By the fourth day, Sara was nearly weeping with exhaustion. She began to see things, shadowy blobs that rolled out of her direct line of sight. At other times, little glowing balls of light that resembled Tinkerbell seemed to dart across the room in front of her eyes. Words felt leaden, as though they were tripping over her lips and tumbling like little weights to the floor, and she stumbled over her words more times than she could count.
To her absolute horror, all she could seem to do was cry. She was tired. She wanted to sleep. She wanted the soothing restfulness of a dark, dreamless slumber. As she sat on her bed and stared listlessly into space – she was way beyond being able to come up with anymore activities to occupy her waking hours – tears welled in her eyes. She wasn't just mentally tired; every inch of her body ached, the pain dwelling deep in her very joints, and even lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that kept spilling over onto her cheeks felt like a gargantuan effort.
Her mind flitted about, butterfly-like, unable to stay in one place for more than a few moments. Her train of thought was disjointed and illogical, and yet continued to circle back to two topics time and again: her need for sleep, and Grissom. Both topics brought many questions, but few answers that would give her any resolution and closure. Why couldn't she sleep? Why had Grissom rejected her? Why had her insomnia suddenly flared so badly? Why couldn't she work up the courage to leave Vegas and Grissom behind? What was wrong with her? Why didn't Grissom want her? Did she need a new bed, a better mattress, a cup of warm milk?
And both topics kept the tears freely flowing as she laid, eyes stubbornly open, all day long.