The more Chell thought the more alarmed she became.

She and Wheatley were polar opposites in most things, and one of those things was that Chell's plans were solid. Two months ago, as she sat in a hospital bed and tried to breathe, she had made a plan that went like this: Wheatley was leaving. He didn't get a say in the matter, Chell didn't care what he had to say on the subject, or what she had to say or do to make him leave, because this was for his own good. He was never going to know about This- he was never going to see This happen to her. End of discussion.

Chell tried to follow through on her plan as soon as she could. It was hard because she believed This wasn't Wheatley's fault. She didn't want to treat him as though it was, but she had to do this for his sake.

From the moment Chell came home she was distant towards Wheatley, literally and figuratively. Her attempt at this was shoddy and half hearted, because she didn't want to do it. Still she tried.

When she came home from the hospital that morning, she and Wheatley exchanged a brief greeting, but Chell didn't answer any of his questions; she went straight to her room, and stayed there for the rest of the day. When Chell finally came out for dinner she said little, and snapped at him at the first opportunity.

Then, with practically no explanation, she left him alone for nearly three days.

When Chell returned the two of them fought and yelled, because she wouldn't tell him anything, and she slammed a door in his face.

This was the cycle Chell repeated over and over again for nearly a month, her absences growing longer, her behavior becoming worse as her health declined, and the end goal became more and more necessary. The more time passed the more horrible things Chell was willing to say and do (and said and did) in an attempt to make Wheatley leave.

Her plan should have worked.

But there were two problems Chell hadn't accounted for.

Humiliating as it was, the first was her emotional state.

During the month she spent trying to scare Wheatley off, Chell was depressed, and frightened, and guilty, and generally emotional. She was sick and in pain. One of her dearest friends was dying, and Chell spent the majority of her time alone, hiding as much of this as she could from as many people as possible. So one night when Chell had come home from the hospital- where she'd spent the day visiting Elizabeth, and being gently scolded by Sam- Wheatley came looking for answers, and Chell lost it.

The outburst was brief, but the evening ended in a breakdown. Wheatley was worried about her, and wanted to know what was going on. Chell (feeling, not thinking) told him what she could- more than she should have- because of the second problem.

Wheatley would not leave.

It didn't matter what Chell said or did, how loud she yelled or how long she neglected him. Wheatley stayed. He stayed, and worried, and took the abuse, and tried everything he could to help her no matter how hard she pushed him away- and Chell did not understand why.

And what was worse, this second problem seemed to combine with the first, leading Chell to make careless mistakes. It was a horrible cycle: the longer Wheatley stayed the worse Chell treated him, and the more he endured, the more she wanted to tell him the truth, and the bigger her mistakes became. These escalated from panicking, to crying, to leaving the door to her room unlocked.

Looking back at how neatly these events fit together, Chell wondered just how many of these mistakes had truly been accidents: Because part of her had thought all along that Wheatley deserved the truth for sticking around through all of this. Part of her thought that, if Wheatley could handle the way she was treating him, he could probably handle the reason she was treating him that way.

And just maybe, some horribly selfish part of Chell wanted the truth to come out, because she wanted Wheatley to stay. She was ashamed to admit it but she did: she wanted him there with her for This. Chell enjoyed his company. She enjoyed his presence in her home, and she didn't want to face This alone.

And really, if the truth did come out- if Wheatley already knew what was going to happen- there would be no point in driving him away.

So that was what had happened.

Wheatley had found out that Chell was sick, and though he was upset, he had handled the information much better than Chell had expected him to. And he had stayed. And she had let him.

After that Chell's plans went out the window.

Ever since the truth had come out, Chell had told Wheatley practically everything. If that wasn't bad enough it felt as though the two of them were now growing closer- and really, how could they not? They sat together all day, talking, and reading, and sleeping, and enjoying each other's warmth, and at night they shared a bed.

Chell had only just realized that this was creating a new problem:

Ever since Wheatley had found out about her being sick, Chell hadn't spent nearly as much time thinking about the next logical move in protecting him. About sensibility. She had spent too much time feeling and not enough thinking.

Chell knew that Wheatley didn't want to be lied to- and she didn't want to lie to him- but she could be honest without being selfish.

And right now she was being selfish. Maybe with everything she had been through, and everything that she was going through, she deserved to be just a little selfish, but Wheatley did not deserve what she was about to do to him.

Today they were both going to be reminded of that.

Good days and bad days were no longer as cut and dry as they had once been. Everything felt muddled now, to Chell: good days were now unpleasant while bad days were pure misery. Today, at least, was the former. She and Wheatley made a point of reading together every day, and though today they lingered in bed Chell felt well enough to read to him. This meant that she got to pick what they read.

"Find anything good?" Wheatley asked, shifting next to her.

Chell didn't answer, and instead began to read.

"It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me-

Yes!-that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea."

Chell could feel the tension in the air as she stopped.

Wheatley all but glared at the book in her hands.

"Why are we reading the depressing poem again?"

"Annabel Lee." Chell clarified. "I promised I would explain it to you. Remember?"

"I don't want you to." Wheatley said. "It's sad- I don't-" He tried for a smile. "Can't you analyze a happy poem? Or something? Why don't you find me another one of those?"

