Rest Easy

1. the restless

Dee Warrington could not sleep. And he felt like letting his ex-girlfriend, Vanessa, know about it. He was itching to fill up the emptiness inside his chest, the cavity that grew mercilessly, a black hole feasting on light. He hadn't wanted her so much since the last time they were together. So at 3:22 a.m., while his heart refused to drum a lax cadence, he scrolled down through his phone's contacts until he saw her name. His thumb hovered over the Call button as he held his breath. Before he could talk himself out of his decision, he pressed it. To his surprise, she answered the phone.

"Hey, Dee. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"You're still awake?" he asked, trying hard to mask his triumph at the sound of her voice.

"Yeah. I have a Spanish final tomorrow. Cramming, you know. I was just about to sleep. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Uh, actually . . . I—I'm just having trouble sleeping."

"I gathered that. Did something happen? Is Dylan home?"

"No. He went out. I've been studying for the history final. I know I'm going to fuck it up, though. Mrs. Meyers' voice is so whiny. I just zone out."

"I don't think you can really blame Mrs. Meyers' voice for your grades."

"No shit, Vanessa." He gulped another shot of his brother's whiskey as he sat upright in bed, looking out his open window. There was not even a slither of a breeze, and the air felt stifling.

"Sorry. Um . . . why are you calling me? We haven't spoken in weeks."

"I don't know. I can't sleep. It's been really bad lately. I'm scared." He paused, sighing, trying to keep himself together. "This house is so empty. I can't handle it. I don't like it. I don't know who else to talk to. I just knew you'd understand."

"Of course I understand. Yeah, I do." She spoke as though she was convincing herself. He sensed hesitance.

"I really miss you," he mumbled. Their relationship had ended just after their one-year anniversary. The cavity in him was taunting him as it grew, and he thought he might just die. He knew he'd feel better in a few months, but that didn't matter in that moment. Hopelessness never pointed you to the future.

"Okay. I'll come over," Vanessa said. Another surprise. Dee wasn't expecting such a statement from her, but then he didn't know what he'd expected.

"You sure? It's dark out."

"It's a five-minute drive. I'm a big girl. I'll bring my bag and my toothbrush so we can just leave for class in the morning."

"What are we gonna do?" he found himself asking.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Uh . . . I don't know. I mean . . . wait, no. There's something I have to talk to you about."

"There is?"

"Yeah. Something I think you really ought to know."

"Right, okay . . ." Vanessa responded, her voice thick with intrigue and suspicion. "I'll see you in ten, then?"

"Sure. Sure. I'll see you soon."

His palms were instantly clammy once she hung up. He didn't know if he was ready to see her up close, even though he thought he was. He had started off pathetic around her when they first met—a skittish mess, hiding his nerves behind flirtation and cheap jokes. Now he was feeling skittish again, but on a whole new level. In the worst way.

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A half hour later, he got a text from Vanessa, who was waiting at the front door. He had been hastily tidying his room, shoving stray clothes under his bed and into his closet, clearing his desk, switching on his bedroom fan to dispel the warm stuffiness in the air. He finished the whiskey and drank a glass of water to compensate for his ever-intensifying intoxication. Vanessa knew he wasn't sober the second she saw him. She smiled softly, taking a deep breath before planting a kiss on his cheek. He led her into the living room, where cans of beer littered the coffee table.