A/N: A while ago, I mentioned that there was going to be an emotional journey for Sharon to work through, and this chapter finally reveals what it is. That said, there will be another major obstacle that she will need to face down the line, but that will take place in another chapter. Anyway, this chapter is on the heavier side. But those of you who have connected the visible and hidden clues sprinkled across some of the previous chapters might have been able to pick it up sooner.

Aside from that, I wanna thank the lovely blossom-of-snow for editing this story and wish those who celebrate a very happy Thanksgiving.

Nightshirt soaked in sweat, and breathing labored, Sharon woke and absorbed the darkness of her bedroom. Through the haze of sleep, Sharon noticed a dark figure looming at the end of the bed.

Her father.

Sharon's breathing quickened and she tried to get up, get out of bed, but it was as if someone had strapped her arms and legs to the mattress. Her father stalked around the bed, a sharp object clenched in his fist.

A broken bottle.

Again she struggled against the invisible bonds, but she couldn't move a limb. Her father came closer, the jagged bottle shining in his hand. Sharon tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her father lifted the bottle in the air, preparing to stab it into her squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the pain when a lamp flooded the room with light.

"Sharon?"

A hand landed on her shoulder and Sharon screamed and leaped out of bed. She landed on the floor and rolled into something hard. A coppery taste in her mouth preceded the sight of blood oozing from her lip.

"Sharon, are you okay?" Andy's voice caressed her ears and soothed her wildly beating heart, but she flinched when he tucked her hair out of her face. "Babe, what happened?"

Sharon sat up and looked around, desperate to orient herself. Her bolt out of bed must have been a long one, since she landed on the floor at the entrance of her walk-in closet on the other side of the room. Her nightmare was nowhere in sight.

"You're sweating," Andy said. "And, Christ, you're bleeding."

From the corner of her eyes, Sharon caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hung on the inside of her closet door. Just like in her dream, her skin was glistening with perspiration that drenched her nightshirt. She had nightmares before, but this…

"I couldn't move." Her own words, slurred and slow, sounded far away. "I had a nightmare, and I thought it was real, and I couldn't get away."

"You're okay now. The lights are on, and you're safe," Andy said.

Sharon sighed and leaned against the wall. It grounded her.

"Let me take a look at that lip, huh?" He reached for her lip with hands that had caressed her, held her, steadied her, but Sharon had never been more terrified of contact.

"Don't touch me." Sharon pulled herself off the floor to create the space she needed. She steadied herself against the closet doorframe, grateful for the cool wood against her back. But when she opened her eyes, the hurt expression on Andy's face nearly made Sharon's knees buckle.

"I'm sorry. I'm just shaken up." She placed her palm on his chest, right above his heart, and nodded when he hesitated to reach for her other hand.

"I'll go get some ice for your lip," he said and left the room before Sharon could react. Still wobbly, she walked to the bathroom, washed her face and discarded of the damp nightshirt. She returned to the bedroom and slipped on a clean nightdress. Just when she felt steady enough to walk back from the walk-in closet to the bedroom, she noticed a shadow on the wall and screamed.

Andy came running into the room just when Sharon realized she got scared by her own shadow.

"I'm okay," she said.

"What happened?"

"I'm just a bit jumpy," Sharon explained. "I'm fine. Sorry for alarming you."

Andy wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. "You are safe."

"I know."

Andy led her back to bed and put an ice pack to her lip. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About your nightmare," Andy said. "Who chased you?"

Sharon hugged her knees to her chest. "I didn't say someone chased me."

"You jumped off the bed like you were running away," Andy explained.

"He wasn't chasing me," she said.

Instead of pushing her with another question, Andy let it hang between them.

Sharon sighed. She didn't know what the nightmare meant. It wasn't exactly a memory, but it felt real enough for her to try and escape after she woke up, and it kept her on edge even now, several minutes later. Sharon wasn't sure she wanted to pick the nightmare apart or share with Andy anything about her father. There were many days she was glad that her father was dead, even though she sometimes missed him. She wasn't even sure what she missed about him. He was responsible for some of her most haunting memories, and more than a few nightmares.

