Chapter 5: Insomnia, A Shower, and a Blunt
The clock on the nightstand read 2:17 a.m. Jess had been staring at it for twenty minutes, watching the red digits blur and sharpen, blur and sharpen, like her eyes couldn't decide if they wanted to focus or give up entirely.
Cole was dead weight beside her. Not in a bad way—just heavy, solid, one arm thrown over his face like he was blocking out a sun that wasn't there. His breathing was deep and even, the kind of sleep that came to people who worked hard and slept harder. She envied him. She'd never been good at sleeping. Not since she was a kid. Not since her mom left and the house got quiet and she learned to stay awake just to make sure nothing else disappeared.
She slid out from under his arm. Slow. Careful. The mattress dipped but didn't creak. She'd learned that trick years ago, back when she was sneaking out of boys' beds in high school, back when she still thought she was invincible.
The bathroom light was too bright. She didn't turn it on. Just stood in the dark, hands on the sink, breathing. The mirror was cracked in the corner—had been since she moved in, since before she moved in—and she could see fragments of herself in the glass. A sliver of cheekbone. The curve of her shoulder. One eye, dark and unreadable.
She turned on the shower. Cold at first. Then hot.
The water hit her skin and she felt something loosen in her chest. Not much. Just enough.
She stood under the spray for a long time. Didn't wash her hair. Didn't scrub. Just let the water run over her, steam curling up around her like smoke, the bathroom filling with heat and fog. She thought about nothing. Thought about everything. Thought about the way Cole had said okay when she'd asked him to date her. Like it was simple. Like it was obvious.
Maybe it was.
She got out. Dried off with a towel that smelled like mildew. Pulled on an old t-shirt—faded black, a band logo she didn't recognize anymore—and a pair of plain cotton underwear that barely covered her ass. No bra. She didn't need one. Not at 2 a.m. Not in her own apartment.
The back door was still cracked open from earlier. She'd forgotten to close it. The porch light was still dead, but the moon was out—full and silver and indifferent—and it painted the railing in pale strips of light.
She stepped outside.
The concrete was cold under her bare feet. She sat on the top step, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around her shins. The city hummed below her. Not loud—just present. A car passing. A dog barking somewhere. The distant wail of a siren that faded before it could mean anything.
She reached into her pocket. Pulled out the blunt she'd rolled earlier. Half-smoked. She'd been saving it.
She lit it with a match from the book she kept in her pocket. The flame flared, then died. She inhaled. Held it. Let it out slow.
The smoke curled up into the dark. She watched it disappear.
She thought about Cole. About the way he'd looked at her earlier—really looked—when she'd said she wanted to date him. About the way his hand had tightened in her hair. About the way he'd said okay like it was the easiest thing in the world.
She thought about the smudge on his sleeve. The blood. The coffee. She still didn't know which one it was. She hadn't asked. She wondered if she should have.
She took another hit. Held it longer this time.
The thing was, she didn't know how to do this. Not really. She knew how to flirt. She knew how to fuck. She knew how to leave before things got complicated. But this—this staying—this was new. This was terrifying.
She thought about her mom. About the way she'd left without saying goodbye. About the way Jess had waited by the window for three days, convinced she'd come back.
She hadn't.
Jess took another hit. The blunt was almost gone now. Just a roach, burning her fingertips.
She stubbed it out on the concrete. Tossed the roach into the coffee can she used as an ashtray. Stood up.
The moon was still there. Still silver. Still indifferent.
She went back inside.
---
The bedroom was dark. Just the flickering lamp on the nightstand, casting shadows that moved like they were alive. Cole hadn't moved. Still on his back. Still breathing deep.
She stood in the doorway for a moment. Watched him. The rise and fall of his chest. The way his jaw went slack. The scar on his shoulder—the one she still hadn't asked about.
She crossed the room. Slid into bed behind him.
Her arms went around his waist. Her face pressed between his shoulder blades. She could feel his heartbeat through his back—slow and steady and real.
He stirred. Just barely.
His hand found hers. Laced their fingers together. Pulled her tighter.
He didn't open his eyes.
She closed hers.
---
She woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.
The bed was empty. The sheets were cold. For a second, she panicked—the same panic as always, the same old wound—but then she heard him. Moving around in the kitchen. Opening cabinets. The clink of a mug against the counter.
She lay there for a minute. Just breathing. Just listening.
Then she got up.
He was standing at the stove. Shirtless. In his boxers. Making eggs.
"You're cooking," she said.
He turned. Looked at her. Smiled.
"I'm cooking."
"In my kitchen."
"In your kitchen."
She walked over. Leaned against the counter. Watched him.
"I didn't know you could cook."
"There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Like what?"
He flipped the eggs. "Like I make a mean omelet."
"That's not a personality trait."
