History is a Nightmare of its own

It was a familiar feeling.

An eerie déjà-vu so you say.

Half dreaming half awake, I ran my hand on the empty spot of my bed.

I swallowed and tasted bile.

I looked at my watch and it was 3am.

Please God, I whimpered. Not again... Please... Not again.

Holding back tears, I sat up in bed and wondered... where is he?

The familiarity of that question being asked in the middle of the night was so painful; I had to bite my lips in fear of crying out loud.

Then the bedroom door opened, startling me and made me gasped.

“What are you doing up, love?” he asked.

“Where were you?” I asked back. A bit harsh I admit.

“Kitchen. Taking myself a glass of water. Why? Nightmare?”

I simply nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to say that I was almost paralyzed with fear that I was going through the same old, same old horror again ... but this time with the Mister.

He slide next to me and hugged me from behind. “I’m not going to leave you. Okay? Sleep, Love. I’m here to stay”

I relaxed and went back to sleep.



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