i can stop whenever i want to.

The clicking on my right. Long nails, dry skin. She always starts picking at her skin when she is on the phone.

Click. Click. Click.

Let's try this again. I press my fingers into the chords, pluck at the strings--

Click. Click. Click.

"What is the name of those actors in the..."

In the movie we saw two hours ago.

I stop altogether once again, "It was So and So."

"That's right, So and So were in the Movie we saw."

Trying again to pluck at the strings--

Click. Click. Click.

The cats scream at each other on top of the staircase.

Tummy recoils. Banging on the wall to scare them off because he hates the sound of the cats screaming, and I hate the sound of him barking at the cats to stop.

Click. Bang. Click.

He comes downstairs, stands in front of me, starts asking me to play So and So song.

I try to pluck at the strings, looking for the chords on my phone,

but he is asking for eye contact. He is still standing in front of me. Talking.

Telling me to sing. To play. But also to listen. To call on the cats. To play what he wants. To talk about rent. The incoming electricity bill. The war in Palestine.

But to--

Click. Click. Click.

The glass in the kitchen clangs against the counter, knives in my ears. The wind outside rattles the branches; an open oven that is much too hot.

Windows are still closed.

Click. Clang. Eye contact. "Go ahead and sing, it makes me happy when you play."

Click. Clang. The windows rattle from the heat.

Every time I inhale it feels like what comes in is chlorine. The air outside is the same as the air coming in. I can't tell anymore, am I--

Click. Clang. Windows rattle. Am I breathing? Click. Clang. Windows rattle.

Cats scream.

My phone screen lights up. Is he okay? Is something wrong? Why won't he talk to me like he did before--

Click. Clang. Windows. Cats. Phone. Guitar. She laughs much too loud, slaps her hand against her thigh, and he bears his teeth at her in irritation, claps his hands together and bangs the wall to scare the cats and I keep wondering what is my problem, what is going on, the rug is itchy and smells of mildew, my finger is bleeding, I want to throw up, I can't throw up, they will ask what is the matter with me and it will be worse, I can't throw up if I can't breathe, what if he dies and all he remembers is me being unkind, what if this is it, why is my mouth so dry, have I even changed when everything else has not, am I imagining that we are falling apart because--

stop talking, stop talking, stop talking,

I want to scream, my hands are numb.

I quietly finish the rest of my drink. Deep claustrophobic breath.

The shaking stops.

The world quiets down for

just a single moment,

and I do not know

how much longer

I can actually

go on.