I ran into the bedroom and closed the door. Which did no good whatsoever because there wasn’t a lock in the jamb. He came in a moment later. He was already starting to shake, sweating out the poison. He reached up into one of the higher cabinets and pulled down a comforter. He grabbed pillows and he left.

I let out a sigh of relief. I changed out of my tight dress, put on a loose dress, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

I woke up about two hours later, around the time that Chris usually came to bed. I was parched and drained the water bottle I kept on the nightstand. I turned on the night-light and went to the bathroom to get more Advil. After I downed the tablets, I was about to return to bed. Then I sighed. I slowly opened the door. The window shade was still up and there was moonlight streaming in through the glass. He lay curled up, his face buried in a pillow, his contracted body pushed against the back of the couch. He was in full-blown shakes. The place smelled like a cross between a gym and a distillery.

I said, “C’mon, Chris. Come to bed.” When he didn’t answer, I walked over and placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. “C’mon—”

“Go away.” His voice was muffled behind the pillow.

“Chris—”

“Go away!” He yanked his shoulder from under my touch. He turned over, his face awash in sweat. “I reek like garbage.”

“We’ve been through this before,” I said. “I’ll run you a shower.”

He turned back over and put a pillow over his head. In a muffled voice, he said, “Just get out of here.”

I went into the bathroom and turned on the water. When it was ready, I walked back with a face towel and wastebasket. I said, “C’mon.”

“I can’t move.”

“I’ll help you up.” I began to pull on his arm, and he slowly got to his feet. He started to reel and sat back down. “I’m gonna be sick.”

I handed him the wastebasket and held his hair as he puked. Afterward, I gave him the towel. He wiped his face. His complexion was chalk. “I am utterly putrid.”

“You’ll feel better after you’ve showered. Give me the basket. I’ll clean it out in the other bathroom.”

“You don’t have to clean up my vomit.”

I took the basket from him and placed it on the floor. “C’mon.” I took his arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you walk?”