ELENA POV
I was dying.
Not metaphorically. Actually dying.
My body was shutting down. I could feel it. Organs failing. The immune system collapsed. Every
Stephen's breath was harder than the last.
knew it too.
"You've got pneumonia," he said, checking my temperature. "Fever's 104. Your lungs are filled with fluid. You need antibiotics. Real medical care."
"Then let me die."
"I told you. I'm not."
"Let me die, Stephen. Please. I can't do this anymore."
He looked at me for a long moment. And I saw something break in his eyes.
"I'll talk to Brighton. Get your medicine."
"He won't care."
"He will if I tell him you're dying before he's done with you."
He left.
I lay there, shivering despite the fever. Burning up inside. Freezing on the outside.
Hours passed. Or minutes. Time had stopped meaning anything.
The door opened.
Brighton walked in. Took one look at me.
"Jesus Christ. You look like a corpse."
I didn't respond. Couldn't.
