The alarm of the coffee maker startles me, rousing from my comfortable rest where Zachary’s warm arms were wrapped around me. Groaning slightly, I carefully disentangle myself from the cocoon formed by him and the blankets from our bed. As I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I bite my lip in an attempt to stop the hiss threatening to escape from my lungs—who ever thought wooden floors in a house would be a good idea?

Zachary snores on, not even noticing that I’ve removed myself from his embrace. I wish that I could sleep as soundly as him, but it would take a miracle for me to sleep through even a gentle rainfall. Zachary, on the other hand, once slept through an earthquake that sent our television flying across the room. God, I envy him sometimes.

I bend over to look under the bed for my slippers, cursing myself for forgetting to leave them by the bed again. They’re probably by the fireplace; I was warming my feet last night while Zachary gave me the world’s greatest shoulder massage. How I ever got this lucky is a mystery to me. Giving up on my search, I quietly trod into the kitchen to hunt for my favorite coffee mug and some half and half. I’m sure Zachary will get up eventually, but if not, I’ll be sure to leave some bacon out for him so he has something to eat when he finally gets up.

Just as I’m pouring half and half into my cup, the whole house starts shaking, and the radio in the corner of the kitchen switches itself on. A crackly voice comes from the speakers, “Wake up Kathy,” it says urgently. All I can do is stare numbly at it while it continues to wheeze “Wake up Kathy” again and again, repeating it as if that phrase is some kind of mantra.

The shaking and voice stops almost as instantly as it started, leaving me to wonder who Kathy is while Zachary meanders into the kitchen. I spin to face him, “Did you hear that? Just now, from the radio.”

He gives me a sideways look, “Uh no, I didn’t. Are you okay, babe?”

I turn around and start fumbling with my mug, “Uh, yeah. Fine. I guess I was just hearing things or something. You know how I am in the morning sometimes.”

Zachary wraps his hands around me from behind, “I know, babe. Just get your morning coffee, and you’ll be back to functioning at one hundred percent, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble, fixating my attention on the swirl of coffee and half and half in my mug as I fill it up.

Zachary goes about busying himself with a cup of tea, and I do my best to act as if nothing happened. ‘I’m not crazy’ I tell myself over and over again, hoping that it’s the truth.

I once had this godawful nightmare where this group of strangers took me to a psych ward and locked me up because I was in love with Zachary. They put me in a straitjacket, all the while telling me that our love wasn’t natural, and that the reason I was getting a needle in the side of my neck was because it was “for my own good”. I remember screaming myself awake from that one, and Zachary held me close until I fell back asleep, whispering in my ear that he loved me until I couldn’t hear any more.

I think he worries about me sometimes, though; I can see it in his eyes. He knows that I don’t usually sleep that well, and I think he’s afraid that one of these days, I’m just going to snap. I’ve tried telling him not to get worked up about me, but it’s no use—he does it because he loves me, and I suppose I’m okay with that.

I love him, I really do. But I don’t think he quite understands all of the time. He tries, he really tries, and he wraps his arms around me, whispering sweet nothings and promises of a beautiful future. And sometimes, just sometimes, I actually believe him.

Happily ever after is just a myth though, and there are times when I worry that he’ll leave me, claiming that it was all good fun, but it’s time for him to move onto to skinnier and prettier girls. I never voice that fear of mine with him; I’m afraid that it might appall him, or worse, set him onto the path of thinking that way, thinking of leaving me behind.

I take a sip of coffee from my mug, and wander over to where Zachary has situated himself on the couch, hoping that my face doesn’t betray any of my anxieties. But of course it does. He faces me, smiling with those sad blue eyes that I love, and pulls me down next to him. He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in the crook of my neck while I take another sip, mentally cursing myself for being so expressive.

I gently set my mug down on the coffee table, and lean into his touch, my eyes already drifting shut once more. I’m constantly amazed by his ability to lull me almost instantly to sleep—he’s both my security blanket and my biggest stressor. He hums quietly, and places a gentle kiss at the junction between my neck and shoulder, mouthing the words “I love you” onto the skin there.

I exhale deeply and sag even further into his arms, feeling my eyelids grow heavier with every passing second. Right before I succumb to sleep, the words “Wake up Kathy” snake through my ears. I try to fight against my drowsiness, but it’s almost as if I’ve become paralyzed. The blackness is weighing down on me, consuming me, and it’s unlike any other time I’ve fallen asleep. It envelops me.

“I’M NOT KATHY!” tears from my lips as I bolt upright in bed. I whip my head around viciously. There are people in white lab coats all around me, waving syringes in my face. I try to leap at them, flinging my weight, only to be jolted back. My hands are secured to the bed. Brown leather. Buckles. This can’t be happening.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, nononononononono…This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream. But it’s not. They’re coming closer now, needles aiming for my neck. But I’m not Kathy, they need to know that I’m not Kathy. They’ve got the wrong woman.

I whip my head from side to side. I feel like a caged animal. I’m trapped. They’re going to do something to me. Something wrong. I scream.

“I’M NOT KATHY! I’M NOT! I’M NOT!”