Three a.m. Sleep seemed so distant, like some privilege I couldn't afford. It was slipping through my fingertips like sand. The voices in my head weren't loud, but just enough to be disconcerting.
The body on the other side of the room twisted and broke the tranquil silence with a hard breath.
"Tyler?"
I couldn't make out his face, but I could see his knees drawn up to his face and hear his soft whimpers. "I'm sorry."
I peeled my covers from my body and crept towards his bed, keeping my knees bent, my body low to keep from waking up Ashley. "Are you alright?"
He removed his hands from over his eyes, his bottom lip trembling. "Am I a bad person?"
"What? No-" I frowned and dipped my head down so that I was resting my chin on the edge of the mattress. "What are you talking about?"
"What have I become? I'm.. sorry."
He continued to repeat himself. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I told him not to apologize, but he never did tell me what he meant by that. All I could make out from his face were his eyes, which were just a splash of black, completely black, occasionally flickering as he blinked.
"Can I come up?" I asked, patting the top of the mattress.
"Yeah," he breathed, moving over a couple inches to give me some space.
"Bad dream?" I wrapped my arms around his body. He was very cold, in spite of the sheen of sweat that coated his skin. I frowned and pressed my palm to his forehead. "Tyler..."
He whimpered softly, his shoulders vibrating as a shiver ripped through his body. "You're burning up..." I whispered.
"Why... Why is the ceiling... on the floor? That's silly." He chuckled.
"Lay down," I ordered, tugging his covers up to his chin. I padded quietly to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel, running a thin stream of cold water over it. I wrung it out and pressed it against his sweat-doused skin. "Hold that there."
"You have pretty eyes," he breathed.
"Shh! Drink some water, now." I shoved a glass of water in his hands. His lips curled around the edge of the glass and he spilled the cold liquid down his throat, gulping audibly.
Then, he rolled on his side and vomited over the side of the mattress, reflective beads of sweat visibly sliding down his temple. He moaned, clutching his stomach in agony. My mind shot into panic mode. I had never been in any situation like this. I thought about waking Ashley, but I'd have to deal with more than I could stand. I strode quickly to the doorframe, my hand hovering a small black button below the bold letters that read press for assistance. I held it down for a couple of seconds, a obnoxious buzz emitting as a result.
I waited about five minutes and fetched a waste basket for Tyler, rubbing circles into his back as he gripped both sides of the basket and retched violently, followed by a loud surplus of groans, and this repeated several times until a knuckle rapped on the door.
Opening it, I was relieved to see a tall nurse with black hair twisted into a tight bun. I assumed she was on the night shift, as her face was extremely bright and cheerful.
"Is everything alright in here?" How ironic she would ask that, because as soon as she had ended her sentence, Tyler began to vomit again. Her eyes darted to the corner of the room.
"He woke up in the middle of the night and started saying strange things and crying," I told her. "He was covered in sweat and burning up when I tried to console him, and now he's vomiting."
