She looks so at peace when she's asleep. Hair sprawled across the pillow, lips slightly pursed, brows unfurrowed. She always sleeps straight and, on her back, like a dead body in a morgue. The night lamp on her bedside table illuminated her face, giving her pale skin a golden hue but also making the dark circles under her eyes more prominent. She shivered, like her unconscious mind knew that I was near, standing beside her. I gently sat on the side of her bed, and softly grazed her cheek with the back of my hand leaving goosebumps in my wake. My hand traveled, from the curve of her jaw, down the length of her throat and gently settled on where her heart is supposed to be. She opened her eyes in panic, gasping for air. I slowly removed my hand and stood up, making my way to the chair in the corner of her room. It's always fun to watch the show from here.

I could feel all her emotions,the fear, the panic. I could read all her thoughts which brought me here in the first place. She sat upright with a hand over her heart, like she feared it would jump right out considering it was beating so hard and fast. She tried to control her breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

It was something her therapist suggested, but the violent thuds of her heartbeat ringing in her ears and the shooting pain in her chest was quite intense. She opened the drawer on her bedside table with shaky hands grabbing her anxiety pills. She popped two at once, because she knew I was adamant on not leaving her alone these days. But the thing she always forgets is, no matter what, she can never get rid of me. I live inside her head.

The writer is a first year student at North South University.