Back into bed, fistfuls of blanket hoisted up to my chin, I pretend not to hear the shower curtain rattle gently along the bar, the bathroom door open and close and footsteps, bare, dragging, making their way down the hall and, from my count, stopping just outside our closed bedroom door. Then silence. Standing. The swaying un-still of a beating, living body, and my flesh crawls, relentless, all night long, can’t settle, can’t sleep, snatching only fitful, drunken bouts of half consciousness.
