Before I Go to Sleep
“Ben is upstairs, back in bed, and I am writing this in the kitchen. He thinks I am drinking a cup of cocoa that he has just made for me. He thinks I will come back to bed soon.I will, but first I must write again. The house is quiet and dark now, but earlier everything seemed alive. Amplified. I had hidden my journal in the wardrobe and crept back into bed after writing about what I had seen as we made love, but still felt restless. I could hear the ticking of the clock downstairs, its chimes a...s it marked the hours, Ben’s gentle snores. I could feel the fabric of the duvet cover on my chest, see nothing but the glow of the alarm clock by my side. I turned on my back and closed my eyes. All I could see was myself, with hands clamped tight around my throat so that I could not breathe. All I could hear was my own voice, echoing. I am going to die.I thought of my journal. Would it help to write more? To read it again? Could I really take it from its hiding place without waking Ben?He lay, barely visible in the shadows.MoreLess
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