"Sarah," Marks voice was that familiar, hoarse mutter as it always was in the mornings. If I pressed my face close enough against the walls, I could subtly make out the way his hand languidly reached for his glasses beside him. Oscar Wylee, 2010 edition. Despite his adiment protests against wearing them, Mark's wife, Sarah, always made sure he had them wherever they went. The floorboards creaked as he left his bed. "Sarah...?" As he reached for his robe, he would rub his eyes. I hold my breath until he does. "Sarah honey? I slept in again...look, I can still make the 10o'clock meeting," His voice dissapeared down the hall. Shit. My heart thumps vigorously in my chest. I quicken my pace, brushing pass cobwebs and choking on the thick layers of dust in the gruggy air. I can finally breathe once I hear his voice again. Everything about him soothes the most knotted bones in my body. The ache in my back; its gone once I know that the only thing seperating us are these skinny walls. The throbbing in my head abates as that comforting thought settles within me. Mark is the reason I exist. I wake to his voice, and I sleep to the constant humm of his heavy snores. He is my favourite person. My only person I'll ever need. And I will do anything to make him happy. Even if it means murdering his god awful wife that does nothing but irritate him every hour of every day. Marks screams are the last thing I hear.