Every night, I go to bed early so I can lie down on my heating pad and watch TV before I take my evening meds and fall asleep. Across from my bedroom is a bathroom (one of two), which is mine (I have to clean it).
The house is small, so we don't stake claims.
After I go to bed, Mom retires next. At this point, everyone is watching TV at different sides of the house.
Instead of going to the bathroom across from the master bedroom where Mom resides, Dad just uses mine. It saves five steps, and he doesn't have to worry about cleaning up after himself.
He's coming. I listen to his thick, heavy, boots outside of my door. No matter how many times I explain it away, it comes back up like vomiting from bad sushi. I feel a little bit of anxiety rise hearing him. It won't go away. I don't know why or where it comes from. Did he burst into my room once when I was little? Did he hurt me or Mom?
Sometimes I stop what I'm watching and freeze. I wait for him to be gone like a deer that pauses in the meadow, living in suspension for the red fox to be gone.
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