"It's a skill."
She laughed. Grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Poured herself some coffee.
"You sleep okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. Eventually."
"You were up."
She paused. "You noticed?"
"I woke up when you got out of bed. Heard the shower. Figured you needed a minute."
She didn't say anything. Just took a sip of coffee.
"You could've woken me," he said.
"I know."
"You didn't."
"I didn't."
He looked at her. That same look from last night. The one that made her feel like she was being seen.
"You don't have to do everything alone," he said.
She set the mug down. Crossed her arms.
"I know."
"Do you?"
She didn't answer.
He turned back to the stove. Scooped the eggs onto two plates. Handed her one.
"Eat," he said.
She ate.
---
They sat on the couch. Cross-legged. Plates on their laps. The TV was off. The apartment was quiet.
"This is weird," she said.
"What is?"
"This. You. Breakfast."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
She thought about it.
"Good weird," she said. "I think."
He nodded. Took a bite of eggs.
"I have to work tonight," he said.
"I figured."
"Late shift. Won't be done till two."
"Okay."
He looked at her. "You could come by the gas station. If you want."
She raised an eyebrow. "The gas station?"
"I stop there sometimes. On patrol. Grab coffee."
"You're asking me to meet you at the gas station where we met."
"I'm asking you to meet me at the gas station where we met."
She laughed. "That's ridiculous."
"Is that a no?"
She shook her head. "It's a maybe."
"Maybe is good."
"Maybe is maybe."
He finished his eggs. Set the plate on the coffee table. Leaned back.
"Jess."
"Yeah."
"I'm not going anywhere."
She looked at him. The sunlight was coming through the blinds now, hitting his face, making his eyes look almost gold.
"I know," she said.
"Do you?"
She set her plate down. Crawled across the couch. Straddled his lap.
"I'm starting to," she said.
He kissed her. Slow. Soft. His hands on her hips. Her hands on his face.
She pulled back. Looked at him.
"You have to go," she said.
"I know."
"Your shift."
"I know."
She kissed him again. Harder this time.
"One more minute," she said.
He smiled against her mouth. "One more minute."
---
He left at nine. Kissed her at the door. Told her he'd text her later.
She stood in the doorway and watched him go. Watched him walk down the hall. Watched him disappear around the corner.
She closed the door. Locked it. Leaned against it.
The apartment was quiet. Empty. The way it always was when he left.
She hated that.
She pulled out her phone. Opened a text.
Jess: I miss you already.
She stared at it for a long time. Deleted it. Typed again.
Jess: See you tonight.
She hit send.
He responded thirty seconds later.
Cole: See you tonight.
She smiled. Set the phone down.
The apartment was still quiet. But somehow, it didn't feel so empty anymore.
But somehow, it didn't feel so empty anymore.
---
Three weeks passed like that. Him coming over after shifts that left him hollowed out—domestic call, DUI crash, a kid who didn't make it—and her sitting him on the couch without a word. No questions. No what happened. Just her knees hitting the floor, her hands working his belt loose, her mouth taking him down slow while he gripped the cushions and stared at the ceiling and let the bad shit bleed out of him one inch at a time.
He never asked for it. She never offered. It just happened.
The first time, he'd shown up at midnight with a split lip and blood on his knuckles. She'd opened the door, looked at him for two seconds, then pointed at the couch. He'd sat. She'd knelt. Neither of them said a word until he came down her throat with a groan that sounded like it had been pulled out of his chest with pliers.
After, he'd zipped up. She'd wiped her mouth. He'd said thank you like he was thanking her for passing the salt.
She'd shrugged. You looked like you needed it.
He'd nodded. Left.
Came back two nights later.
---
The routine stuck. He'd text first—rough one or you up or just her name, one word, no punctuation. She'd leave the door unlocked. He'd let himself in. She'd already be on the couch, or in the kitchen, or standing by the window with a cigarette she'd stub out the second she heard his key in the lock.
She learned things about him. The way his jaw tightened when he was holding something back. The way he'd run his thumb along the seam of his pants when he was nervous. The way he'd look at her after—not through her, not past her, but at her—like he was trying to memorize something.
She didn't ask about the scar on his shoulder. He didn't ask about the photo on her nightstand—her mom, younger, smiling at a camera like she had no idea she was about to walk out the door and never come back.
They were both good at not asking.
---
The night of the celebration started with a text from Dana.
Last shift for the rotation. We're going out. No excuses.
Jess had stared at her phone for a full minute. She'd been lying on the couch in Cole's old academy t-shirt, hair unwashed, half a container of lo mein going cold on the coffee table. She hadn't left the apartment in three days except to buy cigarettes.
I'm not in the mood, she typed.
Don't care, Dana shot back. Pick you up at nine. Wear something short.
