What made me scream

I live alone. I've always lived alone. Kyle's two or three months in the Lola Apartments studio were the only exception.
I have a new job which wakes me up at 5:30 every other morning. So I sleep soundly. My fan on. My windows I still keep locked at night. And I am sleeping. Deeply deeply. A hand grabs my shoulder
I dont know what made me realise that it wasn't what should happen- nor even what could happen. It was not right, but I don't know if I sensed it, analysed it... I just reacted. Screamed and screamed. There was a man standing over my bed. If it hadn't been Kyle, if it had actually been someone else who had broken into my house and had intended me harm, there was lots of time to harm me in before I was capable of action. Lots. Kyle was visiting his folks. His sleep is still erratic enough that he is awake at 3, 4, 5 in the morning. He gets restless at the folk's house. He surfs the web. Chats. He has someone pick him up and drop him off at my house. And he tries the doors. He tries knocking. He finds a door unlocked. He finds me.
I love Kyle. I can't hold it against him, frightening me like this. He is so vulnerable, so emotionally fragile.
And so deranged in circadian rhythms. We watch t.v. He sleeps while I go to work. I come home at 2:30. He is still asleep in my bed. I walk to a Co-op to get him healthy food. He calls another friend to pick him up and take him back to his parents. People will do anything for him. He can't really admit this. It always ends the same, the same hesitant, earnest pleas. Whoever it is...they are surprised they say, surprised by love. Again and again it happens to him.
He is cursed by being young, handsome, muscular, brilliant, funny, vulnerable.
He comes over once more before he flies back. He gets a call from one of these guys. Someone he hasn't heard from in a month. Someone who is trying to get noticed. Forge a bond. "I wanted to call and tell you that I saw a psychic."
Kyle paces back and forth listening. The phone finally dies. He sits next to me.
"The psychic said that I have Syphillis and Gonhorrea."
"Wait. You didn't go to a psychic."
Kyle shakes his head, No. His friend said that all you have to do is tell the woman a name and she will see the person's condition. His friend wanted to impress Kyle. Let him know that Kyle was always in his thoughts.
Kyle pulls his large frame into a fetal position on the sofa.
"I know it's ridiculous," he says. "I'm worried."
"Have you had any symptoms at all?" I ask.
No. He can't move.
We have to go to a pharmacy and get him anti-anxiety meds.
What about all the other Kyle K______s? I ask. It could be any one of them.
When he leaves I know that he has given me his contagious half-awake- half-asleep state. I am exhausted but I can't sleep. I cook navy beans. I watch them without the will to move. They begin to lift in the pot, in the water. They lift and revolve in the pot slowly. One, then the next, randomly they rise and turn like thirty-year olds in Logan's Run.
There is no renewal.