Sleeping was troublesome the night before she met him.

You close your eyes.

You take a deep breath.

You open your eyes, and then close them again.

You turn and toss, unable to sleep.

You listen to the quietness and the dead silence dancing together within the walls of your little apartment.

You turn and toss; you always turn and toss when you can't sleep.

You come to rest in the middle of the bed, your head buried in the pillow, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, staring at it.

You cannot sleep.

You are nervous.

You hate that you are nervous, you hate what nervousness do to you, you hate admitting a weakness, but you have to admit it: nervousness is what is keeping you awake.

You turn and toss; ever since you were a little girl you turn and toss when you can't sleep, and usually insomnia shows up when nervousness is eating up at you.

Your face is now buried in the pillow.

You breathe in your own perfume; the fresh, flowery smell of shampoo intoxicates you.

Your hair is damp, so is your pillow now.

You always take a hot shower before going to bed, especially when you have the feeling sleeping is going to be troublesome. It relaxes you… a little. You usually just stand there under the searing, pouring water and let it cascade over you, in an attempt to wash off whatever it is that is bugging you.

You close your eyes.

You turn and toss, and open your eyes, and close them again, and turn and toss, and now you are facing the ceiling, your gaze fixed on it, your ears being hammered by the sound of quietness and dead silence waltzing together within the walls of your apartment.

You are nervous because a new stage of your life begins tomorrow morning, in six hours, forty eight minutes to be exact.

You are nervous because today is your first day at the Counter Terrorist Unit of the Los Angeles city.

You are nervous because you are scared you are not going to fit in.

You never fit in, anywhere.

You never fitted in, anywhere.

You are sure you will never fit in, anywhere.

You deep breathe and close your eyes once more.

You try to stop thinking about how embarrassed you are going to be tomorrow when without even noticing it you will make display of your total lack of social skills.

You try to stop thinking how much you are going to hate not fitting in and how much it is going to hurt pretending you don't really care.

You do care.

You do want to fit.

You do want to make friends.

You do want to be 'one of those girls'.

You do want to like people.

You do want people to like you. You do want to be liked by them, and to like them back.

You do want to learn how to have better social skills.

You just can't.

You have tried before, and you were proven you just can't.

You are what you are, you are who you are.

You can't change, and you know the others won't change either.

You toss and turn, and now your face is buried in the pillow and the smell of fresh, flowery shampoo intoxicates you.

You fall asleep at 3 am. More than fall asleep, you pass out because of exhaustion, because nervousness has finally worn you out.

You, Chloe O'Brian, had trouble tonight falling asleep because tomorrow a new stage of your life begins.

You, Chloe O'Brian, have no idea how many sleepless now will come from now on.

You, Chloe O'Brian, have no idea tomorrow you are going to meet the love of your life.