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.