---
She wore the black dress. The lacy one. The short one. Nothing fancy—Dana had been clear about that—so she paired it with flats instead of heels. Her hair was down. Her lips were red. She looked in the mirror and didn't hate what she saw.
Dana showed up at nine on the dot, honking from the parking lot like a psycho. Jess grabbed her keys, her ID, her phone. Locked the door behind her.
The bar was loud and sticky and perfect. Neon signs. Cheap beer. A floor that vibrated with bass. Dana dragged her to the middle of it all and they danced until Jess's calves ached and her throat was raw from shouting along to songs she only half-knew.
Dana was glowing. That new-relationship glow. It looked good on her—softened the edges, made her laugh louder. Jess was happy for her. Really.
She was also jealous.
Not of the guy—she hadn't even met him yet. Just of the way Dana talked about him. Like he was solid. Like he was there.
---
The creep appeared around midnight.
Jess noticed him first—a guy in a gray hoodie, thinning hair, eyes that lingered a beat too long. He was standing by the bar, not drinking, just watching. She nudged Dana.
Don't look, she said. But creepy guy at ten o'clock.
Dana looked anyway. Ugh. Him? He's been staring at you for an hour.
Great.
We can leave.
No. I'm not letting some dude ruin our night.
They moved to the other side of the bar. Danced harder. Laughed louder. But Jess felt him. That prickle at the back of her neck. The weight of eyes that didn't blink.
He followed them to the bathroom. Stood outside the door. Followed them back to the bar. Followed them to the jukebox.
Dana grabbed her arm. Okay. I'm calling it. Let's go.
Jess nodded. Yeah. Let's go.
---
They stopped at the gas station on the way home.
Dana needed smokes. Jess needed coffee. And—if she was honest—she needed to see if Cole was there. He'd texted her earlier: last shift. stop by if you're out.
She hadn't replied. But she'd been thinking about it all night.
Dana's new boyfriend worked dispatch. He'd mentioned Cole's rotation was ending. He'll be off for a week, Dana had said. You should do something. Take a trip. Get out of town.
Jess had laughed. We're not there yet.
You're literally dating.
Barely.
The gas station fluorescents were too bright. The air smelled like burnt coffee and old hot dogs. Jess pushed through the door, Dana right behind her.
The place was empty except for the checkout guy—a kid with acne and a bored expression—and two state troopers.
Cole was one of them.
The other was a woman. Tall. Dark hair pulled back. Sharp features. She was leaning against the counter, laughing at something Cole had said.
Jess felt something twist in her chest.
Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just—something.
Cole looked up. Saw her. His face didn't change, but his posture did. Subtle. The way he straightened. The way his hand moved off the counter.
Hey, he said.
Hey, she said.
Dana was already drifting toward the checkout guy. Just these, she said, sliding a pack of Marlboros across the counter.
Jess walked over to the coffee machine. Her hands were steady. Her heart wasn't.
The female trooper was watching her. Not hostile. Just—curious.
You're Jess, she said.
Jess turned. Yeah.
I'm Rodriguez. She extended a hand. Cole's partner.
Jess shook it. Oh.
He talks about you.
Does he.
Rodriguez smiled. Not a lot. But enough.
---
The bell above the door jingled.
Jess didn't look up. She was pouring cream into her coffee, watching the swirl of white against black. But she felt it—that prickle again. That weight.
She knew who it was before she turned.
Gray hoodie. Thinning hair. Creep.
He was standing by the door. Hands in his pockets. Staring at her.
Dana noticed too. Her face went pale. Jess.
I know.
Let's go.
Dana.
Jess. Let's just—
But Dana's boyfriend had just texted. She was already pulling out her phone, already typing, already distracted. The checkout kid was ringing up her smokes. The two troopers were talking to each other.
Jess was alone.
She turned back to her coffee. Ignore him. He'll leave.
He didn't leave.
---
She felt his hand before she saw him.
It came up from behind—fast, rough, sliding under the hem of her dress, over the lace edge of her underwear, gripping her ass like he had every right to it. His fingers were cold. His palm was sweaty. His breath was hot against the back of her neck.
Hey, he said. Low. Slurred. You look good tonight.
She spun around. Her coffee tipped. Spilled across the counter.
Don't touch me again.
He smiled. What are you going to do about it?
Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. But her voice—her voice was steady. She shrugged. Didn't look up from the mess on the counter.
Nothing, she said.
That's what I thought.
She picked up a napkin. Wiped her hands. Kept her voice quiet.
My boyfriend's behind you.
He laughed. Yeah? Which one?
She tilted her head toward the counter. He just saw you. She paused. Yeah. He's a cop.
The guy's smile faltered.
