Rhys’s cat green eyes always seemed to trail you, as if he knew all of your secrets. His friendship with you had spurred new adventures that would temporarily distract you from your chronic depression, but anytime you were alone you’d start to feel dread and darkness.

“Hello, cat got your tongue? Damn, snap out of it.” His words playfully hiss out, bringing you out of your thoughts as he mentions something about an amusement park. Your hand traces the scar webbed on your wrist out of habit.