I heard the world up, late night.
Holding my breath tight, trying to keep my head on right.
There's a chill in the air, nobody could care.
How you're caught up in the fight of your life.

I'm fucking terrified.

I've been scared before. Having a gun stuck in your face will do that to you. Shit, scared doesn't even begin to cover all the emotions that particular scenario invokes. Terrified would fall in the list of applicable but inadequate adjectives, too. With a gun in my face, I know the situation has two possible endings: one good, the other bad. The outcome depends on my actions and gaining control. That variable is always the same; it's constant. If I have control of the situation, the ending is good, relatively speaking.

This is different.

I don't and will never have control of this situation. There's no weapon trained on my head, but rather, a metaphorical one fixed firmly on my heart. There is no constant variable now. Everything hinges on the actions of others. She knows what she's doing, but the guy who's backing her? I don't fucking trust him with his own life, let alone hers. There's nothing I can do about that. And that's what scares me.

She doesn't need to know.

I'll never tell her about all the fears that are keeping me awake at night. She doesn't need me to throw this on her shoulders when she already has the weight of the world. I can't even let her suspect something is bothering me because then she'll demand to know and I can't say 'no' to her. If I'd been kept in the dark about what's going on, I'd demand to know, even though it's hurting so much.

I couldn't take it.

On the days she goes to talk with him, I'm restless, never at ease until I know she's okay. It's irrational, I know; she can take care of herself. But, there's always that nagging 'What if?' scratching at the back of my mind. She's doing this under the radar and those who could help don't know about it, are part of the problem, or simply don't care. I care; I more than care. Because of that, I have all I can do to keep my head on straight and I'm holding my breath, trying to get through the day so I can breath a little easier the next. On those days, I feel like I'm waiting for the phone to ring, a cold voice on the other end telling me of the ill-fated endeavor. The fight of her life.

This isn't so dissimilar.

I'm afraid for her life. I can't see if there's a gun in her face, nor do I want to. That situation all hangs on the control of a man I don't trust. It has two possible outcomes: one of them gloriously good, the other…

Devastating.