It's 2:47 a.m. and I can't stop staring at the ceiling. There's a small stain near the light fixture, kind of shaped like a bird if you squint. The clock on the wall ticks louder than it should. Every second feels stretched out, like the second hand is dragging itself forward just to mock me.
I keep checking my phone, but there's nothing new. The screen glows too bright in the dark. I should probably put it down, but I don't. My legs are tangled in the sheets and my mind keeps looping over the same dumb thoughts. Did I lock the front door? Did I say the wrong thing earlier? It doesn't matter. Nothing matters at this hour.
The room smells like laundry detergent and stale air. I can hear the fridge humming from the kitchen. It's too quiet and too loud all at once. I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep, but the clock keeps ticking. The bird-shaped stain stares back at me.