And his partner, Jess continued, still wiping the counter, still not looking at him, is actually the girl you tried to put your hand down the front of earlier. Her underwear. Yeah. That's her boyfriend. She finally looked up. Met his eyes. I don't think they'd appreciate what you did.
The guy's face went through a series of expressions—confusion, disbelief, then a slow, dawning horror.
He turned.
Cole was already walking toward them. Rodriguez right behind him.
---
Everything okay here?
Cole's voice was calm. Even. But his eyes were cold. Flat. The kind of eyes that had seen things. The kind of eyes that didn't blink.
The guy stammered. I—I was just—
I saw what you were just. Cole stepped closer. His hand was on his belt. Not his gun—just resting there. But the message was clear. You want to explain it to me?
I didn't—
You want to explain it to her? Cole tilted his head toward Rodriguez. She's off duty. But she's still a cop. And she's got a pretty good memory.
Rodriguez smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
The guy bolted.
The door jingled shut behind him. The gas station went quiet. Just the hum of the refrigerators and the distant sound of Dana's boyfriend on the phone.
Cole turned to Jess. You okay?
Yeah.
You sure?
She nodded. Her hands were still shaking. She hid them behind her back.
I'm fine.
Rodriguez was already on her phone. I've got his plate. I'll run it.
Cole nodded. Then he looked at Jess. Really looked.
You want to press charges?
Jess shook her head. He didn't get far enough.
That's not—
I know. She picked up her coffee. Took a sip. It was cold. But I'm fine. Really.
Cole stared at her for a long moment. Then he exhaled.
Okay.
---
Dana drove her home.
You should've let them arrest him.
Probably.
You're too nice.
I'm not nice.
You're something.
Jess leaned her head against the window. The city lights blurred past. Her dress felt too short. Her skin felt wrong. She wanted a shower. She wanted Cole. She wanted to rewind the whole night and start over.
He's coming over later, she said.
Good.
He's off rotation.
I heard.
Rodriguez seems nice.
Dana snorted. She's terrifying.
Yeah. That too.
They pulled into the parking lot. Dana killed the engine. Turned to look at her.
You sure you're okay?
Jess nodded. I will be.
You know I'm here, right?
I know.
Okay. Dana squeezed her hand. Go take a shower. I'll text you tomorrow.
Jess got out. Walked up the stairs. Unlocked her door.
The apartment was dark. Quiet. She didn't turn on the lights. Just stood in the entryway, breathing, letting the stillness settle over her like a blanket.
Then she heard the key in the lock.
---
Cole came in looking like he'd been carved out of stone. Tired. Tense. The kind of tired that lived in your bones.
He didn't say anything. Just closed the door. Locked it. Stood there with his hands at his sides.
Jess walked over. Took his hand. Led him to the couch.
Sit.
He sat.
She knelt.
---
Her fingers found his belt. Worked the buckle. Slow. Deliberate. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
She pulled him out. Already hard. Already leaking. She licked her lips.
You don't have to—
I know.
She took him in her mouth.
Slow at first. Just the tip. Her tongue flat against the underside, tracing the vein that ran from base to head. He sucked in a breath. His hips twitched.
She went deeper. Took him until he hit the back of her throat. Held it. Swallowed.
Fuck, he breathed.
She pulled back. Spit-slick and shining. Looked up at him.
You taste good.
He groaned.
She went back down. Faster now. One hand wrapped around the base, jerking in rhythm with her mouth. The other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently between her fingers.
He grabbed the couch cushion. Knuckles white.
Jess—
She hummed. The vibration made him curse. His hips bucked. She took it. Let him fuck her mouth. Let him use her.
I'm close—
She pulled off. Lips wet. Chin slick. Hand still working him.
Look at me.
He looked.
You're the only one who's ever made me come.
His eyes widened.
I don't let guys go down on me anymore. She stroked him slow. Steady. They need a treasure map. And even with a neon X they'd still get lost. She laughed. Low. Mean. Or they act like I'm asking them to climb Mount Everest.
He laughed too. Breathless. Shaky.
I'm not most guys.
No, she said. You're not.
She took him back in her mouth. Fast. Hard. One hand pumping, the other digging into his thigh. He watched her—eyes locked on her lips, her tongue, the way she took him like she'd been starving for it.
Christ—
She didn't stop. Didn't slow down. Just kept going, her mouth and hands working in tandem, until his whole body tensed and his head fell back and he came with a groan that seemed to rip through him.
She swallowed. Every drop.
Then she pulled off. Wiped her mouth. Sat back on her heels.
Feel better?
He was still breathing hard. Still gripping the cushion.
Yeah.
Good.
She stood up. Walked to the kitchen. Poured herself a glass of water.
We should talk about tonight, she said.
Yeah.
But not right now.
Okay.
She drank the water. Set the glass down.
Come to bed.
He stood. Followed her.
Neither of them said anything else.