I tossed my bag onto the floor, ignoring the water bottle and notebook that fell out, and rushed into the bathroom. I found James on his side in a fetal position, knees tucked up against his chest, white as a sheet and trembling terribly. He must have removed his shirt at some point because it lay rumpled near the door, soaked through with sweat. This morning I couldn’t bear the sight of him without a shirt, but now I dropped to my knees alongside him and placed my hand on his bare stomach.

He looked at me with sunken eyes, and a scream rose into my throat. There was blood on his mouth.

“James,” I cried. “Oh, God—”

It was then that I looked inside the toilet. More than just vomit, it looked as though someone had splashed it with crimson watercolor paint. Unsteady on my feet, I ran to the hotel phone and asked for the front desk’s help calling an ambulance. I hung up and rushed back into the bathroom. This wasn’t food poisoning from Italian food, that much was clear. But I had zero medical knowledge of any kind; how was it that James had only a mild cough this morning, and now he was vomiting blood to within an inch of his life? Something didn’t make sense.

“Did you eat anything after you went out this morning?” I asked him.

From where he lay on the floor, he shook his head weakly. “I’ve had nothing. I haven’t eaten anything.”

“No water, no nothing?” Perhaps he drank something he shouldn’t have, or—

“Just the oil you gave me, which I’m sure came up a long time ago.”

I frowned. “There’s nothing to come up. You just rub it on your throat, like you’ve done before.”

James shook his head again. “I asked if you had DayQuil and you said no, you had yucca oil or something.”

The color drained from my face. “Eucalyptus?”

“Yeah, that one,” he groaned, wiping his mouth with his hand. “I took it like I would take DayQuil.”

The bottle sat next to the sink, and the label affixed to it was clear: the toxic oil was meant for topical application only. Not to be ingested. And if the danger wasn’t obvious enough, the label also stated that ingestion may cause seizures or death in kids.

“You drank this?” I asked incredulously, and James nodded. “How much?” But before he could answer, I lifted the vial up to the light. Thank God, it wasn’t empty—not even half empty. But still, he drank a mouthful of it? “James, this is fucking toxic!”

He responded by hugging his knees closer into his chest. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled in a soft voice. It was so pathetic, I wanted to crawl on the floor next to him and apologize, even though I’d done nothing wrong.