H Y S T E R I A
15
suitcase. My flip-flops and shorts and frayed jeans. My toothbrush and cell phone charger and sleeping pills. The essentials. Then I swallowed a sleeping pill and waited. It sucked me down into the mattress, my limbs heavy and sluggish. And as I waited, I stared at the ceiling fan, same as every night. I looked straight upward so I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of his shadow beside my closet door, his outline on the curve of my dresser. I kept the comforter pulled up to my chin so I wouldn’t feel his breath against my neck. The word “mine” whispered onto my skin. I heard it coming, same as every night. Far away at first. Downstairs somewhere. Boom, boom, boom. Coming closer. Slow and steady, in that place between sleep and wake. Like I was half hearing, half imagining. I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I didn’t want to, anyway. Because it was here. Boom, boom, boom. My whole room throbbed with it. The beating of his hideous heart. And then there was nothing but the dream. Same as every night. One moment, stretched out to fill the hours. A breath. A blink. Infinity in a heartbeat.