Okay so I'm new to this fandom, just started with season one. Sometimes it feels like it's not enough, what they both say or do on screen. So my Mind started filling the gaps. This is what came to page...

Catherine Everyone told me it was a wild animal; a coyote, a bear. That this thing I thought I'd seen was just the result of my concussion, or post-traumatic stress. You know, the men who killed my mother were beasts. I believed them. Until now.

Catherine:

The first days after the death of my mother were like a bad dream, a nightmare and I couldn't wake up as much as I wanted to. Hours I had been awake at night, first in the Hospital bed later in my own, my thoughts all over the place desperately trying to remember the brief encounter with this thing while closing myself up to the grief about the loss of my mother. I didn't cry once. Concentrating on the one thing I could control in my mind, I tried to replay this night a hundred or a thousand times. How I ran into the woods, how I fell and how I first felt that I wasn't alone with these Killers. How did it sound, how did it smell and how it moved. Sometimes I got a glimpse of a memory flashing through my mind or hear the sound of his growling in my ears. The graceful movement or the way his eyes seemed to glow yellow. Most of these Flashbacks came in the early morning, when I flowed in this foggy state between sleep and awakening. I tried to hold on to them, to never open my eyes too quickly. I was never able to. So I began to write notes, collect everything I found or remembered about this night.

Even back at home I had a notebook stored beside my bed to write down this brief images. They covered whole sites, some just sticky notes, sometimes sketches of golden eyes and claws. I tried to talk about it, first with my family but my father and Sister where also trying to process the tragedy and weren't really listening to my rambles. Neither were the cops, the staff at the hospital, two therapists I was sent to and some of my friends. They all looked at me with pity in their eyes like I have gone mad. Like this was my strange way to deal with the loss. After some time I just stopped talking about it, burying it inside me and after a couple of month they all thought I was getting better. I studied hard and made my family proud, I spend time with friends and even dated. They all seemed happy that I stepped back from the threshold of insanity and I let them believe it. I got through college, became a Cop and never said a single word about it again.

But these days, sometimes alone at home when I sat on my desk, thinking about that cold and horrible night, going through the articles from the papers or looking at case files, I got the book out that still lies under my bed and read those lines, look at the poorly sketches and tell myself that I am right, that I am not insane, that I'm not having PTSD or what they've all told me. That this is what I saw, heard and felt in that night and every letter, every word is the truth, my truth.

J.T: You broke every rule! No interacting with anyone, no entering a building -

Vincent: I know what the rules are, okay? I made them. It's been years. It starts to feel like a prison in here.

J.T: What prison has a flat screen and an Xbox?

Vincent:

Who cares about a flat screen I wanted to scream at him but I didn't. I felt so much pent up anger and despair, I was shaking and hanging on a thin thread on the bridge of a change. I forced myself to breath and stay calm. He gave so much up, lost so much for me that I couldn't be angry at him.

I made those rules I hated so desperately. It was unwarranted but undoubtedly the way I felt. He couldn't understand and even when he was almost in the same position as me, he also wasn't. J.T. could go outside everyday, interact with people and work in his profession. I was here, in this building day and night, wasting away. I could never work as a Doctor again, never contact someone i once knew, go the Movie or invite a beautiful woman for dinner. Not that I could be with a woman anyways. When I would get out, to stop myself from going insane, it was infrequent and in the middle of the night. Plus I couldn't talk to anyone, I was always watching, observing but never participating. Not that there were much people around at night that I wanted to talk to but still. I was desperate for any human contact. But I hadn't talked to another human being other than J.T. in nine Years. Hadn't felt another one touching me willingly even longer.

I had spent Years researching, studying and in addition learned how to cook, how to take care of myself. Had endless time to play video games, watch that crap on TV or to work out. The daily hours when my friend was at work, I read. I read so many books from all types of themes, even romantic novels. Through books I could travel, finding myself in stories, hiding in a fantasy world. I felt alive through the characters, experiencing their adventures while sitting in my bed, in this house. In this prison, made by my own hands and rules. But then there were these days like today when I couldn't lie to myself. This wasn't a life, not even half of it. The years of work for the damned Antidote were pointless, it was almost sure I would have to live like this till I finally die or maybe Muirfield would get me first. And than I became angry, with him, with me and the whole world. Because of my DNA i couldn't control that emotions and would turn. Becoming even more aggressive and in the end hating myself for it. An endless circle but I couldn't help it. This was my reality. It felt so unfair.

Once a year I had searched her out to take a look at her, from some roof or out of an dirty alley. Always in hiding, always on the dark of the night. Just the need to see, to know how she had changed over the last 365 days. She was always alone, much like myself. She smiled here and there but it never reached her eyes. Every year I hoped for a genuine smile, for some kind of sign that she was happy with her life but it seemed like she was as lonely and reclusive as me.

A few days later i met her. Face to face for the second time. Not in a way that i would've ever planned it but that couldn't be changed now. These last days, I had tasted Freedom. I had interacted, had to react to a situation. I had talked to a beautiful Woman something I couldn't bring myself to even hope. And not every Woman, it was her. The Woman who haunted my dreams and lived in my mind since 9 years. For the first time in month I felt human, I felt like a man. Now that we've met, talked and wrote notes to each other I felt useful, alive. She had seen me in a way even J.T. couldn't. Like I could breathe again. And inside me was this small voice of dangerous hope that maybe, just maybe she could see me, the man not the monster.

I hope you enjoyed reading it. Be aware that English is not my first language so maybe it could need some Beta ;-)