"Alexia." Someone screams and soon I'm drenched in water. I gasp and sit up. My mom hugs me and I tensed. "Sorry." I whispered and relax. I was covered in sweat and water. It's almost been a year since I've been back home. I still have those terrors or should I say memories. That day has been scarred in my brain. I was only 7. I'm 17 now. But that memory has been haunting me for the past 3 days. My dad stood at the door watching silently. He gave me space and I loved how he cared enough to. Maybe it was the fact I had a panic attack once when he woke me. "Hi." I breath out. "Hey." He whispers. Long story short I was taken when I seven, a day after my birthday. I hadn't remember much about my family expected maybe my dad and two other boys who were, well are my brothers. But I've been in a cell obeying the rules of a monster for 10 years. It took a lot of therapy to just get me to say two words and stop hiding and running away 10 years of therapy to realize he can't hurt me now. "You can come in.." I say softly. He walks in and joins the hug. I sigh and lean into their touch. There's no doubt in my mind that I will be starting the sessions again.