"I woke up, and I couldn't move." Describing the nightmare was better than thinking about her former reality. "I panicked."

"Sleep paralysis," Andy said. "You wake up, can't move, and hallucinate like crazy."

"It happened to you too?"

"Shortly after I quit drinking, it used to happen to me every night," Andy replied. "I remember seeing demons sitting at the edge of my bed. Is this what you were running away from?"

"It wasn't exactly a demon," Sharon replied.

The look on Andy's face told Sharon that he thought he knew what she saw. "A person can be a demon, too. Did you see Stroh?"

For a moment, Sharon considered telling another white lie. Saying that she saw Philip Stroh would be much more comfortable than telling Andy about her father. But now that they were getting married, maybe it was time for Andy to know about her troubled childhood, about the memories that assaulted her when she let her guard down.

Andy was everything she ever wished for in a partner, and lying to him would make her feel horrible. If he wasn't a recovering alcoholic, if he didn't know Jack and what he put her through during their marriage, telling him about her father would have been easier. She took a deep breath. "Not Stroh."

Andy's warm gaze quietly urged her on.

"I saw my father," Sharon said.

Andy's stunned expression did not surprise Sharon.

"He's my demon." Sharon's voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes.

She could see the wheels spinning in Andy's brain, trying to attribute meaning to her words. "He hurt you?"

Sharon nodded slowly, trying to find the words to explain.

"Sharon, did –" Andy's voice faltered. "Was he like Gary?"

It took a second for Sharon to understand what Andy was asking her. "God, no. Not like that. He never…" Sharon paused. "He never did to me what Gary did to Rainie. Jesus Christ." Sharon rubbed her palms over her face.

"Tell me," Andy said after a few minutes. He took her hand and pressed his lips into the inner side of her wrist. "I'm here to listen, to be here for you."

As if she ever had any doubts. "He was an alcoholic," Sharon said. "The terrible kind."

"Is there a good kind?"

"Yes, the kind that doesn't call his wife and ten-year-old daughter derogatory names."

Andy's eyes widened.

"He always said the foulest things to us. Sometimes he became so angry that he threw things. Empty bottles, usually."

"It sounds like he was a very violent person," Andy noted.

"He was a mean drunk, but normally he wasn't violent," Sharon said.

"Sharon, a person who's verbally abusive and throws things, is violent. You know that, right?"

She nodded slowly. Even without the slapping incident, her father displayed violent behaviors when he was drunk.

"I was an accident, you know?" Sharon said, threading her fingers through her hair. "My parents' families forced them to get married after my mom got pregnant. My dad could have left, but he didn't. He worked hard to provide for us. And when he wasn't drunk, he was a nice person. He cared about my education, and he urged me to go to college, even when my mother thought it was a waste of time. When things went south with Jack, my mother didn't speak with me for a long time; she was angry that I wanted to separate from him. But my dad helped me. He flew over and took care of me and the kids for months until I was able to stand on my feet."

"And yet he haunts you in your sleep," Andy said.

Sharon sighed.

"Babe, does the thought of marrying another alcoholic bother you on some level?"

"You're sober," she replied.

"But I'm still an alcoholic," Andy said.

"Maybe I have a type."

"Or you're drawn towards something you know. You grew up with an alcoholic father, and that became your comfort zone, the environment where you know how to navigate," Andy said.

Sharon snorted derisively. "Thank you for the free psychoanalysis."

"Look, Sharon, maybe you should talk to someone and work through this unprocessed trauma," Andy suggested.

"I don't have an unprocessed trauma."

"You do, and that's fine," Andy said. "Your life has been challenging, and that can leave scars. Maybe seeing a therapist would help you move on from some of those difficult memories."

"I'll think about it," Sharon promised.

Andy kissed the crown of her head. "Are you feeling better?"

Sharon hummed affirmatively and entwined her fingers in Andy's. The feeling of his palm against hers grounded her and gave her strength.

"Should we go back to sleep?"

"Only if you hold me," Sharon said.

"That's not a problem," Andy said and wrapped his arms around Sharon's waist. "Should I leave the lights on?"

"No, you can turn them off. I can deal with the darkness."

-TBC-