My girlfriend talks in her sleep. She's been saying the most horrible things recently...

I’m infatuated with her. <br><br>Utterly infatuated. <br><br>And it wasn’t at a healthy level. It was quite the opposite, really - I was obsessed with her. <br><br>And she felt the same way about me. We were both smitten. We would spend every waking moment together, and I mean *every* moment. I’d be with her at work, I’d be with her at home, I’d be with her when I was out with my friends and I’d be with her even when we were apart. In my mind. In my dreams. In my thoughts. In my plans, my hopes, my wishes. In my future, my present, my past. <br><br>But the strange thing about our relationship was that we’d never spent a night together. No, not one. And it wasn’t because we didn’t want to. It’s because we weren’t allowed to. <br><br>*She* wasn’t allowed to. <br><br>It was a rule her father had set when she was young, a rule she had to follow. No boys were allowed in the house unless her father was present, and since my girlfriend worked at a nearby fast food restaurant from 10am-3am, it made it impossible for her father to be there. And it was reinforced by the three large padlocks on her front and back doors. <br><br>It didn’t bother me all too much, however. We would always have our own bedroom someday, and all the nights we’d ever want to spend together. But something did bother me. <br><br>She never spoke about her father. She never spoke about her life at home. And she never spoke about her past. <br><br>I once asked her about her mother. She ignored me. I asked her what her father did for a living. She ignored me. I asked her what her childhood was like. She ignored me. <br><br>But the thing is, she wasn’t ignoring me like you or I would ignore somebody. She was ignoring me as if she was programmed to do so. As if somebody had programmed her to ignore me whenever I asked a certain question. <br><br>She would just stare off into space, her eyes glazed and face contorted. Like somebody had flipped a switch and shut her off. Like a guard - a guard which stopped her from saying anything she wasn’t allowed to. <br><br>And that’s what worried me. The fact that she hadn’t *chosen* not to tell me, but couldn’t. Not because she wanted to keep it secret, but because she *had* to. She acted as if she was some kind of secret agent. The secret agent of my love, my heart, my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes, my wishes. <br><br>My secret agent. <br><br>*My* girl.<br><br>So I decided to snoop one day. While she was at work, I walked up and down her street a couple times, looking for any sign of life or artifact from her life. And I found none. No sign of her father, no sign of any other family members. The house was completely bare on the inside; I could see that much. There was no garden in the backyard or the front yard, not even any chairs or anything to symbolize an attempt to make a garden. Nothing. <br><br>I was depressed by it. *She* was depressed by it. She never talked about her home life because she knew there wasn’t anything to talk about. <br><br>I numbed the feeling by going home and playing video games. I was rich, I could afford to do it whenever I wanted, and I usually did whenever I wanted. And it numbed the feeling *totally*. <br><br>It was around 2:50am when my girlfriend called me. She always called around that time to tell me she was about to finish her shift and walk home. I answered, and she told me that. We talked for a while about random subjects like what she was going to eat when she got home and what she did during her shift. <br><br>I hadn’t eaten dinner yet today, so I had to go buy something. “I’m going to the convenience store down the street. I love you.” <br><br>“Okay.” She paused. “I love you too.” <br><br>And she hung up. <br><br>But that wasn’t the end of our call time-wise. That call lasted from 2:51pm to 3:05am. <br><br>I was shocked when I realized. More than a hour. More than *sixty minutes.* She had sounded perfectly normal when she was talking to me, but I’m sure you’ll realize that it’s not possible for a girl working at a fast food restaurant to have a one hour conversation with her boyfriend during work hours. <br><br>Unless she wasn’t at work. <br><br>Unless she was at home. <br><br>Unless she was talking in her sleep. <br><br>*Unless she was allowed to. Or not allowed not to.* <br><br>But I didn’t think about it like that. All I knew was that she had been talking in her sleep, and I had to take advantage of that. So I planned on breaking into her house and finding out what I could about her life. <br><br>She would arrive home around 3:30am. I had to be there by then. <br><br>So I left immediately. I didn’t bring anything but myself and a ladder. What else would I need? I was going to break in, look around, and get out. Easy. <br><br>And it was. <br><br>Because when I arrived, I saw the window to her room was open. I walked through the quiet streets and nodded at the people who were walking around at that hour, taking the same route I took every time I visited her. The route that led to the side of her house, the route which gave me a perfect view of her window. <br><br>And it was open. <br><br>I felt a warm feeling rush through my head and my heart at the sight. It was a sign from the universe. A sign that all was okay. A sign that this wasn’t a bad idea, and that everything would turn out right. <br><br>*But it wasn’t.* <br><br>So I set up the ladder. It was a bit difficult since I had no one to hold it, but after a while I managed to set it up on the side of the house, leading directly to the window. I adjusted it a couple times, making sure there was no possibility it would collapse. <br><br>I had to be careful. I didn’t know how sound a sleeper she was. <br><br>But she wasn’t home yet. <br><br>I looked at my mobile. 3:20. She would arrive in ten minutes. I had to be inside her room. <br><br>I had to be inside. <br><br>So I climbed the ladder. I climbed it slowly, it being rickety, taking care not to make a single noise. I looked up at the window, and it seemed like it took forever to get to. The climb was extremely tedious and long. <br><br>But I did it. <br><br>I reached the top and pushed the screen out a bit. It creaked and cracked, but didn’t make any sound loud enough to alert anyone. I pushed my head inside. <br><br>And I saw her. <br><br>She was asleep. She looked beautiful. <br><br>And the room was empty. There was literally nothing else in the room. No pictures or posters or even a desk or chair, or carpet or anything. Not even a window curtain. It was completely bare and empty except for her bed and her. <br><br>And there were bars on her window. Thick steel bars which almost looked like an iron slab. <br><br>*It looked like a jail.* <br><br>So I pulled my head out and thought about it. About the fact that her room looked like a jail cell and she was like a prisoner. <br><br>And who was the jailer? <br><br>Her father. <br><br>I didn’t like the thought. I went to pull my head back through the window, but as I did, I heard her say something. <br><br>“I think he knows.” <br><br>My heart skipped a beat. <br><br>Who was she talking to? <br><br>“Are you sure?” <br><br>The voice talking to her sounded like a girl. A younger girl. It sounded like her sister or something. <br><br>“I’m positive. He’s sticky.” <br><br>*Sticky? What did she mean by that?*<br><br>“What’s going to happen to me?” The younger voice said. <br><br>“She’ll be mean. But not too mean. We’re going to have to pretend it’s his fault.” <br><br>The younger voice gasped. I heard it. <br><br>“No! Not him! Please not him!” <br><br>“Shut up. We *have* to. I’ll get in trouble if we don’t. And you know what that means. Don’t you?” <br><br>The younger voice started crying. <br><br>“I’m sorry. I didn’t know! I’m sorry!” <br><br>“Shut up!” My girlfriend’s voice wasn’t masked. It was pretty clearly her. It was so clear it was her that I recognized it. <br><br>“Should we tell -” <br><br>“Shut up!” <br><br>Both voices went quiet. <br><br>There was a pause. <br><br>“Don’t ever say that.” <br><br>The younger voice started crying again. The sound sent shivers down my spine. *This wasn’t right.* <br><br>“I said shut up! Don’t say that.” <br><br>The younger voice became more quiet, but it was still crying. It didn’t sound like my girlfriend at all. <br><br>“She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me.” The voice started saying it over and over, as if it was a mantra. <br><br>It sent shivers down my spine. It terrified me. I had to get out of here. I had to go home. <br><br>And I would have, too. But then I heard my girlfriend’s voice again. <br><br>“She won’t kill you. And she won’t kill him.”