It’s hard to sleep. It eventually happens and when I wake up again it’s late, close to evening late. An entire day passed me by and I’m tired. I am still so tired.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand and I answer it without looking at the number because I’m sure—so sure—it’s him.

“Milo?”

“No.” My heart stops at the voice, the familiarity. I shiver; someone walking over my grave. A memory of a different kiss drifts into my head. “Will you meet me?”

Culler.