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. Far from it. I would think about her every moment she was away. I would sometimes sit on my couch and just stare at my phone waiting for her to text. I’d tell myself “Don’t contact her. *DON'T*. It will come off as too strong.” But then I’d still find myself clicking her name on my contact list before my inner voice would continue, “You don’t want her to know how desperately smitten you are with her. It’s unattractive. It will scare her off.”<br><br>I’d laugh at that part. Scare her off? I could only hope. <br><br>Because if she really knew how desperately smitten I was, she’d never be able to escape me. <br><br>Once, while we were watching a movie together, I doubt she ever noticed my expression change. When we were sitting on the couch, she leaned her head back on my lap. I “played” with her hair, and then I actually held it in my fingers, measuring the length of it. I imagined holding it in my hand, with a knob on the end of it, after I had strangled her to death with it. <br><br>But I’d never *really* do that. I knew that. I just needed to get these thoughts out; needed to play them, in a fantasy-esque way, in my own private psychological playground, hidden deep within my own mind. I didn’t know how I got this way. I just was.<br><br>I think my infatuation with her might be because I felt like I couldn’t have her. That I’d never have her. She was out of my league. She was beautiful, and smart, and had a smile that could light up a room. <br><br>There was nothing wrong with her. It was all me. I was the one who was flawed. And I knew that. I knew I shouldn’t be with anyone until I was better, until I could trust myself enough to *not* have these thoughts. But I still went after her, and I still wanted her, and I think that’s why I just couldn't think of anything else other than her. <br><br>I was with her one night, at her house, and we were watching a movie. She fell asleep close to the end of the movie, so I decided I’d just stay there with her, in her bed, until she woke up. <br><br>When I thought she was asleep, she said, “I love you.” It was kind of muffled, because her mouth was down in a pillow. But I heard it. <br><br>I froze for a second, and then I asked her, “What?”<br><br>She didn’t respond. She was actually asleep now. I reached out and touched her hair, and a shiver ran through me. She looked so beautiful. <br><br>I thought about what she said again, then. *I love you.* <br><br>“It can’t be,” I thought. “Can it?” I thought about our relationship, and all the times she had told me she loved me. She’d never actually said the words “I love you”, it had always been “love you” or “love you too” or “I love you too, baby.” But she had never said “I love you” before. <br><br>And she didn’t say it then, either. She didn’t say it then because she didn’t know she said it. She was asleep. She was talking in her sleep. <br><br>I waited ‘til the morning, until she woke up, to ask her. She had no recollection of saying it, but she did say it wasn’t the first time she’s talked in her sleep. <br><br>I think that’s what made me start paying attention to it so much, after that. Whenever we’d go to sleep, and she’d say something to me, I’d listen. She’d never say anything of note. “No...” “Bobby.” “The...” Nothing that was a complete sentence. Nothing I could really make out. <br><br>And that was okay.<br><br>I was happy enough just listening to her talk. I would close my eyes, and listen, and listen, and listen. Even if she was just muttering, it didn’t matter. I would still sit there and listen, all night, every night, for as long as she talked. <br><br>And I think that’s why it stood out so much when she *did* say something. “I... I can’t do this anymore.” <br><br>I immediately sat up and asked, “What?”<br><br>But she didn’t respond. She was asleep again. I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder, and gently shook her. She didn’t budge. <br><br>“I... I can’t do this anymore.” <br><br>I shook harder. “What? What can’t you do?”<br><br>Still, no movement. <br><br>“Baby, please. What were you going to say?”<br><br>She slowly turned her head, and looked at me.<br><br>“Were you talking about me? Am I... Am I the one you can’t do anymore?” <br><br>She stared at me for what seemed like forever, with this cold, blank stare. Then she said, “What were you talking about?”<br><br>I laughed out loud. “Ha! Were you talking about me?” I asked, laughing. <br><br>And then I stopped laughing. Because for a brief second, I thought I saw something in her eyes. Just for a moment, and then it was gone. But I’m positive I saw it. <br><br>Fear.<br><br>And that’s when I knew something was wrong. She didn’t like me as much as she said she did. She didn’t like me at all. In fact, she was scared of me. She must have been. I could see it in her eyes. <br><br>I shook my head, and laughed out loud again. This time, she joined in, and we both laughed. <br><br>“You’re funny,” she said, after we’d both stopped laughing. <br><br>And I thought. I thought about what she said the night she fell asleep. *I love you.* <br><br>And then I remembered what she said just now, when she was talking in her sleep. *I... I can’t do this anymore.* <br><br>And I knew. I knew exactly what both of those things meant. I knew what I had to do. I knew exactly what I had to do.<br><br>I moved in closer, and placed a hand on her side, and she didn’t flinch. I placed a hand on her stomach, and she didn’t flinch. I placed a hand on her face, and cupped it, and she didn’t flinch. I pulled her into my arms, and she snuggled into me. <br><br>And so I did it. I knew I had to. I knew she’d be happy with my decision. We’d both be happy, and we’d never have to worry about the other again. And I knew just how to do it. <br><br>I reached my hand around her, and held it just above the hairline of her head. I imagined what it would be like to strangle her. I imagined the blissful expression she’d make as her skin turned a beautiful shade of blue. I imagined the life leaving her eyes. I could see it all, in my mind’s eye. I was actually really excited. <br><br>And that’s why, with my hand just above her hairline, I gently brushed her hair with my fingers. <br><br>And that’s it. That’s all I did. I just lay there with her, holding her hair in my hand. That’s all I did, and that’s all I ever did. <br><br>I never strangled her, I never killed her. I never *would* kill her. I never *would* strangle her. I just held her hair in my hand, and smiled at her as she slept. I was just playing around with another fantasy of mine, in my own mental playground. I knew I’d never strangle her. I loved her too much. <br><br>But I did still really have to pee. <br><br>So I delicately got out of bed, and walked to her bathroom. As I was doing my business, I heard her groggy voice from the other side of the door, “Hey... you okay?”<br><br>“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”<br><br>She said something else, but I really don’t know what it was. I wasn’t really listening. <br><br>I finished up, and walked back out into the room, and back into bed. I got back into the position I was in before, and placed my hand just above her hairline again, imagining what it would be like to end her life, in a very intimate way. <br><br>I still wasn’t really listening to her, because, well, she was talking in her sleep again. But this time, she was saying something different. Something I’d never heard before. <br><br>“No... please... don’t lift my hair up. Don’t hold it above my head. Please don’t strangle me with it.” <br><br>I stopped playing around.<br><br>She continued. She said, “You’re bad. You’re a sick, sick person” and then she repeated it, over and over, as though she was teaching a