It's 2 am, and your phone falls behind the bed. You have work in the morning, and it's already difficult enough to wake up when the phone's blaring right beside you so it'll be nigh impossible for you to either hear or care when the alarm sounds below you.

You're already quite comfortable what with your pillow just right and your legs in that hard-to-find arrangement that leads to perfect sleep, so you try moving as little as possible and stick your hand down the back. Unfortunately your bed is too close to the wall. The only thing you accomplish is the slight risk of having your arm stuck there forever. So you begrudgingly get out of bed—knowing that never in your life will you ever be as relaxed as you were then—and go hunting for your stupid phone.

Your hand blindingly stumbles upon it, and you pull your arm out. Out of habit, you check your notifications and...

This isn't your phone. That's not your background picture. And you have no idea who 256-549-9984 is. Or why seven minutes ago they had texted "I'm outside the door."

You feel an arm around your neck.