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chapter one
PILOT
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The story didn't begin with a bang, scream, or gunshot— but a doorbell.
Doesn't seem exciting, right? Yeah, Amelia knows.
For most people, their traumatic experiences are relived from a certain sound, object, or person— but for her, it was a fucking doorbell. Every time she heard it, her instincts would kick in. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, her feet would tighten and get in a ready position on the floor, claws would dig into her palms and shake from how stiff they became. Even if it was from the tv during a movie or show, her fight or flight sense would activate— and her instant reaction was always to fight.
Yeah, Amelia was well aware that having her fists up and claws out wasn't the best first instinct to have. But after years of not having a teacher, it was all that she could do at that point.
Things were hard because... it had gotten so much worse after... well, everything.
Without someone there to hold her hand and tell her that it was all going to be okay— she really let herself go. It was difficult not to, though. Staying in the same house that everything went to down in, walking past the rooms that her family used to stay in every night, the dining table that they ate at (the same one she started way too many food fights at). And the door that could have prevented many casualties, had she not opened it.
