I could not sleep. Not with Van next to me. Not with frustration and guilt and sexual desire acting like a major dose of caffeine in my system. Just because I was a wacko and afraid of my own shadow didn’t mean the need subsided. Next door some deaf jerk was watching a movie on mega volume. I wanted to feel safe and secure next to Van, but there was a definite gulf between us. I was afraid he was mad. And I felt bad. I didn’t like mad. I liked Van. I really liked Van. Curled up behind me, facing away from me, Van wasn’t sleeping, either. And it wasn’t my tossing and turning that was necessarily keeping him up. I rolled over, facing his back. “I can’t sleep.” “What?” Van asked, first looking back over his shoulder, and finally rolling to face me. “I can’t sleep. You don’t have an Excedrin PM on you, do you?” “No. Sorry.” “Oh, well.” I shrugged. “I could run out to the all-night Rite Aid down the street?” “No.” “No?” There was a hideous silence.
