Title:  Insomnia
Author: Robyn (quincy@global.co.za )
Disclaimer:  You know the drill. The sad, sad truth of life. *sigh* I want a
Sam.
Summary:   Uh... Sam can't sleep.
Rating: Well... there's one nasty word (I think) with several slightly less
nasty words.
Archiving:  Sure.
Notes: I wrote this at 3 in the morning last night, after a freakin'
mosquito woke me up. So, er, forgive any errors and things. Also, I never
write in first person, and I never ever write in present tense, and this is
both, so.


I'm lying awake, staring at the ceiling, and instead of trying to sleep, I'm
thinking about Mallory. I could call her... I *should* call her. But it's
three a.m. Only psychos and married people call others at that time of
night. What would she think?
"Hey, Mallory, guess what? It's three in the morning."
"Oh, hi, Sam! Get out of my life, you crazy stalker freak! And thanks for
waking me up on a school night, by the way, you asshole."
Yeah, right. 'Cause what I really need is another reason for her to be mad
at me.
I mean, really.


I try closing my eyes. I've heard that's what people do when they want to
sleep. Not that I would know; these days, the only time I get any sleep is
when it sneaks up behind me and does a flying tackle.


My eyes pop open. Maybe this sleeping thing isn't for me, after all. Should
I turn off the light? That could help... A plan sidles into my head,
unannounced. I could call her, listen to her say hello, and then hang up,
and perhaps that would be enough to get me to sleep. It occurs to me that
although this is one step up the stalker ladder from just calling and
actually talking to her, she'll never know it was me.
Genius! I'll be breaking into her apartment to sniff her clothes next. I
pick up the phone anyway.


Three rings before she picks up. That's not too bad; maybe she was awake and
we can talk.
"Hello?" Nope, way too sleepy. I hesitate.
"Hello?" she repeats, then, "Listen, whoever, I hope you didn't wake me up
at this hour just to hang up on me."
Feeling guilty, I hang up.
Shouldn't have hung up. Should've apologized. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.


The phone rings. Work, at this time of night? Oh my God, the President is
dead! Okay, relax, get a hold of yourself. The President is not dead. Answer
the phone.
"Sam Seabourn."
"Listen, you psycho... Sam? Is that you?" Oh, shit.
"Uh, no," I reply, making my voice as deep as possible.
"Sam, why did you just call me?" Not easily fooled, this one. She doesn't
sound very upset, though. "Is something wrong?"
"How did you know it was me?" I ask wretchedly.
"Star 69." Oops. "Sam? What?"
"Nothing. I mean, I just had... a bad day, you know, and I couldn't sleep
knowing you were angry with me."
"I'm angry with you?" She sounds puzzled.
"Well, yeah. At the restaurant earlier?" I remind gently. "I wanted lobster
and you said it's cruel the way they plunge them screaming into hot water
and boil them alive..."
"Oh, yeah," she says. "Yeah, I'm pretty furious."
Damn! Why can't I just keep my stupid mouth shut? "Oh," I respond weakly.
"Tell you what. Are you ever going to eat lobster again?"
Think fast, Sam. "No?" I hazard.
"Good. Then I'm not mad at you anymore."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And for calling so late?"
Pause. Then, reluctantly, "All is forgiven."
Phew. "Thanks, Mal."
"Goodnight, Sam."
"'Night, Mal. Sleep tight."


I hang up carefully, turn out the light, and lie back. Hmm... Maybe this
eyes-closed thing could work after all. I'll get back to you on that.

 

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