"Because you need to hear this one... Do you know what this poem is?"

"A tragedy."

"Maybe. What else?"

"I don't know."

"Guess."

"I don't want to."

Chell gave a sad smile as she thumbed through the pages.

"It's a love story."

Wheatley gave an indignant scoff.

"Nope. No. That is not a love story."

"The word love is used eight times, Wheatley. It's a love story."

"Really? Because I thought love stories were supposed to end with both people being alive and still in love. They lived happily ever after- key word being lived- the end."

"You obviously haven't read Romeo and Juliet."

The smile Chell was fighting quickly faded at her next question.

"Do you understand... what happens in the poem?"

Wheatley made a noise that was somewhere between a choke and a whine. Chell bit the inside of her mouth.

"Chell, love, please-"

"Tell me what happens." She said. Then, softer. "Please."

Wheatley gave her a halfhearted glare.

"No."

He crossed his arms, and turned away from her for all of two seconds before he remembered that he didn't have the right to refuse her anything.

"I don't-" Wheatley dug his nails into his palm as he looked at Chell. He somehow found himself on the verge of a smile. "He loved her." She froze. "And everything was perfect, and they were happy, and together, and then-" His gaze dropped back to the book in her lap. "And then she got sick." Wheatley swallowed as he looked away. "She died. And then he was all alone."

Chell took a deep breath.

"He loved her too much." She said. "She was his world, and when she died he didn't know how to cope." Chell gave a bittersweet smile as she looked up at Wheatley. "That's what being in love is like." She said. "Everything feels perfect at the start, and you think it'll stay that way forever, but the truth is, people change, and leave, and-" She stopped. "It ends. And you don't know what to do." Chell looked away. "I wish it didn't work that way, but it does."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Chell suddenly felt very timid.

"Wheatley..." Her face tinged pink at the softness in her voice. "Do you remember what you said…. Before?"

"Before…?" It took him a moment to process what she meant, but when he did he turned bright red. "Oh. That." He swallowed, his voice weak. "Yes. I do."

"Do you… Still feel the same way?"

Wheatley blinked up at her, confused.

"...You told me-"

"Wheatley."

The words were out before he could stop them.

"Yes." His shoulders sagged as he gave her a helpless smile. "I do. Of course I do." Wheatley bit his lip as he chanced a glance up at her. "...Do y-"

"It doesn't matter."

Chell's expression was hard, and it sent Wheatley's heart plummeting.

"You shouldn't." She urged. "Do you understand? This is why- You have to understand that- being in love isn't always a good thing. It isn't always a happy thing."

"I guess… I wouldn't know."

Chell looked back down at the book.

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"The poem is all from his perspective." Chell said, tapping a page. "He loved her, and he says that she loved him, but she never says it. We never hear her say she loves him back." Her face tinged pink as she continued. "And that doesn't mean for certain that she didn't say it, or that she didn't love him- but what if she didn't?" Chell looked up at Wheatley. "What if he dedicated his entire life to her when she didn't love him? What if he was so devastated by her death that he threw the rest of his life away, and she never loved him to begin with?"

Wheatley looked hurt.

"I was wrong before." Chell said. "It was wrong of me to tell you-" She winced. "I practically told you that your feelings are invalid. I'm sorry for that." Chell wrung her hands. "I think I was trying to convince myself that… you couldn't feel, or you didn't understand what you felt, because what you said scared me." Her expression softened as she looked up at Wheatley. "But of course you can feel, and you understand your feelings just as well as I do. And you genuinely care about me. You're doing everything you can to help me, because you want me to be happy. It seems like- my happiness is the most important thing in the world to you. And maybe- you do love me."

Wheatley's heart skipped a beat.

"Which is all the more reason why I really don't want to hurt you."

And fell once again.

"Chell-"

"No." She said firmly. "I don't want either one of us to get hurt any worse than we already have to."

She took a steadying breath.

"So I don't want this. And you have to understand this." Chell snapped the book shut. "We are not in love." Wheatley flinched. "We are not in a relationship of any kind. And yes, I am sick, but it's not the doing of an angry, jealous God, fallen or otherwise." Chell took his hands in hers. "And you're not alone. You won't be alone whether I'm here or not. You're never going to be alone. You're surrounded by an entire town of people who care about you, and they're going to make sure you're okay whether I'm here or not." Chell squeezed his hands earnestly. "And most important of all, you are a capable human being who can and will function without me. At this point, you're the one taking care of me. Your existence does not depend on mine. You don't need me. I promise. Okay?" They were both on the verge of tears. "You're so sweet, and I know you're only trying to help, but I can't… take any more of this. I can't." She pulled away from him. "I'm sorry." She said. Chell swept the blankets aside and stood.

"I don't feel like reading anymore."

Chell retreated to her room.

But she left the door open.

Author's Note:

SAD CHAPTER

Some time before writing Metaphor I found a really old analysis of Annabel Lee (probably my favorite poem) that I had written. Just for fun I mentioned the poem in Metaphor (because when you really look at it it's about some crazy stuff), but then I realized that the poem actually relates to the direction in which Pieces is now heading. And whatdaya know, it fits pretty well.

Annabel Lee was written by Edgar Allen Poe.

Chell is not a sonnet 73 fan.