June's room felt heavy, airless with clothes scattered on the floor where she’d dropped them months ago. Above her, the blades of the fan turned slowly, endlessly.

The familiar feeling crept back in. Insomnia.

It had been visiting her every night for the past months.

Insomnia was her frenemy. It dragged old memories to the surface, made her relive things she tried to forget but it also kept her awake, away from the nightmares waiting on the other side of slumber.

If she was so strong, so self-aware, why couldn’t insomnia help her let him go?

If insomnia was strong enough to keep her wake, why wouldn't she help her forget him. She mocked her.

Her phone vibrated, cutting through the spiral. She grabbed it without thinking. A text. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she unlocked the screen.

hey, you asleep yet?

It was him.

He had reached the first time out in 13 months. 

Her chest tightened. Why wait a year just to ask if she was asleep? It was exactly how he’d always been... blunt, careless and speaking like nothing ever weighed on him.

Just like the second time they met.

The room felt heavy, airless, clothes scattered where she’d dropped them hours ago. Above her, the blades of the fan turned slowly, endlessly.

The familiar feeling crept back in. Insomnia.

It had been visiting her every night for the past year.

Insomnia was her frenemy. It dragged old memories to the surface, made her relive things she tried to forget, but it also kept her awake, away from the nightmares waiting on the other side of slumber.

If she was so strong, so self-aware, why couldn’t insomnia help her let him go? She mocked herself.

Tears burned behind her eyes as the voices returned, louder than before.

Look at her, they sneered. Crying over a boy.

They were cruel but they weren’t wrong.

Her phone vibrated, cutting through the spiral. She grabbed it without thinking. A text. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she unlocked the screen.

hey, you asleep yet?

It was him.

After thirteen months, that was all he had to say. Her chest tightened. Why now? Why wait a year just to ask if she was asleep?

It was exactly how he’d always been blunt, careless, speaking like he never had any worry. The message pulled her back to the past — back to the second time they met.

That morning, she strolled across campus with her earphones in, soft classical music playing as she headed toward the library.

The spring air on the campus grounds was calm and war. She walked slow feeling the softness rhythm of the music in her feet as the walked. 

Suddenly she stopped, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her.

She paused her music, tightened her grip on her books, and walked faster.

The footsteps behind her quickened.

Her breath shortened. Panic flared. She broke into a run, thoughts pilling in her head. Should she scream? Turn around? Fight? She didn’t care who it was, she just needed to get to a place with people.

She never saw the stone ahead.

Then,  she hit the ground, pain exploding through her ankle. She hissed, sitting up with difficulty, hands shaking as she realized what had happened.

Twisted ankle.

The footsteps stopped in front of her. Someone bent down and held out a hand.

“We meet again, Blue.”

The voice was familiar.

“I’ve been calling you,” he added. “Why were you running?”

Her heart still raced as she forced herself to calm down. She looked up and didn’t recognize him.

“You are?” she asked, curiosity edged with fear. “Why...were you following me?”

“Wow,” he said, genuinely wounded. “It’s me. The orientation guy.”

Then he smiled.

That smile.

“Oh,” she muttered. "Smiley.”

The nickname slipped out before she could stop it.

He laughed, surprised and pleased. “I’ve got a nickname now?”

She tried to stand. A sharp bolt of pain shot through her ankle, forcing her back down.

“Twisted ankle?” he asked, concern breaking through his calm tone.

She nodded.

“Let’s get you off the ground.” He glanced around, then lifted her carefully onto a nearby bench.

A second voice cut in. “I was still talking when you ran off.”

Another guy stood there, tall, out of breath, dressed much like the first.

His name was Dexter even though June didn’t know his name yet.

“Why do you always do that?” he complained, then noticed her. “Oh. It’s you. The girl who doesn’t talk.”

His voice was loud and blunt.

“What happened?”

“She fell,” the first guy said. “Twisted her ankle.”

“You need help getting to the clinic?” Dexter asked, worry sharp in his eyes.

“No,” June answered, her voice almost inaudible. “I’ll be fine.”

The first guy leaned in too close. Catching her off guard. Her heart almost stopped.

“I didn't get what you said.” he whispered back.

She shifted back, discomfort crawling up her spine. He noticed and immediately stepped away, crouching instead as he pulled out his phone.

“This fall’s on me,” he said lightly. “I should take responsibility.”

He held the phone out. “If it still hurts, text me... I will make it up to you... Let’s be friends.”

Behind him, Dexter scoffed, rolling his eyes like he’d seen this play out before.

“By the way,” Dexter added, “I’m Dexter. This punk’s my best friend.”

June’s fingers dug into her palm. Every second felt like an hour. She just wanted to leave. She took the first guys phone, typed her number quickly, and handed it back without meeting his eyes. Pain flared as she pushed herself up, but she ignored it, limping away before either of them could stop her.

Back in the present, June stared at the message on her screen.

June hated herself for giving him her number. She could’ve walked away, but curiosity got the best of her. She felt the need to know who this guy was, why she was getting drawn to him.

The same guy who shattered her so completely, she forgot where most of the broken pieces went.

Dear Diary,

Anxiety's got a hold of me again

It's been months since I had decent sleep.

I deleted the text, and now I'm back in the same loop. 

~ June