The dorm is dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon light, and it smells like sickness and stale air. There's a trash can next to the bed overflowing with tissues, a glass of water on the coffee table that looks like it's been sitting there for hours, and a blanket tangled on the floor. She moves back to the couch and collapses onto it like the effort of standing has exhausted her. I have to resist the urge to pick her up and carry her to bed, tuck her in and smooth her hair back and promise her that everything is going to be okay.
"How long have you been like this?" I ask, crouching down next to the couch so I'm at her eye level.
"Since yesterday." She closes her eyes, and I can see her shivering despite the warmth of the apartment. "I thought it was just stress, but then I started throwing up, and I couldn't stop and—" She breaks off, pressing a hand to her mouth like she might be sick again.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"I can't keep anything down."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"I don't need a doctor. It's just the flu." But even as she says it, she doesn't sound convinced.
I reach out and press the back of my hand to her forehead. She’s not feverish. "You need medicine?—"
"I need you to leave." She sounds exhausted. "I need you to stop showing up every time something goes wrong and acting like you're the only person who can fix it."
"I'm trying to help." I stand up and go to her kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and bringing it back to her. "Drink this. You're probably dehydrated."
She takes the glass but doesn't drink, just holds it in her hands and stares at it. "Why are you here, Romeo? Really?"
"Because you weren't in class. Because I was worried. I stop, trying to find words that won't sound as desperate as I feel. "Because I care about you, and I can't just pretend I don't."
"You need to learn how." She finally takes a sip of water, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. "You need to let me go."
It feels like she slapped me. "I don't know how to do that."
"Then figure it out." She sets the glass down and pulls the blanket around herself. She looks so small, so fragile, so completely unlike the confident, brilliant woman I fell in love with. "Because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep having you show up and make everything more complicated than it already is."
Not knowing what else to do, I start taking everything out of the bag I brought—soup, anti-nausea medication, electrolyte drinks. Savannah watches me with an expression I can't read.
"You didn't have to do this," she says.
"I know." I open the medicine and shake out two pills, handing them to her with the water. "Take these."
She does, and I can see her hands shaking as she brings the glass to her lips. When she's done, I open the soup and pour some into a mug, the smell of chicken and herbs filling the apartment.
"I don't think I can eat," she says.
"Just try. A few sips. You need something in your stomach." I sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough to help if she needs it but not so close that I'm crowding her. "Please."
She takes the mug and manages a small sip, then another. We sit in silence while she drinks the soup. When she's finished about half the mug, she sets it down and leans back against the couch, closing her eyes. "Thank you," she says quietly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do. Because you didn't have to come here. You didn't have to—" She stops, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears in them. "Why can't you just hate me? Why can't you just let me push you away?"
“You know why.” The words come out even softer than I meant for them to. “I've loved you since the moment I saw you, and I don't know how to stop."
She's crying now, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, and I want to reach out and wipe them away, but I don't know if I'm allowed to touch her anymore. "That's not love, Romeo. That's obsession."
"Maybe it's both." I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together to keep from reaching for her. "Maybe I don't know the difference anymore. But I know that I can't stand the thought of you being sick and alone. I know that I can't stand the thought of you marrying Thad. I know that I would do anything—anything—to keep you."
"Even if it destroys me?" Her voice breaks on the words. "Even if it costs me everything I've worked for?"
"I don't want it to cost you anything. I want to give you everything." I can see the exhaustion in every line of her body, the way she's holding herself together through sheer force of will, and all I want to do is make it better. "I want to give you the freedom to choose your own life. I want to give you the spaceto finish your degree without your father's threats hanging over you. I want?—"
"You want me to choose you." She says it flatly. "You want me to throw away my engagement and my family and my future because you've decided we're meant to be together."
