Surviving the night
The so-called self at the end of the world, or a different, better subheading
There’s a man in my kitchen and I’m flinging the duvet off my body and sprinting into the bathroom to try and buy myself more time before he gets to me. My bedroom door has a lock, but as a child the bathroom was the only room in the house that did and old habits die hard. I shout for Jared to join me—to get to safety while he still can—but he’s groggily gathering his senses while realizing that I’m having another night terror. At first I’m confused by his lack of movement—this time there really is someone in our apartment, I saw it with my waking eyes. I’m prepared to lock the door without him out of a vague sense that perhaps I’m the only one in danger, but then I realize what’s happening.