Seven Sleepless Nights Mga Nobela at Kwento

"I know you're awake, so get up." She groaned sleepily. "James, please, I fell asleep at three o'clock in the morning, so could you please shut up and let me sleep?" she asked, hugging the pillow beside her. "And it's not my fault you didn't go to bed early; we already talked about it, so don't give me that reason. Will you stand there, or will I drag you to the bathroom?" James threatened. She moaned once more. Damn, this jerk! Despite her love for him, there are times when she just wants to torture him. Does he not notice how sleepy I am?

The sudden plummet. I hadn't been working late tonight. I had died here three weeks ago. And every night, I just kept trying to go home.

At times, May can decide to sandwich herself in our bed like a child, saying she's afraid of nightmares. Seven and I kiss goodnight and he switches off the light. I don't have the urge to sleep tonight. I have a lot of baggage in my head and it's stressing me out. But most of all, Seven's illness is the one eating up my head, causing insomnia. It has been like this for a couple of nights now. I just stay up at night eyes closed but my mind wide open, swallowed in thoughts. Seven is sleeping peacefully right next to me. Seven suddenly creeps out of bed and heads to the washroom.

I stay up all night Tell myself I'm alright Baby, you're just harder to see than most I put the record on Wait 'til I hear our song Every night I'm dancing with your ghost Every night I'm dancing with your ghost Every night I'm dancing with your ghost I sighed when the song finished, then I opened my eyes. Geeze. Now, I am not certain anymore if visiting this when I haven't truly moved on is a good idea. The memories are just making me more vulnerable. The pain is killing me inside. It's beating me up and as it keeps going, I became more and more exhausted as well.

This is one of those times when every bump in the night does have a cause and it doesn’t mean I am going insane, does it? I remember the other night when the moon was full and the clouds were so low that you felt like you could touch one, that the shadows in my room seemed especially ominous before I finally fell asleep at 1 a.m. Waking up to hear my name being called, I quickly sit up and I scan the room for one of my children. However, there is nothing, just the gentle breathing of my husband lying next to me in the bed as he is sleeping.

My hands were steady, but my mind was in chaos. The diner was quiet for a Tuesday. The neon 'OPEN' sign hummed. I wiped the same section of the counter over and over again, watching the rain start to smear across the front windows. Chicago at 2 AM is a graveyard for the lonely. It’s for the night-shift nurses, the cab drivers, and the people who have nowhere else to go. I was tired of being the girl who had nowhere to go. I looked at my reflection in the chrome of the milkshake machine.

Dead on impact. The Reaper felt bad for me—said I didn't deserve to go out like that. Gave me seven days. One last shot to say goodbye. When I came back, it was already dark. I kept thinking—I wish I had wings. Maybe they were waiting. But under the moonlight, as I got closer, I saw through the dining room window— Alex, sitting between my parents. Brian and Ruby, side by side. Red wine. Fancy food. Everyone dressed like they were starring in a holiday ad.

Gavin and I had been married for almost a year, but he always treated me rudely. I looked at the door, still closed as before. Maybe tonight Gavin would come home late as usual. The water on my face turned sad at the thought of the fact that tonight would pass in vain. Okay, I'm okay. Everything will be fine. Even tonight will probably be the same as the previous night; you don't have to be sad. I tried to strengthen myself. Fifteen minutes passed; I turned off the light and decided to sleep on the bed after the room lights were turned off. The 7X9 room was completely dark, apart from a little light source from the window vent.

The idea of starting over in New York pressed on my chest, heavy and suffocating. The bathroom door opened, and Seven walked out with a towel slung around his shoulders. His eyes went straight to me. I quickly shoved my phone under the pillow. “You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low. “Couldn’t sleep,” I said, forcing a small smile. He sat down on the bed beside me and took my hand. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I lied quickly. “I’m fine.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

Zayden. Sleep doesn’t come easy. It never has. Nights stretch long and merciless, and when I finally close my eyes, the past claws its way in—shadows of fists slamming against walls, muffled cries, the sour stench of whiskey and rage. I wake drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around me like restraints, chest heaving as though I’d been running for miles. The clock on the nightstand glares back at me: 3:17 a.m. Another night wasted. Another reminder that I can control billion-dollar empires but not the silence in my own head.