I awoke not with a bang, nor a whimper, but a long steaming tongue scraping its way up the side of my face.

I wish I could say I was used to it, but fear always grips me when it happens.

The creature loomed over me, and I shook. Its ragged claw dragged along my arm, and its breath grew heavier over my own, despite the agonizing cuts this scratch was creating.

“I love you,” it gargled.

“Just sit down,” it snarled.

Every time this happened, I swore to do as it said. In that moment though, the creature lied.

I leapt from my bed and scratched at the monster, but it shrieked and pinned me back down. It slashed and bit and chewed my heart.

Then the creature left.

Twitching like a beetle on its back, I wondered if it would end.

Time would allow my heart to regenerate. At some point, I would heal.

I lay there, broken, and hissed,

“It stops but never ends.”