"Marco!"

If it hadn't been for the sound of the door unlocking from the outside, that yell would've sent me to the ceiling like a frightened cat. "Polo!"

"God, you will not..." Violet paused, and for a second I could only hear the things she was discarding in the hallway, her shoes, bag, keys, anything that reminded her of going to work. "Believe the day I've had."

I put the sunflower-themed bookmarker back in my copy of Normal People, and tossed the book on the seat on the couch next to me, just as Violet came into the living room. To be honest—but only in my head and not out loud—she did look like I wouldn't believe the day she'd had. Strands of black hair falling out of her claw clip, bags under her eyes, and the frenzied attitude all indicated I was in for one hell of a story.

"Guy comes in," She began as she tried to plug her charger into her phone, but her hands shaking made it an unnecessarily, but comically longer process, "Says he fell backward into a window and is bleeding. Alright, he didn't look too bad, but we still check him out. He lays down, and immediately, I find it weird that like, none of his clothes are torn or anything- not even a scratch anywhere. And then he takes his clothes off."

Violet finally let her long hair out of her clip, whining a bit as she ran her fingernails over her scalp, and sat down on the living chair across from me. From the bottom shelf of the coffee table in the center, she pulled out an ashtray and her cigarettes—and that is where I knew it was going to get wild. She lit one of her occasional cigarettes that were only there for bad or unconventional days, and looked at me. She looked at me for a long few seconds before speaking, "He was bleeding from his asshole. Because he had glass in his asshole."

Violet nodded at my blank face as she took a long drag from her cigarette, "That is horrifying."

"Big time."

"What- what happened then, what did he say?"

"That he didn't know how the glass got there since he'd fallen into a window." She nodded while I shook my head, still in denial, "It was my last guy, too. It just happened like forty minutes ago."

"...You gotta go in the shower and boil yourself."

"Worst part is, I was the only one there when he came in, so I picked the shards out of his butt and stitched him up." She took a sip of the tea I had made for her when she texted me that she was close, but I could see in her eyes that she'd rather have driven herself into a ditch. "He's gonna be fine, but they're gonna call me Violet Glass Dildo. Violet Glass Asshole. Glasshole. Like Edward Scissorhands, I'm gonna be Violet Glasshole. Thanks for the tea."

I blinked at her sadly, knowing she used humor to cope with these situations when she was at her wits' end; I stood up and walked around the table, to throw the pale green mink blanket that was on my lap over her shoulders. I rubbed her arms while she nodded as a thank you, but I was afraid that no cozy, warm blanket or hot chamomile tea was going to save the evening. At least her hands were finally calming down as she was finishing her cigarette. "Thank you for the blanket, too."

"You're very welcome. I wish I could do something to take away the pain."

"The pain will last forever, but I think I'm gonna take your advice and just go boil myself."

I kissed the top of her head, earning a hum from her, "You are safe and you are surrounded by people who love you."

"And in my head, I'm trying to figure out what exact frail glass object that guy stuffed himself with."

"...You and me both."

Violet stubbed out her cigarette, got up, and kissed me on the cheek before leaving the room. By the time I returned to my spot on the couch, she had locked herself in the bathroom and was, without a doubt, going to use all the hot water we had. Even after working in the ER for a whole year and generally being numb to whatever her patients came with, she'd still have days when she'd come home speechless. All things considered, she was better off clocking out with some light trauma caused by some weird fetish stuff like this, than broken from true monstrosities that people were capable of. In the time that I'd known her, she'd had maybe two stories that made my skin crawl. Even under my warm blanket, I'd get goosebumps just thinking about the horrors she'd encountered.

In an attempt to redirect my attention, I picked up the closest thing to myself—my phone, but it did nothing but set an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I went over my notifications, the nausea growing, making me remember why I'd forced myself to read my book instead of reading what my phone was showing me. Or... not showing me. Instead of letting it frustrate me, I locked my phone and placed it face down on the couch, next to the novel, which I picked up in yet another effort to focus on anything else.

It was four pages of stuff I immediately forgot about when Violet came out of the bathroom, in her two-piece Barbie pajamas, a new life breathed into her.

