In the middle of the night, my eyes shot open. The room was pitch-black, silent. I wasn’t sure what it was that had roused me but something must have. My body was soaked with sweat. My heart raced, and my breathing was quick and uncontrolled like I had just run a marathon. I listened for any sound, any movement, but nothing. Perhaps it was nothing, a freak anomaly of the mind jarring me back to consciousness. But no—the brain doesn’t just do that, not for nothing. Then a hand, cupped to fit the curvature of my face, rested over my mouth, gently at first, but then the pressure began to force my
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