NICK
The alarm didn't wake me. It couldn't. To be woken, one has to be asleep, and sleep is a luxury my nervous system hasn't allowed me to indulge in for months.
I was staring at the ceiling when the digital blare began at 5:30 AM.
The red numbers cut through the darkness of the bedroom, hemorrhaging light onto the white plaster above.
It was too loud, too early, and exactly the same as yesterday. I didn't move for the first thirty seconds.
I just let the sound grate against my eardrums, a mechanical reminder that the performance was scheduled to begin.
Beside me, Lila didn't stir. She was dead to the world, her breathing shallow and rhythmic.
We'd had sex last night, a hollow, athletic encounter that felt more like a checked box on a to-do list than an act of intimacy.
I hadn't wanted to do it.
I hadn't wanted much of anything lately.