"Much better." She sat across from me again, and frowned at her tea, "but now my tea's gone cold... maybe if I boiled myself from the inside... you want a cup?"

"No, thanks."

"How was your day?"

"Fine," I replied absently, eyes stuck on one word that I'd been trying to perceive and decipher for a good minute. I must have looked so incredibly concentrated to Violet. My peripheral vision didn't pick up any movements and sure enough, when I looked up at her, she was standing very still and observing me with a worried look. Perhaps I didn't look so incredibly concentrated to Violet. "What?"

"You good?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Not saying anything, she shrugged her shoulders and went to the kitchen. The door was left open and she could easily see me if she just turned her head a bit to the side, so I did my best to remember English and at least finish the damn page.

I managed to finish two lines before my roommate sat across from me again, but this time, she slid my favorite cup toward me, earning my attention. "I know something's bothering you," She chided, "You almost threw away our year-and-a-half-old tradition."

"Nothing is bothering me, Vi. Promise."

"You sure? You're... quiet."

I frowned, "I'm not, I told you to boil yourself. And that you're loved."

"I know, but I mean... literally. You're talking to me, just... quieter. Like something is bringing you down." She leaned back in the living chair and pulled her legs up so she'd rest her cup on her knee, "I'm here if you need me. For like fifteen more minutes, though, then the chamomile's gonna kick in."

I gave her a smile and a light shake of my head before returning to my book, but it wasn't even a few words later when that nauseating feeling intensified, to the point where I just closed the novel again and tossed it back next to my phone. Violet looked up from hers, a small smile on her face as she observed me, looking proud that I'd given in before she could even unlock her screen. "Yes, my child?"

"It's... stupid."

"Oh, fuck yes," She whispered, sitting up in the chair while I almost wasted an eye-roll, "I love stupid problems. Give me an IQ disintegrator. Give me a foot scrubber but for my brain."

"Alright."

"Take a hair straightener and use it on my gyri."

"It's Harry."

Her love of real-life, non-medical issues had no limit, so I knew not to let her blabber on too much before introducing the cause of my stomach-ache; the ecstatic gasp she produced at the news that it was a boy problem was suddenly cut off as she widened her eyes in worry, "Wait- is he okay?"

"That's the thing." I chewed on my bottom lip, "I don't know."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and Violet cleared her throat and shifted around in her seat again, her excitement fizzling out. "That doesn't... sound like a stupid problem," She sighed, but quickly shook her head to rid herself of the disappointment, "What do you mean you don't know? Don't you guys send each other memes or whatever?"

I nodded, thinking back to the Saturday when I pretended to be his wife for his mom, and about that evening when he followed me on Instagram, some seven hours after we saw each other. Since then, it had been a few weeks of sending each other content with complementary messages consisting exclusively of 'me' or 'you', which I kind of took as a sign that he was doing okay. If he could send me a video of a cat falling off of a fridge with 'probably you, idk though you just seem clumsy' then I knew he was okay.

And now I was telling Violet the root of my problem. "Yeah, but he hasn't sent me anything in two days. Last message was Friday afternoon, and then yesterday nothing, and today... nothing."

"And your messages to him?"

"Not opened."

She nodded and thought about it, "You don't think he just took some time off of socials?"

"I don't know. He shouldn't, though, right? In his condition?"

"Probably not, I agree. It's selfish, making the people who love him worried and everything."

Violet took a sip of her tea while we stared at each other—of all the inappropriate moments to bring up my non-existent feelings toward Harry, this was probably within the top three. "I do not love him in any way, shape, or form."

"What was the last thing he sent you? Any indicators of his health or anything?" She went on to ignore my objection, and I was about to speak but she suddenly narrowed her eyes at me, pulling a kind of suspicious face, "What... no, that's not it."

"...Well you have to say it now."

"What... what are the chances that he ghosted you?"

"I mean, possibly," I answered, way too quickly and casually for her liking; by her pouted lips I could tell it was another test, to see how the idea would make me feel. It was as if her teasing generally getting her nowhere was not an indicator of, well, anything. "I don't think so, though, the last thing he sent me was a photo of a survey he was doing where he'd checked that he was married, along with a yellow heart."

