Behind Locked Doors

Everything is going wrong. Dreaming again, waking with the dream on my mind. I’m worried people will start to notice. I’m worried Blake won’t come home.

I have to keep the door locked while he’s gone. Draw the drapes, lock the doors, keep the light off. If there is no light, then I don’t have to see what I’m sharing space with. If anything’s here, I don’t have to see it. I don’t want to see it.

Like the Water Dream, every thing about this makes me want to vomit. I heard a truck rumble past the apartment, and I think it’s thunder and I taste the water in my mouth. I can taste it, heavy and metallic and rank; I feel like I’m drowning in it even though rationally I know I’m awake, I’m in my home, I’m dry and safe.

God I hope he comes home soon.

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