Nothing's wrong. That's why I'm scared. Three twelve. My feet touch the floor. The lock is turned. I check it twice. The fridge kicks on. I hold my breath. I wait for it to change its mind. Nothing's wrong. That's why I'm scared. You're right beside me. I'm still somewhere else. I know this room. I know your hands. In the morning, you make coffee. Ask if I slept at all. I say, A little, and I lie. You let the room stay quiet again. Nothing's wrong. That's why I'm scared. You're right beside me. I'm still somewhere else. I know this room. I know your hands. Three twelve. The lock. My hand. Pause What if the good is not a warning? What if it doesn't need to break? What if I let the morning find me before I search for the mistake? Nothing's wrong. And I'm still scared. You're right beside me. I'm still here. Three thirteen. The lock is turned. I don't check. You keep sleeping. I stay here. Nothing's wrong. That's enough.
