You had a long day of driving. I don’t dare wake you. I can ride it out. I can wait ’til morning. I can try to breathe. Except I’m not sure I can.
Sheets off. They’re sticking to me, and I can’t take it. I can’t take anything. I straighten my leg, point my toes. I shove my fist into my hip bone. Your breath is so steady. I wanna be steady too. I pull my leg up to my chest instead. It doesn’t help. My knee brushes lightly against you. You don’t move. I make it brush you more. I want it to wake you. I want to tell you I can’t. I want to hear you moan with pity, with worry. I want someone to worry, someone other than me.