Sleepless In Seattle Novels & Stories

-TRISTAN HALENTI- I didn’t sleep. Not really. Sleep implies surrender, and I couldn’t afford that—not tonight. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the apartment breathe around me. The soft hum of the security system cycling through its perimeter checks. The distant, muffled roar of the city far below, a living thing that never truly rested. And beneath it all, steady and grounding, the faint, even rhythm of Elias’s breathing coming through the monitor on my nightstand.

Nothing! I dropped my phone angrily, disappointed with the futile results of my research. How could Miss ‘the famous runaway bride’ be back in town, and no one said a word? How was it possible that she wasn’t news any longer? How was that fair?! ~ ~ ~ “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Seattle. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate.” A melodious voice rang from the speakers, waking me from the most uncomfortable slumber of my life.

Miranda now spent every day cursing out scammers. However, the money she borrowed had to be returned somehow. Now that she was backed into a corner, she ridiculously decided to approach me. "Amelia, you're close to Theo, aren't you? Can you ask him to lend me some money? I'm out of options. We're roommates. Please help me. I'll be so grateful." Was she serious? Did she really think her gratitude was worth anything at all?

There is a letter and a pen drive on the library table. I frown, somewhat bewildered. “What is in the letter and on the pen drive?” “Confessions.” My eyes widen in surprise. I'm about to collapse and this is my first day in Los Angeles. God, when did this city become so mysterious? The air is so heavy. My body feels heavy. Maybe it's the jet lag. The difference is huge and my body is starting to overwork itself. I didn't sleep on the plane. But I haven't slept well in years. The pills Barbara got for me help me fall asleep, but I can't sleep more than six hours a night. Damn insomnia.

SELENE I've been at Susan's for two days now, and something's wrong with my sleep. And it’s not the ordinary kind of wrong. I wake up at odd hours drenched, the sheets damp beneath me, my body running hot enough that I have to throw the covers off entirely before I can breathe properly again. I open the window most nights, let the cold air in, sleep without anything on, and it helps enough that I convince myself it's just the weather, an unusually warm week, nothing more complicated than that.

I've been living out of a suitcase in a city I came to for a deal and stayed in for reasons I'm only now learning how to name. The room goes bare. Hotel rooms are good at that. You strip the personal effects and the space forgets you were ever there. No impression on the mattress, no scent in the curtains. Four figures a night and it holds nothing. I stand at the window. Seattle below, going white. The snow is coming down harder now. Steady, deliberate, the kind that means it. Streetlights have halos. Cars have slowed to a crawl on the roads. Somewhere out there, past the buildings and the bridges and the neighborhoods I memorized from a surveillance briefing, there's a coffee shop with a wo

Let me tell you something about being a woman in the middle of a slow-burning disaster — the work doesn't stop. The laundry doesn't stop. The bills don't stop. And at twelve-thirty in the morning when every sensible person in New York is asleep, you are still sitting at your kitchen table staring at a company name you've seen before and cannot for the life of you remember where. Meridian Capital Holdings LLC.

He put the phone face down on the nightstand and lay in the dark with the rain on the window and the ice machine doing its thing down the walkway and his heart making itself very loud in the quiet room. "Good night, Noah," he said, to no one. He didn't sleep for a long time. He was up at six. This was not unusual — he'd been a six o'clock person since architecture school had trained the concept of sleeping in completely out of him — but the quality of the wakefulness was different here. In Seattle he woke up calculating. Lists, timelines, the architecture of the day arranged before he'd had coffee. Here he woke up and lay still for a few minutes just listening to the rain, which had kept its

He had finally sunk into an exhausted, relieved sleep when he had received the fire message from his mate a few hours ago, only to be rudely awoken by Dell hammering on his door barely an hour later. "I think I got about an hour before," Sebestian said, when he had his breathing under control, the skin on his side still tingling from Allen light touch. How was he able to elicit such a reaction from his body with an innocent, almost none existant brush of his fingertips. He groaned at the thought that he could actually count on one hand the number of hours of sleep he had had since he had met Allen. He was exhausted, hence the wings. He silently wondered how many times a person could activate

By the time I wake up, my breathing is overrun, my heart is pounding, and my brain is racing at 1,000 an hour, fighting off the thick distraction that strives to cloud my memories and ruin them in a helpless, impossible corner. “Greece, are you alright?” “You passed out and aged for quite some time,” Mason's forms stressed. I fix it abruptly, still unstable. “Maxx baffled me,” delivered moving forward, my voice raspy. Maxx had me hooked on going gaga for her. “What?” Mason looks at me very frozen.