I was sitting in a creaking rocking chair, watching a girl sleeping in her bed. She was tossing and turning, mumbling louder and louder. There was something vaguely familiar about her, and I felt like I should know who she was. There was pain emanating from her; I could feel it with my sixth sense. Suddenly, she sat up quickly, and I heard something that shattered my sense of reality. It was a drawn-out gasp, but louder, filled with loss. She was screaming. She was so hurt that she pushed it all into me, and I couldn't calm her. I was too overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning, her waves of agony smothering me. I fought to keep my head above the surface, fought to come out of it. The girl was criminal; her hurt was physically damaging me. I had to snap out of it, I had to stop drowning. Then, as I got closer to the top, I realized that I didn't know what I needed above the water. There was nothing for me, nothing. I screamed along with the girl.