THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED - by Onlyreal

I woke up because my arm hurt. Not pins and needles. Not numb. Hurt in a deep, tearing way—like something had been pulled too far and left there. My right arm was wedged between the mattress and the wall. I tried to pull it free. It didn’t move. I frowned, still half-asleep, and shifted my weight. The pain sharpened, sudden and bright, yanking a sound out of my throat before I could stop it. That’s when I noticed the room was quiet. No fan. No traffic. No phone buzz. I reached for the bedside lamp with my left hand. My fingers brushed skin. Warm. Soft. I froze. Slowly, carefully, I slid my hand upward. A shoulder. A neck. A face. My face. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. Breathing shallow. Lying beside me. ⸻ Panic hit hard and fast. I tried to sit up. My arm screamed. I looked down and finally understood why it wouldn’t move. It didn’t end at my shoulder anymore. It disappeared into the other body’s chest—my arm buried elbow-deep in myself, flesh sealed tight around it like it had never been separate. No blood. No wound. Just skin gripping skin. I gagged. The body next to me twitched. Its fingers curled. ⸻ “Don’t,” it whispered. The voice came from my mouth. From the wrong throat. “Don’t pull yet.” ⸻ I pulled anyway. The pain was instant and blinding. White-hot, tearing, wet. Something inside me gave way with a soft, horrible sound, like meat unsticking from a surface. I screamed. So did it. The arm came free in a rush of warmth and slick resistance. My shoulder burned. My hand shook uncontrollably. The other body convulsed. Its chest caved inward where my arm had been, collapsing like a punctured lung. It gasped. I watched myself die. ⸻ The room snapped back to life. The fan whirred. Cars passed outside. My phone vibrated on the nightstand. I sat there, drenched in sweat, arm throbbing violently, staring at the empty space beside me. No body. No blood. Just a faint indentation in the mattress. And a sensation I couldn’t explain—like something had been taken out of me. ⸻ Later that morning, I noticed my reflection felt… delayed. Not enough to panic. Just enough to notice. When I lifted my right arm, it hesitated. When I smiled, it took a moment to follow. And sometimes—just sometimes—I feel an ache in my chest that isn’t mine. Like there’s room there now. Like something is still reaching through.

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