What was that?

I quickly shoot up to a sitting position. The dark feels deep, endless before me. “Is someone there?”, I ask, knowing I won’t get an answer.

Hoping I don’t get an answer.

But what was the noise? It sounded like… But it couldn’t be. I always check the locks before bed. Tonight was no exception. No. They are locked.

Shhhh.

I hold my breath and count. One… Two…. Three… It’s nothing. Four… Five… Six… It’s no one. Seven… Eight… this is ridiculous. I don’t believe in ghosts and he’s not coming back from the dead. Nine… Ten.

Nothing.

No one.

I am reflexively rubbing the scar across my stomach; the scar he gave me. The reminder to always lock my doors and windows. I do this when I’m scared.

When I think about him.

When I’m lonely.

No sounds now. Must have been my imagination.

So sleepy.

Need… sleep.

Just… sleep.

What was that?

I don’t shoot up in bed.

I’m so tired.

Besides, it’s nothing.

No one.

I pull the veil of sleep back over me like a warm quilt.

I feel the blade slip into my stomach.

Again.

This time he’ll finish what he started.

And I’m so very tired.

Need… to…

…sleep.