Before Dawn

I began to cry. Thomas shifted slightly and opened his eyes with some difficulty. He looked at me.

"I'm afraid that I'm going crazy," I confessed.

"Why?"

"Because I've just completely lost it."

"Why?" he repeated, as stern as he was honest.

"I know what I should be doing, and I know what's wrong," I blubbered, "but I just can't get myself to do it. I feel like I've lost control."

"You'll be fine," he said, stretching an arm over my torso in a half-hug, "just play on your iPhone or something until you get tired."

"But I am tired -- I can feel it in my eyes--"

"Just do something to keep your mind busy for a while. Lying awake worrying won't solve anything."

I knew he was right and his calm was infectious. I layered an arm over the one across my stomach and laced my fingers into the hand on the far side. I gripped it tightly, holding onto it as if it were the only thing keeping me from drowning -- and, in a sense, it was -- he was the only thing keeping me from being carried away with the current. The current of my own creation, that spiraled out of control and grows stronger and never calms. I tried to slow my breathing. I tried to clear my mind. I tried to focus on what I had beside me -- what, or rather, who, was keeping me afloat.