He tried the breathing exercises. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. By the third round, he wasn't relaxed; he was just hyper-aware of how loud his own lungs were. The house, usually silent, had developed a symphony of taunts. The refrigerator hummed a low, mocking drone. A floorboard in the hallway creaked, suggesting a ghost that was also, presumably, suffering from insomnia.
His phone sat on the charger, a glowing siren. He knew that if he picked it up, the blue light would finish off whatever remained of his melatonin, but the temptation was a physical ache. He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the screen. 1. I Can't Go To Sleep
He sighed, his eyes burning and heavy, and realized the cruelest joke of all: now that the sun was up, he was finally starting to feel a little bit drowsy. He tried the breathing exercises
By the time he got to the second floor window frames, the gray light of dawn began to bleed through the curtains. The birds started their first, tentative chirps—a sound that usually signaled a fresh start, but to Elias, sounded like a finish line he had failed to cross. The house, usually silent, had developed a symphony
The clock on the nightstand was a liar. It claimed it was 3:14 AM, but Elias knew better. To him, time had ceased to be a linear progression of minutes and had instead become a thick, suffocating fog.
He shifted his weight, the cotton sheets feeling like sandpaper against his skin. Every fold in the fabric was a mountain range, every stray thread a needle. He closed his eyes, determined to force the darkness into a dream, but his brain had other plans. It was currently busy cataloging every awkward thing he had said since the third grade.