She made another face, "Yellow? Isn't that for friendship?"

"Yeah, but it's also my favorite color," I clarified, thinking nothing of it, but Violet looked like her head was about to explode. Comically the opposite effect of what she thought my stupid problem would have on her.

"He knows your favorite color?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you just tell him in passing or did he ask?"

"What- how the hell is that going to help me figure out if he's okay?"

"It's not, I'm trying to figure out why the hell you won't just ask him out, but I'll leave that for another day. It's exhausting work," She added the last comment in a mumble, and took another sip of her tea; I usually didn't mind the teasing seeing as she'd had nothing to tease me about in the three years we'd lived together, but I was grateful that she was willing to focus on my actual issue. "What about his sister? You heard from her recently?"

"No, nothing. I thought about reaching out to her, but I don't know. I don't want them to worry."

"...I don't know. I think it's too risky not to check just because you think it might be nothing," She pointed out, and I agreed with a nod. "I say text her. At best she tells you he's fine and he's just been ignoring you because... you sent him something zodiac-related."

"Nah, he didn't mind the zodiac stuff, our signs are compatible."

She pulled a pained, pained expression, "At this point it's not even fun anymore, you're just hurting my soul," She lamented, the big supporter of our non-existent relationship that she was, "Call his damn sister. It's... what, 10 PM in Colorado? Do it."

We both took our respective phones, Violet to ease her annoyance with the fact that Harry and I were not in love with each other, and I to find Stella's contact. It took a minute of scrolling and remembering what time and day it was when she called me that one time, before I found the only unsaved number I'd received a call from the night Violet had her friends over. I tapped the side of my phone with my fingernail, staring at the digits, the thought that this was a bad idea getting louder in my head—and so I cut it off by pressing the call icon.

Violet and I looked at each other as I brought my phone to my ear, her screen flashing in her face while she completely ignored it to see how my situation would go. Two and a half rings in, the beeping stopped– "Hello?"

"Hey, Stella." I rubbed my free hand over my sweatpants while Violet nodded encouragingly, "It's Evie."

"Oh, hi! I didn't have your number saved." I nodded in response, even though she couldn't see me, "What's up?"

"Uh, not much, I was just calling to check if Harry's alright. Sorry to bother you and all, but... I was... worried."

A silence, and then some commotion, and then fast footsteps. I could only sit frozen in my seat. "Okay," Stella said, and the faint sound afterward resembled that of a door closing, "Do you guys keep in touch? Did you hear from him?"

"Um... occasionally." I pulled at the collar of my shirt, "but I haven't heard from him since Friday, so I... just wanted to check in."

Stella took a deep breath and stayed silent for another few seconds after exhaling, "He called us last night but couldn't really talk, he was... feeling sick. From the therapy, since he started it again on Friday. Then I texted him this morning, asking how he was, and he replied in the afternoon, and... I haven't heard from him in a couple of hours."

"You haven't, huh?"

"No. I didn't wanna worry our parents so I've been telling them that he's been texting me, but I actually thought about calling you in case it's the same shit that happened last time. 'Cause if it is, I'm not sure what I could do from Colorado."

It took me a second to realize what she said, and I felt my blood evaporate from my body when I did, "Wait, what do you mean 'last time'? What happened last time?"

"Well, that time you went to the hospital to video chat with our mom, that was..."

The silence this time around could only be described as speechlessness as it dawned on her that I was uninformed, "What? What was it? Stella."

She sighed, "He couldn't eat or function because of how sick he was and he ended up in the hospital. God, I can't believe he didn't tell you."

"That's what he was there for?" My voice was getting a little louder, "He told me he was getting his therapy!"

"It was the day after, which is when he usually gets sick. I'm so sorry, Evie, I thought you knew."

"Day after, it was... Saturday..." I trailed off, so far successful at not panicking, "Does he always get his therapy on Fridays?"

"Yeah, that's how his cycle's been from the beginning."

