I wake up in a cold sweat. The darkness is a reminder that I’m just as restless as the night before, and my clasped hands tighten in response. Though we are well acquainted, it does not weaken the strain.
When I roll to face the door, the false light from the washroom is peeking through. For a moment, I take in what I can, but eventually, the door will open, and the light will no longer shield me from the hall. I bury myself in the blanket; I want it to swallow me whole.
It isn’t long before I can hear the shuffling on our hardwood floor, a distant swish. And though the walls are not translucent, I know what waits for me. It is always the same, a cycle I cannot break. I give in and lift myself from solace. Do not ask, for I do not know. Sometimes I wish it was curiosity that killed the cat. Only then would I find peace.
My feet hit the floor and now we are one, equal beings on solid ground, and yet I fear you. Between us, a door that lacks a full-proof lock and the knowledge that the other is merely a few feet away. If I listen closely I can even hear you breathing. I do not need my eyes to see your face.
When the door opens, I am only met with the blackness of your figure. It is your arms and legs grasping onto the floor that halts a step forward. Why must you crawl into my life?
My mouth agape, I pause to watch yours drag across the ground. I often wonder what words I could find if I looked down the pit of your throat. Most of your face is hidden in the shadows, but I know you’re watching me. My sanity begins to plead with you: stop taunting me.
For a moment, the stillness of our bodies begins to freeze the clock, and though I cannot make out the hands, I know they are dormant. Don’t wake up. I reach out. Don’t wake up. Reveal yourself. In the second before the static breaks, I look down and am met with a set of eyes no different from my own.
I wake up in a cold sweat.
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