentioning her mother had caused them. While it might be coincidence, I had a hunch that it was not.

We had breakfast in an almost silence, both of us lost in our own heads. Soon after, Sophia wanted to leave and I insisted to accompany her. What she was not aware of, was that I was packing quite a few weapons, carrying a rather normal pistol, loaded with a mix of hollow-point and armour-piercing rounds, my armbands, my k-bar, hidden in my boots and even a few grenades, just in case things went bad. In addition, Galatea had a few drones deployed and was carefully listening in to the police-band.

Not wanting to draw attention, we slowly walked into the city, acting like a couple that had shared a nice, Saturday morning walk in the forest, but underneath the calm veneer, both of us were dealing with our own emotions, making the walk rather quiet.

When we came to their apartment-block, Sophia got tense and I wondered if she would ask me to keep away so her mother would not see me. But no, she did not and we walked up to the door, Sophia reaching for the handle but as she pushed slightly against it, the door swung open.

And once more, I saw the Collins’ living room in a state of disarray. It was not as bad as it had been when her father had left them but the few places that were disturbed seemed worse.

I noticed that Sophia’s breathing quickened, almost as if she was hyperventilating. She seemed almost in a trance, as she walked into the apartment, towards her room. The door to her room was broken and the normally tidy room was a mess. In the door frame, she sunk to her knees and started shaking again. I noticed that the window was not closed shut, only leaning against the frame, when Sophia started sobbing again.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch, so I started to talk, softly and gently, to make sure she knew who I was. I managed to pick her up and saw that her eyes were tightly shut and her lips moved in a mumbling fashion, but no sound escaped.

I had a feeling that there was no way for her to talk, not until whatever she was seeing was over, so I gently carried her to the sofa, sitting and placing her on my lap.

After some time, she started talking, in a soft, almost trance-like voice. She sounded… odd, her voice was flat, as if she was not quite herself.

“Mom came home. But she was not alone. I didn’t know him, at first. But mom told me he was her boss at work. A good friend. And he would be my good friend. That I should listen to him. He looked strange. And he looked at me in a strange, creepy way. It made me uncomfortable. I wanted to excuse myself. But mom said I should not be rude. That I should be nice to her friend. That he would help us. I did not care. I did not trust that man. I wanted to walk to my room. He grabbed my shoulder, saying that I was not nice. That he would have to train me. I shook him off. I fled into my room and closed the door. He tried to open it. He started yelling and calling me names. I heard my mother yell at me, that I was being childish. I fled through the window…”

Galatea flashed me a notice, that we should leave, that we should get out of there, fast. Not knowing the reason, but knowing that Galatea would not tell me something like that without a good reason, I stood, picking Sophia up with me, and I fled.