Chapter 3
638words
The ashtray on the coffee table overflowed with cigarette butts.
He hadn’t slept.
I looked away. Didn’t ask.
…
I only realized I needed the hospital after days of low-grade fever and a worsening cough.
Dragging myself in, I was diagnosed with pneumonia.
Heading to the IV room, I bumped into one of Liam’s nurses.
She took one look at me. “Olivia? You okay? You look terrible!”
“Pneumonia,” I managed a weak smile. “Just heading for an IV.”
“You came alone?” She sounded surprised. “Why didn’t you tell Liam? He could’ve come with you.”
I paused. “He’s busy. It’s fine. Didn’t want to bother him.”
“Well… okay. Let me know if you need anything!”
“Thanks.”
I found a chair in the busy IV room.
The fluid entering my vein felt cold. Winter was brutal.
A young couple sat nearby. The girl was getting an IV; the boy carefully tucked his jacket around her shoulders, letting her lean on him to sleep. When she drifted off, he gently held the IV tube, warming the fluid with his palm.
I leaned back on the hard plastic chair. Exhaustion must have won; I fell asleep despite the discomfort.
Half-dreaming, I drifted back to before Liam and I broke up.
I was still clinging then. Once, I had a nasty bout of gastroenteritis – vomiting, cramps, the works. I ended up in the ER.
They hooked me up to an IV. I begged Liam to stay with me.
“I feel awful. Please, just for a little while? Please?”
Liam just gave me a detached look. “Gastroenteritis won’t kill you. Don’t be so dramatic. I have actual patients waiting.”
I started to say something, but Hannah walked in.
She spotted Liam and immediately grabbed his arm.
“Liam! There you are! Mr. Peterson in 304? His symptoms are weird. I’m scared Dr. Harrison will chew me out. Can you please come look? Please?” Her voice was pure syrup.
Liam’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“What’s going on? Don’t panic. I’ll come see.”
He glanced back at me.
I thought he might at least say something.
“Just go home after the drip,” he said flatly. “I’m busy. Won’t be able to check on you.”
I watched him walk out with Hannah.
At the door, Hannah looked back.
Her smile was pure challenge, laced with triumph.
Gastroenteritis was agony. Midway through the IV, I felt violently nauseous. I called a nurse to unhook me and stumbled to the bathroom, retching until my ribs ached.
Afterwards, I stood at the sink, gripping the counter, staring at the ghost in the mirror.
Pale. Hollow.
Blood welled from the needle site on my hand. I hadn’t pressed down. A dark stain bloomed on my shirt.
Utterly pathetic.
After that, I never told Liam when I was sick.
Something soft settled over me in my half-sleep. I opened my eyes.
Liam stood there, frowning.
“You’re sick. Why didn’t you tell me?”
The IV bag was almost empty. I pushed the coat – hiscoat – off me. “It’s nothing serious. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not thatbusy. You should have—”
His hand, reaching to steady my arm, froze mid-air.
I knew. He remembered.
“Liam! I’ve got a solo procedure coming up, I really need a hand—” Hannah breezed in, stopping short when she saw me. Her smile was bright, practiced. “Olivia! Hey! What’s wrong? Should’ve told us you were coming!”
I ignored her, speaking flatly to Liam.
“I’ll head out then.”
“I’ll drive you.” He grabbed my arm, turning to Hannah without missing a beat. “Can’t. Find someone else.” His tone was ice-cold. Unrecognizable.
I was startled.
Had they fallen out?
Didn’t care enough to ask.
“Don’t bother,” I pulled my arm free. “Go back to work.”
He stood rigid.
I walked away.
