Thunder. Penelope trembled.
Early morning Tuesday. I hadn't slept yet and wondered if I would sleep. Considered getting up but decided to stay in bed a little longer.
Suddenly, he was in my bedroom. I knew he had returned to kill me.
I didn't know I was asleep. My fear, real.
I tried to distract him. I spoke to him and rubbed his back, which I could see clearly. Even the cyst at the top that he's had for years.
He spoke to me. I don't remember what he said. I wanted to reach for my phone to call for help, but I was tangled in the comforter and couldn't free my hands.
He was menacing.
Then I saw myself outside––not in my own backyard but in my yard in Maryland, where we lived 20 years ago––and knew I was having a nightmare.
Somehow I was safe after I got outside, but I don't remember how the dream concluded.
It's the first nightmare since the attack. I hope it's the last.
I awoke late in the morning and felt tired and dispirited the rest of the day.
It will be better again. I will be better again.