I need to fart. But I’m not going to. I’m not going to make one movement or sound. I’m not going to give you the  satisfaction of knowing I’m awake. Would that even be a satisfaction? I don’t know. But you aren’t getting it. 

My feet are throbbing like two tell-tale hearts. How am I supposed to go to sleep feeling them pulse and ache so hard I can almost hear them? I think about my thin-soles slamming against the pavement over and over. I should’ve worn thick socks and shoes with good support. What the hell? Why am I laying here awake to think about this dumb crap?

I fantasize. What about? Putting my feet into a bucket of ice water. That’s what. I think about the veins contracting and the blood slowing. First it would be needles, then fine. Then fantastic. I love ice baths. I love doing anything severe and quick, as long as it works. I squirt vinegar in my own eyes to stop them from itching. I know I could cut off my own arm if it got stuck and smashed like in 127 Hours

I lay here and know things about myself. You don’t even know me. I think that thought often when I’m mad. Who are you? You don’t know me.

I hear you come into the room, doing stuff and moving things. I am a statue. I am sleeping soundly without a care in the world…because fuck you, that’s why. You can’t ruin my sleep. 

You walk around. I hear the unmistakable sound of a glass quietly rattling as it’s set on the marbletop of my bedside table, right in front of my face. I hear you walk. I feel the bed shift around as you get in. Do you feel that ice I’m shooting out my back at you?

I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. I open one eye so barely and see a full glass through my eyelashes. I wasn’t even thirsty. Now I’m dying. I will drink my own pee first. 

You cannot come home and pick a fight with me. You can’t say whatever you want to me. You must have me confused with someone. It ain’t me. I’m not the girl who takes that. I could cut off my own arm. Do you even know that about me? No. You don’t know me.

Are you–…seriously? Seriously?! Who can go to sleep on cue, I mean…hit pillow and 5-4-3-2-SNORE??  Oh, hell no.

I thrash about and pretend to roll over. I hear your breathing change to awake. Ha! That’s right. NO ONE in this bed is going to sleep. I pretend that I am though. 

You lean over and kiss my neck. I can’t help but like that. Your warm tongue, your whiskers scratching. But you don’t get to know I like it. We don’t get to skip to this scene. 

I throw the blankets off. I will go get my OWN damn water MYSELF. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

I just wanted…I don’t know. Maybe in some small way you could’ve just. I want to be your hero, Keith. And like you just come home and wrap your arms around me and sing, “Wind Beneath My Wings.” And I giggle–no, no…stop; it was nothing. And you say–no Emily. I mean it–thank you. You are my hero. 

That’s all.

But you want this? Fine. We can do this. 

Just so you know. I am up here, still awake, laying on not-my-bed, warm tears rolling and pooling in my ears. 

And…I’m sorry.

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