Seven Sleepless Nights Pdf Novels & Stories

Afterwards I decide to go back upstairs and rest for the remainder of the evening. Night falls, and with it a thunderstorm stirs up. Lightening cracks and for some reason outside of my bedroom, I swear I see sinister red eyes peering in at me. Feel like it must be the exhaustion of the day. I close the blinds, turn on N*****x. I feel dread again as a precaution. I make sure the house is locked up with the deadbolts he installed. I also lock my room to make sure I am extra safe. I snuggle up with a blanket and put on the TV. I change my mind about N*****x and put on “Discovery of Witches” on A****n Prime. Wishing I could find a man like Matthew.

now that everyone knows I was sleeping with the boss. I’m back to nothing. But Grandma’s medicine is paid for months ahead. That’s something. Most nights I lie awake in my old room, staring at the ceiling. The bed feels too big. Too cold. I miss his arms around me. I miss the way he’d kiss my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. I miss how safe I felt. I hate myself for missing it. On the sixth day, I go to his penthouse. I don’t know why. I tell myself it’s to get my things—the hoodie, the shampoo, the sketchbook I left on his nightstand.

Broken Into I A cool breeze drifted through Nancy’s open window, teasing the thin curtains. She lay sprawled across the silk sheets, naked, a limb askew, lost in the deep currents of sleep. The moon, a sliver of silver, cast long, distorted shadows across her bedroom floor. A faint clink, barely audible above the chirping crickets, snagged the edge of her subconscious. Her breath hitched, a shallow intake that did little to stir her from her sleep.

"It's... I mean, you don't usually sleep. Not fully. Even when you’re out, you sleep with the specific quality of someone who's already planning the exit." ​The observation hit too close to home. She moved away to the other side of the bed, beginning to dress, her back turned to him to hide the way her hands were shaking. "I... I think it's just a force of habit. Comes with the business. You don't survive nine years in the margins by falling into a deep REM cycle." ​The room went silent. She could hear the fabric of his shirt rustle as he sat back down on the bed. ​"Scarlett."

He secured his strap and shouted, joined by all men on the plain for Rome. *** Flavius had fallen asleep in the murky woods, a fact he damned himself for immediately upon waking. “One of those things . . . ” he started to say, be thought himself a fool as no one was there to hear his words. Would anyone? He felt utterly alone, the coward he’d became, and now that the troop movements had made him awake, he felt all the worse. He recalled the words of an old singer in a tavern, saying a story on how a sleeping band were killed in the night by a dragon, and woke up in Hell not knowing how they got there. Yes, indeed, one of the beastmen could’ve made playful work of him, crushing his skull in f

I sat up slowly and reached for the water on the nightstand, but the glass was empty. I turned my head and froze when I saw Adam on the floor, doing push ups like a completely unwell person. His shirt was off, his back flexing with each movement, his hair falling over his forehead as he kept going like sleep was a rumour he refused to believe in. I grabbed my phone and checked the time, “Adam.” He kept moving, “what?” “It’s almost seven in the morning.” “I know.” “You haven’t slept a wink since last night.” He stopped, sat back on his heels, and dragged one hand through his hair, “I know. I have insomnia.”

Seven snapped awake, her upper body launching forward as she bolted upright in her bed, a breathless gasp tearing from her throat. Her heart was pounding frantically against her ribcage like a trapped bird, and her skin was drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. She sat there in the dark, her chest heaving as she tried to orient herself in the quiet space of her small apartment. It was that nightmare again. The exact same memory, or dream, or hallucination that had been mercilessly haunting her sleep for as long as she could remember. Who was that little girl? Seven thought, pressing the heels of her palms against her throbbing temples. And who were the mother and child whose faces were always bl

Dominik Sleep deprivation is a slow-acting poison. It corrodes the edges of my vision and fills my joints with lead. Four days of relentless adrenaline have carved hollows under my eyes, leaving me operating on pure, mechanical instinct. Sunlight bleeds through the heavy drapes of the master suite, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. Sitting at the small writing desk in the corner, Eve is already awake. Her fingers fly across the keyboard of her laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I lay there in the dark for hours, eyes open, listening to every shaky breath, every choked sob that slipped through the plaster like it was tissue paper. By four o’clock I gave up on sleep completely. By six the crying finally faded into exhausted silence. By seven it started again. I rolled out of bed feeling like I had been hit by a truck, jaw tight, temples throbbing. Whoever the poor bastard was in 1512, he was having the worst night of his life, and thanks to these ridiculously thin walls I had front-row seats. I dragged a hand over my face and muttered a curse. Because this man needs therapy, a priest, and a gag. Maybe all three.

“Never.” “Hey, if neither of us wants to sleep with each other, then what’s the problem?” He sounded serious. “I really want to get rid of my insomnia. As for me… to be honest, I don’t have anyone I can comfortably touch or let touch me to fix my insomnia, according to what I read in a book.” For once, he looked desperate. She didn't expect someone like Dexter to have such sad eyes, which made her feel sympathetic. She opened her mouth.