Insomnia

The sheets were twisted around our ankles, damp with sweat and the heavy, humid air of the room. I traced the line of sweat running down Alex’s chest, watching it disappear into the waistband of his boxers.

"I think I’m going to die," I said. It wasn't a complaint. Just an observation. "My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my teeth. If I don't sleep tonight, my body is just going to shut down out of spite."

Alex didn't open his eyes. He just reached out, his hand heavy and hot on my thigh, squeezing hard. Grounding me.

"You're not dying, Dami. You're just loud. Inside."

He was right. The silence of the room was deafening, but the noise in my head was worse. A screeching static of ambition, regret, and the terrifying hollow feeling that sat right in the center of my chest.

"You’re my Xanax," I whispered, moving closer until my chest pressed against his side. "It’s pathetic. I use you to turn the volume down."

He finally looked at me. His eyes were clear, annoyingly calm. He pulled me on top of him, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. The friction was electric—skin dragging against skin, raw and unhidden.

"Use me then," he said. His voice was rough, vibrating through my ribcage. "I don't care why you're here, as long as you're not there." He tapped my temple. "Get out of your head. Come down here with me."

I kissed him, hard. It wasn't soft or romantic. It was a desperate attempt to taste something other than my own cynicism. We moved against each other with a familiarity that skipped all the awkward steps. We didn't need to woo each other; we just needed to collide.

When we broke apart, breathless, I rested my chin on his chest.

"Is this it?" I asked, looking at the ceiling fan slicing through the shadows. "Are we just two insomniacs fucking to pass the time? Are we even in love, Alex? Or are we just scared of the dark?"

Alex laughed, a low rumble. He ran his fingers through my hair, untangling the knots.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "Look at us. The world is burning outside. We’re all just carbon waiting to expire. There’s no grand point to any of this, Dami. No scoreboard."

"That’s your answer for everything. 'Nothing matters.'"

"Nothing does," he said, and his grip on me tightened, betraying him. "Except this. The sweat. Your breathing. The fact that for five minutes, you weren't thinking about the hole in your heart."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was terrified I’d leave. I could see it in the way he held me—loose enough to let go, tight enough to beg me to stay. He was optimistic because he had to be. Because if he looked at the void like I did, he’d drown.

"I might leave, you know," I said. Cruel, but true. "I might wake up one day and just... go."

"I know," he said softly. He kissed the pulse point on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the AC. "But you’re here now. And we’re awake. And we’re alive."

I closed my eyes, letting his weight anchor me to the mattress. The static buzzed, but it was quieter now. Manageable.

"We’re never going to sleep properly again, are we?" I murmured.

"Probably not."

"Good," I said, surprising myself. "Sleep is for people who don't have enough to lose."

I listened to his breathing match mine. In the grand, pointless scheme of the universe, maybe finding the one person who makes the chaos quiet is the only victory we get.

If we’re all just falling through space, isn’t it better to hold onto someone on the way down?