While Kyle sat on a cold bench at the top of Primrose Hill, Los Angeles was still in the dark.
It was a little after three in the morning, and Aiysha hadn't slept.
She lay on her side of the bed, which these days was the whole bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly above her. The apartment was silent. Clarissa was still at her grandmother's. Jones was still at his Airbnb. The only sound was the fridge humming in the kitchen and, every so often, a car passing on the street below.
She had tried everything. Warm milk. A podcast about the ocean. Counting backwards from a hundred.
It hadn't worked.
Her phone lay face down on the nightstand. She had promised herself she wouldn't touch it.
She lasted another four minutes.
The screen lit up her face as she unlocked it, and her thumb went where it always went lately. WhatsApp. Status updates. Kyle's name sitting there near the top of her contacts.
