Break-ins

"Baby, why do you always sleep facing the door?" I asked. Steven shrugged. "I don't know. I just lay down that way, I guess. Here, take your meds." He handed me a red pill and a glass of water. "No, you started doing that recently. You always face me when you lie down," I insisted, after swallowing the pill. "What's so special about the way I want to lie down? Don't overthink it. How are you feeling today? Any dreams?" he asked. I shook my head. "None this time, thank God, but I feel exhausted. You said you were going to go to the cops about the break-in last week. How did that go?" "Fine. I'll get the report later today. I have to go now. See you later." I watched him pick up his keys and walk out the door without telling me he loved me. The last time my husband was affectionate to me was three months ago, right around when my night terrors returned. At first, I thought it was work stress, then I thought he was cheating, so I began to watch him closely. Every night, he would sleep facing the door, one arm bent under his head, the other resting near the nightstand, close to the drawer where he kept nothing sharp anymore. If I shifted, he shifted. He locked the bedroom door every night, even in summer, when it made the room stifling. He flinched when I got up to use the bathroom, and sometimes I'd hear him whisper “not tonight” into the darkness. Later that afternoon, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up hours later to the sound of cop cars outside. The house was torn apart, and my husband refused to look me in the eye. When the cops left, I asked him what happened. "Someone broke in," he mumbled. I was confused. "How on earth did I sleep through a whole break-in?!" "Leave it be, Sydney. You were not hurt. It's over now," he said. "Leave it be?! Are you serious?! You've been acting strange, and I know there's something you're not telling me! This is the sixth break-in in three months! What's going on?! Tell me, or I'll set up the security cameras!" He dropped the pieces of the broken flower vase in his hand and looked at me. His eyes were cold and angry. "Alright then. Set 'em up." I did. We woke up to another break-in two days later, and I ran to my study to watch the tapes while Steven cleaned up the mess. Everything was normal till 2:47 am. There was a five-minute glitch, then the tape picked back up. There was someone in the hallway... a woman, a naked woman. She stood still for a while, then zipped past the kitchen door into the living room and began to pound away at the cabinet that held Steven's jukebox. Then she moved back into the kitchen and trashed the fine china. I watched on in horror as Steven rushed out and tried to stop her. He tackled her to the ground, crying and pleading. She turned to look at the wall, right where the camera was, and smiled. I froze. It was... me?