It checked out that he'd be feeling unwell because of his medication, and the fact that it was now a whole two days after his therapy did some good damage to my panic attack dam. I looked at Violet again, who had been staring at me intently and following the conversation the whole time, "Would you call an ambulance if a person hasn't picked up your call for a few hours?"

"With his illness, yeah."

"Yeah," I agreed, "Yeah, let's start with that."

○○○

I didn't think there'd be another night to compete for the title of the Worst Night of My Life, Ever, after the one I'd had a couple of years ago—but this one was certainly a contender.

After calling the ambulance and waiting half an hour for them to respond, I might as well have just cut my fingers off with the nail-biting I was doing. Violet, try as she may, couldn't help, and she especially couldn't help after I was called as the emergency contact to be informed that Harry was found unconscious in his bathroom, with a weak pulse, and that he had to be kept in the hospital overnight. Needless to say, I got a million wailing thank you's from Stella, along with another million promises to tell me everything, in case her brother didn't.

The emotional talk I had with Violet somewhat helped me sleep, but I still woke up a zombie when my alarm went off at 8:30, a mere four hours after I'd finally managed to fall asleep. Early September was still pretty warm in the state of New York, but I was incredibly, stubbornly cold. It was a coldness of the soul; putting on my clothes and knowing where I was headed hollowed my soul out. I felt stripped bare and like I didn't have anything else to give.

And that was the thing with Harry's and my relationship. No matter what I did, it didn't feel like it was enough. Not the healthcare, not the show for his mother, not getting on a bus to go see him—curing him with my own two hands was the only thing that sounded at least kind of adequate. I wasn't sure to what lengths my savior complex was ready to take me, but I could hope that the conclusion Violet and I came to would trap it in a masochism-proof jar for the time being.

It was the same hospital I was rushing to a month ago, but a different wing; I was led down a similar hallway that felt as empty as my soul, to a shared room with no other patients besides my husband in a bed by a window. My pale, exhausted husband, who still found the strength to smile when he saw me.

"I know I'm gonna get a telling-off," he croaked while I pulled a chair next to his bed, "but you're still a sight for sore eyes."

I'd managed not to shed a tear the entire night, and the sight of him was very possibly going to break that streak. "Hi."

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," he stressed and pointed to the IV next to his bed, "I think this is my seventh one at this point. Turns out I almost shut my own kidneys down."

"How- no, don't, don't move." I hastily threw my hand over his chest when he tried sitting up, "Don't, just rest."

Harry sighed and relaxed, bringing his own hand up to wrap around my wrist. "Couldn't eat or drink," he explained, "Everything made me nauseous."

"Why not call an ambulance while you could?"

"I kept thinking I would get well enough to at least have a glass of water." He shrugged; in the pale daylight, he didn't actually look too bad, just still weak from everything that had happened to him over the weekend and not like it had left some major, irreversible damage. A fact that was weirdly intensifying my urge to cry as much as if the opposite had happened. "I overestimated myself. Can't say I'm surprised, I usually can't correctly estimate myself. It's a recurring theme. What's, uh, what's new with you?"

"I can't do this anymore."

He met my eyes as a look of surprise flew over his face very briefly, before settling into shock, and then something grimmer. Despair. For a moment I could sense panic as I took my hand off of his chest, but he collected himself with a hard swallow, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I spent two and a half days thinking about you every other minute and went through an anxiety attack every other hour. I couldn't function or focus on anything else in my life as long as I wasn't one hundred percent sure that you were okay. I reached out to your sister because I was losing my mind, and I shat on my roommate's already shitty night." Harry turned his head away and looked up at the ceiling, the light from the window falling over his face in a way that made his eyes appear a tad glossy. "I couldn't sleep, I couldn't do anything- I actually couldn't feel anything other than worry. I physically couldn't feel anything else."

His face went through a series of emotions—remorse, anger, misery, and finally, he spoke with guilt that was poorly disguised as annoyance, "I've told you time and time again that I didn't want you to be stressed out because of me."

"You are so fucking stupid," I spat, shaking my head while his face went blank with my bluntness, "I don't think you understand just how much your stupidity tortures me."

