If you can't sleep, try counting beasts.

It was difficult falling asleep last night.
Instead we had a staring contest, me on my bed and the beast looming in the corner.

I tossed and turned, Robert snoring from a far off dreamland.

Then the beast yawned once, and blinked slowly a few times.
And I knew that I was allowed to sleep.

I woke up this morning and slipped past the beast dozing comfortably in the corner.
I studied for my French test. I took a shower. I got dressed.

He was waiting for me at the front door, as I put on my boots and scarf.
I grabbed my pill, arming myself.

We walked to the bus stop hand in hand.
On the bus, he sat in the seat directly behind me.
I could feel his hot breath while I was quizzing myself on my verbs.

He followed me into the classroom and sat down in front of me.
The class started to fill up, and soon he became irritated by all of the noise.
He slunk out of the room and I think I did pretty well on my test.

I was surprised to see he wasn't waiting for me outside of the classroom.
Or at the bus stop.
Or at home.

I'm going to lunch with Robert.
Maybe he wasn't hungry.

Afterthought:

I haven't seen the beast since he left French class.
I feel empty in his absence. Tired. Drained.
At work, I have a hard time putting my words together.
Everything around me moves slowly. I move slower.
Now, I sit and wait. I live, and I wait.

Because I need my beast. And he needs me.