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Sometimes she felt that it was right for the guilt to chow down on her when any sane person would be sleeping. Especially during her affair with Jack, Samantha had felt that not sleeping was a small price to pay for what she was doing, for the sins she was committing.
After things with Jack ended she had gotten better, only succumbing to insomnia when a case got to her or when she had been stuck on stakeouts and had pulled all-nighters that had messed with her sleep cycles that her doctor told her were all-important and should be strictly adhered to. Whenever the doctor said that Samantha had to fight the urge to laugh because she didn�t know a single person who got the recommended daily number of hours of sleep, especially not in the FBI. There just weren�t enough hours in the day for a job and all that sleep. And forget about a social life.
Things had been good lately, though. Samantha had seemed to hit a particularly good sleep cycle and she usually got five hours a night, which was about the average that a field agent in the FBI gets. She had even started getting back out into the dating world again, the wounded woman inside having taken evasive action after Jack decided to go back to his wife to make things right, retreating into a shell that made her life into night after night of rented movies, single glasses of wine, and skilled avoidance of any and all social events that could lead to her getting her heart broken again.
In the past few weeks the insomnia had returned, but the strange thing was that nothing was different. Work was going well�they hadn�t ended up handing a case over to the homicide division in almost a month and less and less of their cases were going cold�and she had even started to make forays into an attempted social life, though the last guy she had dated had dumped her because she�d been called out in the middle of more enjoyable activities by her ex-lover�Jack had never been her boyfriend or anything as simple as that, he had been her lover, and, now, he was her greatest mistake�because of work. That was fine with Samantha, though, because she couldn�t be with someone who didn�t understand that her work was important to her, and to so many other people, and that she had to be ready to go without any notice no matter what time it was or what she was doing. He�d been a man she�d met at the gym, co-owner of a publishing house in the heart of Manhattan, but he couldn�t understand her job or the fact that she worked for her ex, and Samantha had been relieved when she checked her messages one day after work and heard him telling her answering machine that it just wasn�t working for him.