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I slept, propped up, against my front door last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I haven't been sleeping well at nigh - the rational part of my brain explains this as a side effect of the new medication, of my sleep schedule changing once again. The non-rational part of my brain thinks that while my loved ones sleep, I can stay awake, a sentinel to guard them from harm.

I left my room a few nights ago - my best friend slept in his room, my fiancee on the couch. I went to the bathroom, quietly, making sure to hear the barely reassuring click of the cheap lock on the doorknob after me. I spent a long time in front of the mirror, staring at my lank hair, my tired eyes, silently picking at my imperfections. I took a pill and turned to the door, all without making a sound. When my fingers touched the doorknob, I froze.

There was a gentle creak from the living room, my fiancee shifting on the futon. But what if he wasn't shifting on the futon? What if it was the weak death spasm of his body, because who ever opened our front door walked in and slit his throat. Then, while I picked and poked and prodded myself in the mirror, this unknown murderer slipped into my best friend's room and repeated the act. Which is silly - the hinges on his door are loose, the door drags against the carpet, a noticeable noise on such a quiet night. But was the door closed? I only thought it was.

Suddenly I couldn't be sure. Just like I couldn't be sure that the locks on the front door, the deadbolt and the doorknob, had been locked. But hadn't I checked them a few times? Did some one come in after I checked them and forgot to lock them? It had happened before. I had happened too many fucking times.

So both of them were bleeding out on their sheets and the murderer was waiting for me outside this door. Wait, no, he couldn't know I was in the bathroom - I hadn't made a sound. I was safe as long as I didn't turn the doorknob, as long as I waited. Waited for how long? Already the minute, maybe two, had felt like eternity. I could wait until daylight, bad things don't happen in daylight. That's a lie. I knew it then, I know it now. Day or night, nothing stops the bad things. The bad people.

Or maybe it wasn't a person. Maybe the creaking of the futon was my fiancee rocking in what little pain he could manage as a heart attack assaulted his chest. Maybe he was in pain, unable to cry for help as his body shut down. Maybe he was dying bit by bit while I stood with my hand frozen, cowardly, on the doorknob. Waiting for a murderer.

The apartment was dark, the flickering light of my computer monitor hidden behind the door I closed when I stepped into the hall to go to the bathroom. But the bathroom light was on, the light strong enough to shine down on all my imperfections. It was also strong enough to shine under the crack of the door. This door didn't drag on the carpet. The murderer must have known I was in the bathroom. He was just waiting, silently, a dark smudge in the dark apartment outside my little well lit bathroom.

My hand shook involuntarily at the thought - it happens to me sometimes. Everything just gets so overwhelming that I feel like I'll shake to pieces, my fingers flying off my hands, my hands twitching on my wrists, my arms weak but tingling with the futility of what I can't hand. This time, my hand, already on the doorknob, rattled it. If he didn't know I was there before, he knew for sure now. The sound was loud enough to echo through the empty apartment.

I opened the door, my eyes wet, my face crumpled with fear and humiliation, with frustration at myself. No one was there. My fiancee snored softly on the futon, turning over peacefully in his sleep - the broken futon wasn't very comfortable, but he couldn't sleep in my room when I couldn't sleep and needed my computer or my light. My best friend's door was mostly closed, cracked open not enough for a person to get through, but just enough for the cats to come and go.

My gray cat slipped out of my best friend's room and curled around my ankles, purring happily to see me awake and moving, able to give him attention. His long tail was held high, slightly crooked at the end, an expression of pure feline contentment and peace. He followed me to my room and curled about my head as I laid down in bed.I stared at the ceiling and waited.

The next night, I told my fiancee to sleep in my bed so I could use the television in the living room. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping. For hours I watched DVDs, I got up to change them, checking the locks on the front door periodically. The deadbolt stayed bolted, the knob stayed locked down. Sometimes I remembered to glance at the windows, to see if it was as late as I was hoping it would be yet - as early. Early morning. When one of them awoke, finally I could sleep, knowing at least some one was awake to protect this little slice life I've managed to cling to.

Finally as the credits rolled across my television, I noticed it was bright enough outside to be considered daylight and I could feel the weariness clinging to my eyelids. I heard a few birds, but everything else seemed so still. Even the cats had gone to sleep, mine tired of my constant shifting, my switching DVDs, my checking of the locks.

I got up, turned off the electronics and the living room light. Following the pattern I'd already established during the night, I moved to the front door and checked the locks. Locked, of course, nothing had changed. Without even looking through the peephole, I could see the daylight outside the apartment. But it was still too early for my late sleeping fiancee and best friend to wake up. They both work late. I don't work any more.

I leaned against the wall and before I knew it, I was sitting in the corner of the tiny vestibule area our apartment has. I leaned my head to the side and used the cool paneling of the door as a pillow. The light above me was off, but the apartment wasn't dark at all any more, it was early enough. The sun was up and I was down, down, down on the floor with my eyes closing and my ear pressed to the door. I glanced up once, my unclad feet already cold from the linoleum floor, my shoulder already cramping. The door was still locked.

I leaned my head back down and soon things were dark - my eyes closed. I slept.