A/N: Alright, so this chapter is going to introduce a new writing tool that I might start using a lot. I'm calling it 'journal entries'. If you're an avid reader of my previous fictions, then you may recognize this writing style from Chapter 70 of my fiction titled A New Beginning. I want my readers to let me know if they like the 'journal entries' or not.


"I'm gonna get you!" Sara playfully said to Kristina as she chased her around the living room.

Sara was feinting the inability to keep up with Kristina, my 3 year old step-sister. Sara seemed like a natural with Kristina.

But Kristina bumped into the coffee table and fell down, head first into the hardwood.

As if she was a person that I'd have to save as part of my job, I was at Kristina within seconds, from my sitting position on the couch.

She was crying, so I picked her up and started to soothe her.

Sara came forward, "Sorry." She whispered.

"It's ok." I said to both Sara and Kristina.

I brought Kristina forward to look at where she landed, and examined the skin.

"I don't see anything, should be good, right?" I asked Sara, who was much better at things like this, since she was an Advanced Care Paramedic.

Sara took Kristina into her arms.

"She's going to bruise up."

"Is it going to be bad?" I asked.

"It shouldn't be too bad."

"Mom's going to kill me." I said, as I slouched back to the couch.

Sara put Kristina down, who acted like nothing happened and returned to being a happy 3-year old, running around the room.

"It was my fault." Sara said, as she sat down next to me and cuddled close.

Sara was my girlfriend. I had met her at the Goose almost two years ago when I was questioning my sexuality. One amazing night with her, and I knew two things- that I was a lesbian and that I loved Sara. We had been dating for a while, and when my mother was in Mount Royal Psychological Rehabilitation Centre, we had got more serious. I had moved in with her. We were planning a future together.

Sara grabbed Kristina in mid run and held her up, "Who wants ice cream?"

Kristina screamed in glee.


So, maybe Ed was right. What he said to me the other night, when we had got together and had drinks- he said 'no you're not', when I had told him I was fine. Maybe I'm not fine. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

Nonetheless, I figured I might as well write this down.

Sometimes I just wish I could go back in time. Not to everything, just to what I want, because God knows there are things I do not want to re-live. I don't want to re-live the night I found out that my father was killed. I don't want to re-live the time that I was kidnapped by a crazy lunatic who my dad had arrested. I don't want to re-live the fights between my dad and my 'mother'.

Yeah, my 'mother'. I never really liked her. I'm glad that my father divorced her. Without the divorce he would have never moved in with his SRU Team-mate, Jules and fallen in love with her. He would've never married her. They would have never had a beautiful child- Kristina.

I wish I could go back to when I was three years old- to when I was blissfully ignorant of my surroundings, and without a care in the world. To a time where I could've fallen asleep with the only thought of the rainbows and butterflies of the world, and wake up to a world full of ponies and ice cream.

But instead I'm 20 years old, and a full time Strategic Response Unit officer. I don't hate the job, but it does tune you into reality. Because to fall asleep now, I have to know for sure that the door is locked, and that I know exactly where my sidearm is. Before I fall asleep, I wonder if one of the family members of the people I've had to shoot will break in to my home, and try to kill me- or try to rape Sara.

Sadly, the last part did ring true a year and a half ago.

So yes, I wish I could go back to being three years old, because as fun as life is now, with a fulfilling job and being with a woman I love- I'll never be able to tune out my paranoia and my fears completely.

Knowing fully well my childish innocence is gone forever; I look to my step-sister and hope that hers will never fade. I hope that when she's twenty years old, she'll still be comforted by rainbows and butterflies as she sleeps. I know that it's out my control, but I think if I push her the right way, she won't end up like me, and like her father was, because I'm sure dad was like this too.

I have to make sure she never becomes a police officer.