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

I’m infatuated with her. <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 telephone waiting for her to text. I’d release a deep breath every time I saw her name pop up. Sometimes I’d sit in traffic and think about her. I’d blow off steam and go for runs all the while thinking about her and all the sex we’d have when I got back. <br><br>And even after a long day, and a Sousa march worth of sexual tension played in my mind, she’d come over, or I’d go over there, and we’d have sex. We’d have lots of sex. **Lots** of sex. And I’d think, well this is everything. <br><br>This is life. This is it. This is **it**.<br><br>Now, I know you must be wondering why I’m saying all this. Why I’m going on and on about all this. <br><br>**Why I’m so infatuated with her.** <br><br>Because believe it or not, it’s the reason this all happened. It’s the reason why I’m here. Right now. Right now writing this. <br><br>It’s because I was infatuated with her. Far too infatuated. Too infatuated to see the warning signs. To see the writing on the wall. To notice strange occurrences that happen one too many times. <br><br>It didn’t seem that way, of course. Not at the time. When you’re in love with someone, you forget about logic. You forget about common sense. You’re simply in love. And no one can tell you otherwise. <br><br>And I was in love with her. I am in love with her. Very much so. <br><br>And that’s why it didn’t seem so strange, at first, that she talks in her sleep. <br><br>Actually, it was pretty damn cute. I remember the first time she did it, she was saying things like “you’re so cute.. stop trying to get in my pants David. panties are no-no’s.”<br><br>We both had a good laugh over that one. We actually made a game out of it. I’d try to get her to talk in her sleep. I’d talk to her, push her, try and make her laugh. Even controlled her diet to see if caffeine, or caffeine withdrawals, caused it. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes, like the first time, it was cute. Other times she’d just mutter gibberish. I remember one time she was saying something about toothbrushes. She kept talking about that, one time, for a good five minutes or so. I remember I had to work the next day and I was worried she’d keep me up all night. <br><br>After a while, we both stopped paying much attention. I’d still listen sometimes, but it wasn’t as fun as it used to be. In fact, I’d usually just turn over and go back to sleep. <br><br>It wasn’t until recently, that it started happening again. Started happening regularly. I don’t know, maybe she was prescient. Maybe she knew something was wrong. Maybe that’s why she started saying those horrible things. <br><br>At first, it was random words. Just one random word repeated over and over. “Ball.”<br><br>She’d say “ball” over and over again. I remember I kept hearing it, and since we had a window open I thought someone was playing with a ball down on the street, or in the yard. I kept looking out the window expecting to see one of our neighbors kids playing. <br><br>I figured it out pretty quickly though. <br><br>Then, it was a phrase. “How’s Daddy?”<br><br>She’d just keep repeating that phrase. Over and over. “How’s Daddy? Did you do it? How’s daddy?” Did I bring you a ball? I brought you a ball! How’s daddy? How’s daddy? How’s daddy? <br><br>That one stuck with me a little while. I remember I kept looking up patricide, thinking that was an urge of hers, one that she was repressing. I remember thinking she was a budding Norman Bates or something. <br><br>That disturbed me for awhile. I really didn’t know how to take it. In fact, this one stuck with me so long, I actually broke down and talked to my mom about it. I remember I called her up and we met for coffee. My poor mom. Poor sweet mom. My mom had been through a lot, in her life. But it was one of those mother to son things, where she’d listen no matter how weird it was. <br><br>I remember she took a sip of her coffee, she had it black, and then she looked me dead in the eyes. “She sounds a little messed up, David.” Was all she said. <br><br>I remember I thought back on that phrase for a long time. *She looks a little messed up, David*. It was a strange phrase to say. But it stuck, especially after everything else.<br><br>Especially after everything else happened. <br><br>I actually talked to my girlfriend about it. I remember it pretty well. We were in her car. I don’t know why, but my Dion and the Belmonts were playing. I don’t know why that’s in my mind, but I remember it. And I played with a necklace she wore. I remember that too. I don’t know why, but I twirled it in one of those absentminded knots you twirl hair in. I played with it, and listened to Dion, and I asked her “Do you talk in your sleep?”<br><br>She looked through the window. I think she was embarrassed. “Yeah.” She said. “Sorry.” <br><br>It was cute. I laughed. “Well are you going to talk to your dad about his multiple car garages?” I said. “Because if not, that’s fine.” <br><br>She looked at me, and opened up a little worse than normal. I remember that especially, because I remember looking at her teeth, and thinking about how big they were. Not big like an unstable mess that needed to be fixed big. Big like, perfect big. shiny. And white. “I can’t help it.” She said. <br><br>“Okay.” I said.<br><br>“Oh my God that sounds so….I don’t know. Ignorant. Thanks.” She said. <br><br>“No no, it’s fine. Seriously. Sometimes I talk in my sleep. I’m sure we all do. No big deal.” I said. <br><br>“Well, it’s not sexual. I don’t think anyway, lol.” She said. She was showing a hint of embarrassment. She looked back out the window, breathlessly. “I think it’s a part of a psyche.” <br><br>“A part of a psyche?” I said. <br><br>She nodded. She was looking at me. I could feel it. I know she was looking at me. “Yeah, it’s a repressed part of our personality…” She trailed off. <br><br>I turned, and she was looking at me. There was a hint of red in her eyes. It was the first time I really saw it. <br><br>My mom was right. It was there. Just a hint, just a flash, but it was there. <br><br>“She sounds a little messed up, David.” <br><br>I shrugged. “Okay, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know?” <br><br>She laughed awkwardly. “I used to sleep walk.” She said. <br><br>“Oh.” I said. <br><br>“Yeah. Not anymore obviously.” She said. “But I used to, as a kid.”<br><br>“Is that why you know?” I said. <br><br>She nodded. “I read up on it. I did a paper on it.” She said. <br><br>“Oh.” I said. <br><br>“You’re not mad, or anything?” She said. She twirled her hair. She had a strand of black hair with the rest of her short, bright red. She never told me why that was. I always thought it was cute. <br><br>“No, I’m not mad.” I said. <br><br>She smiled, breathlessly. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. <br><br>And that was it. We never talked about it again. <br><br>Until that one night. <br><br>The night it finally went too far. <br><br>The night she didn’t just talk, she screamed. <br><br>She was thrashing. I don’t know, maybe she had a nightmare or something. Maybe that’s what it was. <br><br>She was screaming words, some I couldn’t make out, some I could. But it was too much. I couldn’t handle it. I shook her. I shook her really hard. “Hey, hey, wake up.” I said. She didn’t. She just kept on screaming. <br><br>So I got out of bed. <br><br>I stumbled out of bed, sleepily, dazed. And lumbered over to the light switch. <br><br>When I hit the light switch, she stopped screaming. <br><br>And I saw her.<br><br>I just saw her. <br><br>I remember she looked like something out of