I thrust the sheets from my over-heated skin, tossing to try a cooler spot. It seemed the past several weeks I was constantly battling for a couple more hours of sleep, but the heat was always growing inside me. Not only that, endless streams of words and sounds jumbled in my mind and I could not help try and grapple with them to put some order to them. My very hands itched, my eyes felt swollen. An internal pressure growing. Tonight, it became unbearable and I shoved myself to the floor and stood up angrily.
“Why can’t I sleep, dammit?” I muttered aloud, completely disregarding the fact my husband laid nearby. I had reached the point I needed to share my misery just to lighten the load. “I can’t either”, came his grumbling reply. I managed to muster up some guilt “Sorry, hun. I’m just so hot and can’t seem to shut my thoughts down lately”. I laid back next to him only to find his skin surprisingly cool. It gave me comfort, but apparently, I was not the only one.
“God, you are nice and warm” He murmured appreciatively. We lie like that for quite a while. He cooling me off while I, alternatively, warmed him up. It was during this time he asked, “What are you thinking?” I looked at him, quite surprised. It was nearly always me who asked him that question. “It’s really hard to explain…” I paused trying to find the best words to describe what was going through my head. “It’s like I am listening to a bunch of conversations at once, all in different languages. Not only that, the same…person…switches the languages they use mid-sentence.” I pause again, wondering how to explain the rest. “I…uh..feel like they are actually talking to me“. My husband looks at me directly “I know..” He sighs slowly.
“Whats that suppose to mean?” I am really confused by his statement. He isn’t one to mince words or to place himself in another’s shoes. In fact, his bluntness has been a cause for many an argument between us, but if he says he knows, then he actually knows. Considering this is all in my head, I can’t figure out how he would know anything about it, though. “It’s a Secret”, he replies, and I raises a brow and snort at him. “Really, hun?” I’m annoyed now and I go to get up, but he grabs my arm. “No” he stresses the word. “I mean, it really is Secret. And we are a part of it.” I look at him, my disbelief obvious on my face “What the hell are you even talking about?” I feel as if the conversation is backwards. I’m usually the one trying to explain myself to him not the other way around!
Now it is his turn to get out of the bed and he begins to drag his jeans over his slender, but tall, frame. “Let’s get dressed” I need to show you something. I watch a few moments as he gathers socks, shoes, and his phone and it dawns on me he is actually wanting to take me somewhere. Not just show me something on the computer. “Where are we going?” I ask as I throw on my own clothes, jean shorts. He looks at me “I told you, Its Secret”.