I'm curled up in a ball on my bed, the letter is crumpled up in my hand. I haven't stopped crying since I opened it.

Hamilton wouldn't dare come by now. He knows I would punch him and gouge his eyeballs out of his skull if I had the chance.

I hated that boy. That stupid, stupid boy. If only he let go of my waist. Perhaps then I could have saved my mother. Perhaps if we hadn't gone to the secret room, I could have stuffed her in the vent behind the bed and she would still be alive right now.

I watch the clock slowly tick by to 2:50 p.m..

Looking down at the crumpled piece of paper I unscrew it again and glance across the letters that form meaningless words.

Beth,

I dobbed your mom in to save you.

I'm sorry.

Ham xx

It gets worse every time. 

The queasiness I've felt since I woke up this morning still hasn't left me as I read the words again.

My boyfriend betrayed me worse than what I thought. He was the reason they came after my mother in the first place. It made me hate him more, but there was nowhere left in my body for the hate to go.

My rage exhausts me. Closing my eyes, I hope the queasiness will disappear when suddenly there's a soft knock on the door.

My eyes fly open and I'm suddenly so queasy I fly upright and run to the bathroom. I vomit into the toilet and wipe my mouth.

"Beth?" I hear Tom's voice say from the other side of the door.

I don't answer his call. I'm still mad at him for ambushing me like that. What does he want?

"Beth?" he says again. "What's going on in there?"

Shit!

He must have heard me rush to the bathroom.

"Beth? Are you sick?"

"Go away!" I finally managed to say. The last thing I need is for him to see me like this. The medic in him would fuss over it too much and I just wanted to be left alone in my own pity.

But Tom won't leave me alone because it's Tom and he will persist no matter what.

As predicted, he begins to bang on the door.

"Beth?" His voice is frantic. "Beth? Open the door!"

I sigh. I know he won't go away now that he thinks he's heard something. I'm too sick to argue with him and to force myself to ignore him, so against my better judgement I decide to get the interaction over and done with. 

I stumble to the door and hit the release switch.

The door snaps back and he's standing there, looking lost and very worried. His blond hair is too bright in the harsh hallway lights and his eyes look over me in shock. It's almost like he hasn't seen me in years.

"Oh Beth!?" he whispers. "Are you alright!? I was going mad thinking you were never going to talk to me again!"

I step aside, letting him in.

He steps into the cramped living area. I notice the crumpled piece of paper and for some reason I rush over to it and stand on it before he notices it on the ground.

Tom stops and for half a beat I think he's going to ask what I'm hiding under my foot, but instead he sniffs the air.

"Beth," he says. "Why do I smell vomit?"

Shit! I forgot to flush.

"Are you unwell?" He turns to me, concern written on his face.

"It will pass," I say looking at my feet. "I'm sure it was just some bad food or something."

He walks into the bathroom and flushes the toilet for me.

"What did you eat?" he questions.

I shrug. I still don't want to talk to him.

"Well, it could be food poisoning," he sighs. "Why don't you sit down."

I do as I'm told and carefully scoot the piece of paper under the bed as I plonk down on the bed.

"Can I?" He gestures towards my hand.

"Oh," I mumble as I nod.

He picks up my hand and rolls it over. We sit in silence for the longest thirty seconds I've ever witnessed as he places his thumb on my wrist and checks my pulse.

His eyes glide back to my face but I don't meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

I look up at him, meeting his gaze.

He takes that as an opportunity to continue.

"I'm sorry for ambushing you like that. It was wrong of me and I should have stayed out of it."

I say nothing but watch as he opens his medical case and opens a vile of liquid.

"I know you don't wanna talk to me," he continues. "And that's okay, but as long as you don't talk to me, I'm going to keep coming to your door."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your best friend, I'm worried about you and now you're sick."

"Oh."

He sits down as he pours the vile into a stale glass of water that was sitting on the the sink in the bathroom from three days ago.

"Here, drink this." He hands me the glass. "It'll make you feel better."

"What's in it?"

"Electrolytes, minerals and vitamins. You're looking quite dehydrated."

I don't argue and take the glass from him. I swallow it. It tastes like dirt and makes me gag but I hold the acid back. I hand him the empty glass and we sit there in silence for a moment.

He fiddles with it between his fingers, twirling it around.

"You know, I am sorry. I really shouldn't have ambushed you like that."

"I know. You said that already."

"I miss you."

"I know."

He nods. "Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I don't know. Are you going to ambush me again?"

A small smile creeps along his face. "Well then, how do you feel?"

"Physically, like shit. Emotionally, a little better now you're here."

"Hmmm."

"It's probably something I ate," I say again. "The physical sickness that is."

He doesn't seem convinced. "I hope it is," he says. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

He stands and begins to pack up his medical kit. 

"Will you be alright by yourself?"

"Of course!" I exclaim. "I'm not dying and I'm not in the mood to go anywhere."

He looks me in my eyes. His eyes are so brown and warm. I wish he would stay, even if I didn't feel like talking much. We could just sit here together in each other's arms and he would make silly little attempts to cheer me up. And it would work. But of course he won't stay. He's got too many other responsibilities now that he's a doctor.

"Get some rest," he says, soothingly. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

He leaves me sitting there on the bed, looking miserable as ever as he leaves.

I wish he would have stayed.