“If I can’t have you, Luna, just give me one more minute,” I murmur, curling my fingers into my palms, fighting every instinct to pull her close.
“DK.”
That’s it. Just my name, spoken haltingly. But she doesn’t leave. Not yet. Instead, we drift closer. I incline my head, inhaling her scent—warm, soft, and unforgettable.
For two heartbeats, we stand there, staring at each other, mouths mere inches apart, breaths mingling in the narrow space like a phantom kiss.
Her lashes flutter. My pulse hammers in my throat.
Then her fingers drift over my knuckles like a feather. One soft, electric second. Then she steps away, turns, and walks back down the hall toward the dining room.
And all I can do… is watch her go.
Tonight is another one where sleep doesn’t come.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling fan as it cuts lazy circles through the dark. Its quiet, steady whir, a contrast to how loud my mind is.
White noise hums from my tablet.
It doesn’t help.
I check the clock.
2:51 a.m.
Nearly three hours. My body’s tired. My eyelids are heavy. But my brain paces. Replays. It grabs at memories, at tasks, at moments, and won’t let them go.
It’s stuck in the hallway.
Her face framed by ebony curls.
The way she said DK like it’s been living inside her.
I try box breaths. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Repeat. Breathe. Don’t battle. Insomnia feeds on resistance. The harder you fight it, the more it digs in.
But my mind doesn’t give a damn about a truce.
I reach for the water on my nightstand, take a sip, then set the glass back down. The meds sit right beside it, a clear bottle with an orange top. Instant sleep in capsule form. But I don’t touch it.
That’s part of the deal. To try without. To let the discomfort pass. Like insomnia is a weather storm instead of a fucking siege.
3:43 a.m.
I climb out of bed and pace the room, barefoot on the cool hardwood. I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t want mybody thinking it’s morning. My mind latches onto tomorrow’s tasks. Strategy planning at ten. Budget development. Campaign messaging with the communications team. Agenda for the debate meeting. And just like that, I’m back on Luna.
The performance we’ll put on—professionals—pretending we don’t know the intimate feel of each other.
I stretch my shoulders, roll my neck, shake out my hands like I’m about to step into the ring. A battle with myself. With temptation. One I’m already losing.
4:12 a.m.
I have to be up in less than four hours.
4:33 a.m.
Finally… I take the pill.
I hate that I need it. Hate that my brain won’t shut off without chemical persuasion. I hate that the one person who made me feel the most relaxed also happens to be the one I can’t have.
