This Isn't About Me and You, It's About People

Sarah is in bed, asleep and under the covers. Jacob enters the apartment and closes the door behind him. Sarah shifts around, but doesn’t wake up. The apartment is one room. In the open space, Jacob would be able to see Sarah’s hair and naked back, if it was not so dark as it is.
The typewriter on the floor, the sharp-angled corner shelf they’ve never put up, the bookshelf that attempts to divide the bed from the rest of the apartment––Jacob curls his toes under his thin feet in case something has moved. On the far side of the bookshelf, Jacob undresses. Jacob drops his clothes onto a pile of Sarah’s clothes.
Sarah is still asleep even though she’s throwing the covers aside for Jacob and moaning, as if to say, “get in, so we can sleep.” Jacob gets into the bed and pulls up the covers. Sarah turns onto her side and curls up. Jacob’s feet and hands are cold. Jacob puts his hands onto Sarah’s thighs. Sarah gasps. Sarah immediately pulls away. Sarah is a dog running from a car accident in shock, running along the highway, running towards the cars, running with blank open eyes. Jacob turns onto his back with the indignation of an athlete muscled into throwing a match.
One before the other, the two fall into sleep and find each other’s bodies at some point in the procession of dreams.
...I’m having nightmares
...About what
...Nothing
...I’ll protect you from nothing
...
...
...
...mmph