The room spun slowly around Christine as she lay back on her bed, her body heavy with fever. Her skin was hot to the touch, her head pounding with a relentless ache that dulled all her senses. Every muscle felt weak, like she was sinking into the mattress, too drained to even move.

But the worst part wasn’t the fever—it was the voice piercing through her skull, dragging her back from the edge of sleep.

"Christine!" Lara’s voice sliced through the haze, high-pitched and demanding. "I can’t believe you’re ignoring me! After everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to lie there like this?"

Christine groaned inwardly, her eyes closed, too exhausted to respond. Her body was begging for rest, but Lara’s persistent presence was like a needle digging under her skin. Every time Christine tried to drift off, she was yanked back by Lara’s voice or touch.

"Please," Christine whispered, barely managing the words. "I’m not feeling well… let me sleep."

But Lara wasn’t having any of it. She grabbed Christine’s arm, shaking it with a desperate intensity. "No! You don’t get to sleep until we talk. You owe me that much! It’s just a fever—you’re not dying. But I am! I’m dying here without you. Don’t you get that?"

Christine winced, the shaking sending waves of pain through her already aching body. She felt tears well up behind her closed lids, but she didn’t have the energy to open her eyes or fight back. She just lay there, hoping Lara would tire herself out.

"You always do this!" Lara’s voice grew louder, frustration lacing every word. "You always make everything about you. You’re sick, so what? Do you think I’m not suffering? You’ve ruined my life, Christine! I’ve given everything for you, and now you can’t even bother to talk to me?"

Christine bit back the urge to scream. She wanted to shout that none of this was her fault—that she wasn’t responsible for Lara’s obsession, her twisted sense of love. But the fever pressed down harder, smothering her ability to fight back. Her body simply refused to respond.

Lara shook her again, harder this time. "You can’t just ignore me!" she yelled. "I’m not leaving until you tell me you love me. Nothing is more important than us—than what we have. Not your stupid fever, not your excuses. You need to fix this, Christine! You need to make this right!"

Christine felt like she was floating in and out of consciousness, her mind growing foggier by the minute. She wanted to cry, to beg for relief, but all she could do was remain still, barely breathing as the pain in her head throbbed in sync with Lara’s voice.

"You’re so selfish!" Lara spat, her words venomous now. "You think you’re the only one who’s hurting? You think this is just about you? I’m in hell, Christine! You’re the one who made me this way, and now you just want to sleep while I suffer? No. I won’t let you."

Christine felt Lara’s hands digging into her skin again, shaking her harder, but she still refused to react. Maybe if she just stayed still, kept her eyes closed, Lara would get tired of this. Maybe if she didn’t respond, Lara would leave her alone.

But Lara was relentless.

"Say something!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the small room. "Don’t you dare ignore me! You think you can just hide behind your sickness and shut me out? You think that’s fair?"

Christine’s breaths came out shallow, her heart racing from the overwhelming fatigue. She couldn’t take this anymore. Every inch of her body cried out for sleep, but Lara was there—always there—poking, prodding, demanding more from her.

Three hours passed like this. Christine had lost track of time, her mind drifting between fragments of consciousness and the endless barrage of Lara’s accusations and demands. Lara’s words became a blur—just noise in the background of her fevered state.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lara’s voice grew quieter, her anger replaced by exhaustion. She let out a frustrated sigh and retreated to her own bed, throwing herself down dramatically. "Fine," she muttered. "If you want to be like this, then I’ll just go to sleep. But you’ll see, Christine. You’ll see how much you hurt me."

Christine remained motionless, afraid to move, afraid that any small sign of life would bring Lara back to her side. She lay there, eyes still closed, waiting, hoping Lara had finally given up for the night.

Silence filled the room.

Christine’s body sagged with relief. Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes, her vision blurry from the fever. She didn’t dare look toward Lara, afraid that any movement would disturb the fragile peace.

She reached for the small bottle of pills on her nightstand, her fingers trembling as she unscrewed the cap. She downed two tablets, not even bothering with water, her throat dry and sore. The medicine would take time to work, but just the act of taking it made her feel a tiny sense of control in the chaos of the night.

With a shaky breath, Christine rolled onto her side, facing away from Lara, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Finally, sleep overtook her.

But it didn’t last.

Barely two hours later, Christine was jolted awake by the same violent shaking that had plagued her earlier. Her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding with dread.

"Christine, wake up!" Lara’s voice pierced through the darkness. "It’s been two hours. You’ve had enough sleep. Now, you owe me. I let you rest, didn’t I? So now it’s time to talk."

Christine’s vision swam as she tried to focus, her body protesting with every movement. She blinked, disoriented, the room spinning again. Lara was hovering over her, her face inches away, her eyes wide with a strange, manic energy.

"I let you sleep, Christine," Lara said, her voice eerily calm now. "I was nice. But now it’s your turn. Tell me you love me. That’s all I’m asking. You should be grateful I even let you rest."

Christine felt a surge of nausea, both from the fever and from the twisted logic Lara was spewing. She couldn’t believe this was happening again—couldn’t believe that after everything, Lara was still demanding more from her, ignoring the fact that she was sick, that she needed rest.

"I…" Christine’s voice cracked, barely audible. She didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to make this stop. Every part of her wanted to scream, to run, to get away from this suffocating situation. But she was too weak, too tired to fight.

Lara’s grip tightened on Christine’s arm. "Say it," she demanded, her voice sharp again. "Tell me you love me. Or are you really that heartless?"

Christine couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t endure another second of this nightmare.

With a sudden burst of energy, she pushed Lara’s hands away and stumbled out of bed. Her legs were unsteady, her body swaying as she made her way toward the bathroom. Lara called out after her, but Christine didn’t stop. She didn’t turn around.

She reached the bathroom door, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the handle. She pushed it open and slipped inside, slamming the door shut in Lara’s face.

For the first time that night, Christine felt a small sense of relief. She leaned against the door, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The bathroom was small and cramped, but it was her only refuge—a barrier between her and the madness waiting on the other side.

Lara pounded on the door, her voice muffled but still insistent. "Christine! Open the door! You can’t just walk away from me like that!"

Christine pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the door, her body shaking with fever and exhaustion. She couldn’t deal with this anymore. She couldn’t be what Lara needed her to be.

For now, all she could do was hide.