The thing about insomnia is it’s a downward spiral.

For me at least. Maybe you can relate.

If I don’t fall asleep within a few minutes, I get angry about the fact that I can’t fall asleep.

And once that anger wells in my chest, there’s even less of a chance of me sleeping.

One a.m. passes. Two a.m. comes and goes.

I open my eyes, take a deep breath, and stare at the ceiling.

I should just get up. Watch Netflix. Stay up all night.

But the doctor told me when this happens, I need to stick it out and stay in bed.

Yeah, well the doctor also told you to take your medication, which you brought home and promptly flushed down the toilet my mind bites back.

Touché, I nod my head a little at myself. Touché.

P.S.: Does anyone actually know what touché means? I went to freaking Harvard, and I barely have a handle on it.

I sigh.

I know when I’m arguing with myself, that sleep is out of the equation. Not gonna happen tonight, Clarissa.

I sweep the sheet off me, and swing my legs out to the side of the bed. I stand up, walk to my window and open it. The warm summer night air hits me, and the moonlight of the three quarters full moon seeps into my room.

I’m officially awake, and not falling back asleep any time soon.

Shoot, I wish I was this awake earlier today when I was at work.

That’s when I get a crazy idea in my head.

I throw on my shorts, boots, and a flannel, and sneak outside so my mama doesn’t hear me.

I grab my bike and head out into the silence of the night.

* * *

When I get to the woods, the silence is deafening. Even the bugs have gone to sleep, I’m pretty sure.

As I make my way to the old bridge, the only things lighting my way are the moon...and fireflies.

The air is fresh and I appreciate it even more so now, after spending so many years in Boston. I like the city, but it’s a dirty old town unless you are breathing the fresh ocean air.

From where I leave my bike at the edge of the trees where the forest gets thick, it’s about a quarter mile until I get to the river.

I start the quick walk, the leaves crunching under my boots. Sure, it’s almost three a.m., but I couldn’t feel much more alive as the insects around me sparkle in the air.

My mind drifts as I step.

I can’t help but think about him. Think about what we used to do out here.

And about how we used to come here late at night.

Funny how he faded away, when I left for the east coast, to escape the guilt.

Just like he said I would. And now I’m back.

I reach the bridge, walk out onto it, and sit, letting my legs dangle through the bars and hang down.

Complete. Utter Silence, in the middle of a big forest. Now this is why I love Blackwell.

Why did I leave here in the first place I wonder?

But instantly the recesses of my mind throw the night back at me. That fateful night in high school that changed everything.

“Hey,” I hear a voice behind me, and a chill overtakes me like I’m watching a horror movie.

I whip my head around, and who else could it be. But him.

And holy shit. He’s a new man.

In high school, he was always a bit lanky. Strong, but just the slightest bit out of proportion.

Well, his proportions have evidently filled back in.

And he looks fucking great. Big biceps, arm tattoos. But his face and his jaw is where he’s really turned into a man. He smokes a cigarette as he walks toward me, looking like a menacing figure.

“The hell are you doing here?” he squints at me.

I jump to my feet, and scoff. “Seriously? That’s how you’re going to greet me, after all these years?”

He smirks at me, and a firefly blinks around his head. I take a step toward him, and he drops his cigarette, and puts it out.

We stand face to face.

Forehead to forehead.

Chest to chest.

“Gonna get all high and mighty on me, eh? Look. You were the one who straight ran out of here. Who got the fuck out of dodge.”

“Yeah. Because I had to. I couldn’t stay here and grow.”

He smiles. “Well, some of us are luckier than others.”

I swallow. The tension thickens between us, and a bead of sweat runs down my face.

I notice he’s sweating, too.

My lips part. I stare at him. And it must be a little too long, because he glares at me before he wraps his arms around my back, pulls me into him, and kisses me with a force I haven’t felt in years.

Seven years, to be exact.

My body pumps and my gut wrenches, good and evil and life and death at the same time, all mixed together.

When he lets me go, I take a needy breath.

“What the hell was that for?”

He shrugs. “You know what that was for.”