No, I’m not stoned, you asshole! Anyway, don’t try to overexplain—like I am—either.

Hey, here’s a suggestion. How about you cut to my POV for the first and only time in the novel during that scene, right after you wake up on the second night. You describe to the reader what is going on, and in doing so, depending on how you describe what’s happening, you could still have the creepy floating stuff but leave it ambiguous as to whether it’s truly happening. Find a way to leave us at that precipice. Stick with your POV until the moment the dresser rises again, then cut to my POV, keeping in mind you have already hinted that I’ve been draining the life-force from you, which is causing your heart palpitations, sleep apnea, chest pains, back issues, etc.

Okay, check this out from Mercy’s POV:

There I am, lying in my bed. I’ve been asleep for hours, but also, at the same time, I’m returning to bed after having perched on your chest. I don’t understand everything—I never have—but in this moment we are in two worlds of many.

You stand in front of the couch, shaking in air that has gotten thicker somehow, and shaking as you stare at the dresser that hovers above the floor

—and—

you are shouting at things that are not there because your brain is on fire and in this hallucinatory frenzy you rip the dresser from the wall and you gut it, spilling out the drawers.

You spin away from the levitating furniture, and I’ve never seen someone look so fundamentally frightened and lost

—and—

you are in a berserker’s fury and you flip over the sofa and smash the lamp and scream unintelligibly.

I see it all I see it all

—and—

I hear it all.

I stretch and lope toward you on all fours, every inch of me a claw, a snarl, a fang, and also, I fill the room, I am the room, I am the world, and I’m enraged and rapturous and I will make this last forever

—and—

I’m in bed and I can’t see anything, and I’m curled into a ball and I’m so small and I’m weeping because this will last forever.

Because you are in the same room with me and at such proximity—comparative to 1989 when I was sleeping an entire floor below you, or when I was underground, in my grave one hundred years prior—I am intoxicated and I am violence and I am possibility and I am blood in the water, no, I am blood in the air, the coagulating air

—and—

because you are in the same room with me and at such proximity I cannot move, cannot even open my eyes and I am soporific with you, and I am sick with you.

You try to leave, and I block your path at the door, and I wait, and the delicious fucking wait is too much, almost

—and—