She dulls her senses with little orange pills, knowing that nighttime is when she struggles most. In the cool, dark room nestled beneath the grey duvet, she counts her breaths. In; 1,2,3,4,5. Hold; 1,2,3,4. Out; 1,2,3,4,5,6. If she slows her heartbeat down to a rhythmic pound, and silences her mind just so, it won’t attack. If she repeats her mantra enough times, she will be alright. The suffocating hold on her breath and the feeling of burning ice assaults her senses. Shit. But then, he senses her fear, as if its permeating from her pores and gathers her quivering body into his own sleep leaden arms. He continues to hold her while she is engulfed with terror and when her breathing slows and she returns to the present they both slip into the oblivion of sleep.