I wake up to shouting that doesn’t belong to the dream I was having, because it has weight to it and direction and names being thrown around like knives, and for a second I just lie there staring at the ceiling, trying to work out where I am and why my chest feels tight before the sound sharpens and I realise it’s coming from inside the room, not down the hall or through the walls, but right here, close enough that I can hear fabric rustling and someone breathing too fast.
I push myself up, the sheet sliding off my legs as my feet find the floor, and my body is still heavy with sleep as I stand and rub my eyes with the heel of my hand while my heart starts to pick up, because whatever this is, it’s already past calm conversation and heading somewhere ugly. I take a step toward the sitting
