Even my own hair hurts me. It stings.

Her hair would never do that harm to me, I think to myself while weeping. I roll over to the left side of the bed with all the strength left. The pillow is softer on her side. And it still smells like her, loving, caring, gentle, and sweet.

I clench my eyes and blinked multiple times. The wetness disperses and despair takes over. Be strong, I chant over and over.

Gradually, my body wakes up.

Water pours down my throat, taking the uncomfortable stings away temporarily. And I browse over the pill bottles on the nightstand. Cefdinir… I can’t risk taking the extra dosage that may or may not destroy my kidneys. Aspirin… enough of that too. Azithromycin Capsules… doesn’t help in the slightest…

I probably have to go to the doctor.

But where can I find the courage to go to the hospital by myself? I would be too scared. I know I would be scared.

When I’m vulnerable, the world seems to be more hostile and aggressive than it already is. I would be like a lost child watching people come and go around me.

I can’t do it. I simply can’t.

And with fear, sleep takes over my exposed body again, dragging me to the base of darkness along with my headaches.

In the state of uncertainty, I feel like falling and dying. But I don’t want to die. So I cried again, mouthing the words begging for mercy but not making a sound.

A hand catches me in the middle of my falling.

I stop trying to scream and concentrate on the cooler temperature of that hand. And a voice gently penetrates my clouded mind.

“Baby… don’t kick off your covers again. Here, let me help you.”

She sounds angelic, so angelic that I forget to breathe.

My mind cannot fathom the turn of event. I shoot my eyes open again, and see that the golden threads, the healthy cheeks, the pale hands are within my reach. “Why’d you leave…? Don’t leave please.” I beg like a child.

“Bette… I was getting you some slurpee… It should cool down your throat…”

“Don’t go.” I insist.

She shakes her head and opens her arms to let me in. “You’re delusional, poor baby. I’m gonna take you to hospital tomorrow.”

I climb in to the cradle of her embrace.

My throat still hurt like bitch, as well as my brow ridges, my head, my temples.

But a pair of slim, pale, cooler hands pulls me out of the well of misery. And I am alright.