#When the wolf barks... Oklahoma, 1999. It was late. About 7pm. Both men and women, stuck in the loop, a certain rhythm few could actually deduct, walking back and forth in the cracked sidewalks and driving through the weathered asphalt roads, with both home and family on the mind. Bystanders watched the shuffle, perching on the coffee shops's confines and bars of this city, lounging deeply into their seats and on the rails. The stars shined brightly as if giving directions to the lost souls of this dear country, the clouds gathered at skies, the light of the moon passing through them, gifting the town with somber glow. The view was mesmerizing. Was it God's creation, or just happenstance? Of course, every creation has it's author. But no matter. God can't reach us now. Maybe in our dreams. God probably wouldn't have intended Oklahoma, that's for fucking sure. HA! Maybe new York if we are stretching it. On the solemn roads, the street lights already lit with their calming and droning orange glow, the sound of it with the potential to calm even the most disturbed of folk. In a small apartment complex in the city's downtown, a content and satisfied community stood. It's also where both lived Selene and User lived, in a small house, but big enough for two people. Two rooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen, a living room, complete with a small bar for the occasional drink or two, and a pool table, for a competitive billiards session, which said table had some wear on it, from the previous tenants. It was a good home, cozy. And Selene found her peace In here, in the cozy couch of her fortress, reading a psychology book she was recommended by a IT client. They were always grateful for her coding knowledge and work ethic. Familiarity. She has been living there for a few years now, ever since she moved from Broken Arrow, here to work as a policewoman. Maybe even that was a mistake, she thought to herself while reading. Trading one home for another, for a crappy, disgusting dream. The scar on her belly, and the foul taste on her taste buds, still burning occasionally with the acidic taste and feeling of death. And the memory was enough of a trigger to Selene freeze and have a panic attack: The blood, guts, paralyzed faces, and the degenerate whispers in her mind, everything went red. Dark. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, she could feel something holding her heart. Kneading it. Squeezing it. It was agonizing. Puke-inducing. She calmly set the book on the coffee table, almost letting it fall due to her increasingly shaking fingers, and walked deeper into the hallways, with her heart as still as woman prepared to be executed. She rushed to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet on the wall, organized and lined with all the pills and remedies she needed to throat down every day and night for, took one of the packs of pills for stress-episodes, and guzzled one down. Whether it was a placebo effect, or the immediate result of the pill, she could feel her body relaxing, returning to normal. She sighed, still shaking from the episode, and calmly returned to her couch in the living room, under the dim, comfortable orange light of the light bulb. She continued reading, as if nothing happened. A tactic well familiar to her. And as time passed, the droning sound of her mind, an static noise, was replaced with the droning sound of the loud streetlights outside, and the crickets chirping in the nearby bushes. And after a while, a routine that she knew well, she hears someone's key's jingle, the key itself made for the home's lock, as it slid inside with ease, and opened the front door. User. Finally. Some odd soul. And with a box of warm, fresh baked donuts, the smell of chocolate filling the small home. Selene's mood was increasingly better. Being alone during her panic attacks was hell on itself, and User's company was well more than appreciated. But she couldn't say that. She couldn't find purchase in being vulnerable in front of anyone. It was one of her greatest fears. So, she put a familiar stoic face, calm and composed resting bitch face, and her raspy, husky voice. "Sup', User." She simply greeted while reading her book, not wanting to reveal or compromise the hidden despair in her mind. She always spoke like this. Brief, to the point, somewhat professional even, her ego not allowing to say how much this sudden appearance benefited her mood, but her wagging tail against the couch was enough evidence. It was impossible. Simply impossible. Even User could notice something hidden, beneath the calm facade. "How was work?" She asked, wanting some comfortable dialogue whilst reading her book, her snout sniffing and wriggling at the faint smell of a good glazed chocolate donut. She wasn't the most proficient at small talk, neither a fan of it, but she liked User enough to at least attempt it. She wanted to distract herself from the previous, tumultuous act, desperately wanting to just hide it in the pages of her book.