"God, Evelyn, don't turn this on me. I actively try to keep you out of everything. Every time we end up having this conversation, I tell you that I don't want people outside of my family–"

"Worrying about you, yes, yes, I know what you're gonna say." I was about to start laughing out of frustration, "I hate to break it to you, asshole, but people are gonna care about you whether you want it or not. It doesn't even matter what the hell you want, actually, 'cause I'm not just gonna go 'yeah, fuck that guy' when you decide not to reply to my messages, or whatever juvenile shit you come up with to push me away. Which fucking hurts, by the way."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the same saddened look from a minute ago returned to his face when silence fell over us. I knew my face was definitely still in the frustration stage as we stared at each other, but could feel it softening as I continued, almost dreading getting to my point, "Like it or not, you became someone I worry about. And someone whom I care about, whose day I care about, whose health I care about- so if you do want me out of your life, please, do it and stick to it. Don't follow me on social media, don't send me shit- in fact, block me everywhere. Block me everywhere and I'll block you everywhere, and you can send me an email when you want a divorce."

I took a breath and kept my eyes on my hands, deciding not to look at him just yet. "But for the love of God, don't tell me not to worry. Tell me to fuck off, but don't tell me how to feel."

I scratched at my hairline and ran a hand through my hair, my heart still pounding, and my eyes still avoiding his. Truth be told, there wasn't going to be a better way for me to say it and articulate my feelings without telling him that whatever he decided, I would still worry about him. The fact that I knew I'd still constantly think about him if we shook hands goodbye, that would've definitely brought out the tears. And it was still up in the air as I awaited his response to my rant.

We didn't say anything for a while; a minute or so into our silence, he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry." His quiet voice gave me the strength to finally look up at him—this time he was the one trying to look anywhere but at me, a defeated expression on his face. "I know you can't... switch that stuff on or off when you want to, but... I don't know. I keep pushing the 'I'm fine' mantra so the same thing doesn't happen again."

"Same-" I blinked, "What same thing?" His stare stayed vacant at my question, and I genuinely wondered if he'd heard me at all. But within a moment or two of observing his face, I realized there was something else going on—sadness. And it finally occurred to me that his eyes weren't getting watery solely because of me. "Does this... have anything to do with your ex?"

"I can't talk about it, Evie. I can't." He shook his head, his tone mellow but I felt like this was the beginning of him unlocking a hidden, more complex part of him that went beyond the surface knowledge of him and his life that I'd previously had. He didn't seem angry that I'd brought up the girlfriend situation, and he further proved it by reaching for my hand so he could lace his fingers with mine, his eyes now focused on that sight, "But I do want to say that you're right. It was a shitty defense mechanism, and it was the same shit I pulled when you first offered help back in June. And I know I need to stop pulling it."

He took a deep breath, "Do I get another option? Besides... blocking you everywhere?"

I actually couldn't believe it. In this royal battle between 'don't worry about me' and 'the fuck I won't,' he was finally realizing that the fight was not worth it, not when we were both on the same side. And now my heart was beating out of my chest for a completely different reason. "Well." I sat straight in the wooden chair, "Violet and I talked about it, and we agreed... you come and stay with us." He blinked at me, but didn't appear half as scandalized as I thought he'd be. "At least while you're getting your therapy. You'd keep your apartment and everything, you'd just bring some stuff that you need. Clothes and a toothbrush and whatnot."

To my sheer surprise, he looked like he was thinking about it. Not a word in protest, he just went straight to acknowledging my proposal. I had no idea what to do with this new power. "How many bedrooms does your place have?"

"Two."

"Where would I sleep?"

"In my room, and I'd sleep in the living room. It has a door to the kitchen, but it can be completely closed off and function as a third bedroom. You can still access any room from the hallway."

Harry brought his free hand to rub his face and mumbled through it, "I can't... take up your whole room. I'd have to be on the couch."

"Nope. Not negotiable." Another defeated stare, but I didn't budge. Turns out I wanted to draw out my newfound power of having him agree with me. I broke him. "You take my room and be as comfortable as possible and that's final."

"...Fine."

I allowed myself a small smile in victory while he rolled his eyes in response, and we both squeezed each other's hands at the same time. By accident.