I have a long ritual before going to bed. I close all the boxes, doors, windows. No gap should be left. I do it even in summer stuffy evenings when I feel lack of air in my own room, lounging on the sweaty sheets. I curtain all the windows and mirrors. I get all white and round things out of the room. I insert a new bulb in the bedside lamp.
Every day I had a new bulb. I do it every day. I do it because I'm afraid that there would be no light when I wake up in the night and press the button. I put a glass of water on the table so I won’t walk in the kitchen. I go to the toilet before the sleep, of course. My phone is always fully charged in order it could work the whole night. I always sleep with headphones in my ears, listening to the music in order not to hear the things I should.
Night is his time. The apartment is at his disposal. He doesn’t drop into my room, but it occasionally happens. Sometimes he just stands in the doorway and looks at me. But sometimes he approaches to my bed and leans his white, ideally round face close to mine. I learned how he looks incidentally, having opened my eyes. Frankly speaking, I wet my panties in the bed that night. I didn’t hear sounds of breath. He doesn’t breath at all.
I would cope with it, but last days I sleep more and more. Two month ago I slept for 6-7 hours a day. Now I sleep more than half a day and I awake being tired and sleepy. I slow to a halt all day long and I am asleep on the feet as tough somebody gives me goof ball. Sometimes I don’t hear an alarm.
Still I started noticing that new things which I didn't buy appear in the apartment, and the old one just vanish. A week ago I found a pack of drawings with ballerinas and stout women on a little table in a corridor. Three days ago my key didn't match the door lock. I had to call the mechanic — someone had changed locks.
You know, it seems to me that I am dishoused...