"Adrian, there's a fire in the kitchen!" she screamed, as she got away from the door, most likely to get sick again.

He leapt out of bed, turning off the television and holding his shirt over his nose and mouth. Crossing to the doorway, he saw the small inferno in the kitchen that had begun on the skillet he was cooking the scrambled eggs with. As Sharona sprinted back to the bathroom, he grabbed a fire extinguisher and gaped at its directions as the fire alarm continued to sound and the flames blazed.

After he attempted to measure the precise distance for ten minutes, Sharona ran back out to the kitchen and ripped the fire extinguisher out of his hands quickly. Without saying a word, she rapidly extinguished the fire, handed the item back to Adrian, and then raced back to the bathroom within a matter of seconds. Adrian could only gape at the charred skillet and down the hall to the bathroom, realizing how stupid he had just seemed. Sharona had been depending on him to put the fire out, and all he could do was waste time.

Not only could he not aid her in her sickness; he couldn't even put out a skillet fire. And now she was violating his bathroom again, and all he could do was be disgusted—not sympathetic, not understanding, just worried about his own possessions. Well, the bathroom wasn't even his; he was renting it. Would he ever get over his phobias and obsessions? His shoulders slumped as he turned away from the waning smoke. How had he managed to survive on his own the past five months?

A loud thumping was heard on his front door, and he raced over to it to see who it could possibly be. It was a firefighter, he could see in the peephole.

He opened the door, sighing with relief. "Don't worry, the fire is out," he said, signaling towards the kitchen. "But Sh—" he pointed down the hallway at the bathroom door –"she's—Sharona's sick."

"What's wrong with her? Did she get burned?"

"No, she's—" he made a motion in front of his mouth. "She's—you know… uhm…."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're trying to say."

"She's—" he made the signal again, waving his hands in front of his mouth.

The man could only shake his head with confusion.

"She's….throwing up! Okay, I said it!" He immediately covered his face with his hand and ran into the kitchen, grabbing some Lysol cleaner and spraying it heavily in the air until he began coughing.

"What the hell are you doing, buddy?" the firefighter asked, backing out of the house.

"Just—the air—there's… contamination…."

The firefighter promptly departed, slamming the door in the process, and Adrian was left to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running in the bathroom.

A sickly Sharona emerged from the bathroom soon afterwards. He could only gape at the blonde woman and retreat back into the kitchen, his hands remaining near his face-level. Her hair was matted to her head and her pale face was soaking wet. Maybe she had splashed some water on her face or something, he hoped. It looked like she'd been crying, for her eyes were bloodshot and misty. She was still wearing her pajamas, which were soaked with sweat, that he could tell. Her face was so white and waxen and she looked utterly exhausted and just… sad….

Coughing from the overpowering odor of the Lysol, he grabbed a potholder and threw the skillets' breakfast contents into the garbage disposal. Sharona didn't come into the kitchen, thank goodness. She'd probably become sick again from the sheer strength of the cleaner. The garbage disposal ground up the material, and he rinsed the remnants into the hole as well, placing the rinsed-off skillets into the dishwasher. He just had to get all smells out of his house, except for the smell of the Lysol, of course. Later on he would throw out the burnt pan; it was useless now.

"Adrian?"

It was Sharona. He really didn't want to see her right now. She had this… cloud of germs around her right now. Disgusting putrid sick germs. And he was embarrassed of himself. She, in her sickly state, had had to extinguish the fire she had hoped Adrian would have handled. His face turned crimson.

"What?" he replied, remaining frozen in place in front of the dishwasher.

"Is everything okay in here? Did the fire mess anything up?"

He looked over at the stove, noticing no difference in its appearance. He looked back at the skillet, with its melted Teflon.

"No, I'll just have to buy a new skillet, is all," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

"That's good," she said. "I'm really sorry about all this... Ya know though, I think it was a fluke, because I feel a lot better now. Not perfect, but, ehh—"

"That's good," Adrian responded quickly. He just had to worry incessantly about the bathroom. "—and the bathroom?" he added afterwards.

Her change in expression, although subtle, conveyed a million things to the detective, including disappointment and dismay over his response. He knew immediately he had to backtrack, to ask about her again, to show concern over her condition.

"So, you're feeling bett—" he began to say, but Sharona cut him off.

"I'm gonna clean your bathroom, and then I'm going to go to a hotel. Where do you keep your junk rags?" She was still in the hallway, thank goodness.

"Why are you going t—junk rags?"

"Ya know, rags you'll just throw out. I want to use something disposable."

"You don't have to do—" Oh, he was only kidding himself, accepting responsibility to clean up. She had to clean up the room, or else he'd never go in there again.

"—any other rooms," he finished the sentence. "Just the bathroom." He reached under the sink and grabbed a few small flimsy towels. Without looking into the hallway, he flung the towels onto the floor and walked back over to the sink.

He couldn't even look at her, for his embarrassment was still heavily apparent, mixed with guilt. Guilt over his comments. Guilt from making her feel guilty about her decisions. Guilt over his uselessness during the fire, during her sickness. It overpowered him, dizzying him as he stare at the floor in despair.

"Okay," Sharona replied. There was a silence, and then the bathroom door shut. He was left with his thoughts.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" he asked no one in particular. I'm too… sickened to eat, I can't go in the living room, and I can't use the restroom. I'd better just go back to the bedroom….

Once he returned to the bedroom, he stripped the comforter and sheets off the bed and folded them into a pile in the laundry basket. I'll probably never use that comforter again. Not only was someone else on it, but she…. has some kind of sick germ. He quickly changed into his usual outfit, a dress shirt and brown pants, but didn't feel any better at his neater appearance.

He was stricken with panic and fear and nausea and all these terrible feelings compounded onto him. He was probably going to get sick too, now, just when he was beginning to recover from pneumonia…. Maybe Sharona shouldn't have returned, to contaminate his bathroom and couch and everything else she touched, or breathed near or— but how could he say that? She had returned specifically because he was ill. Maybe he didn't deserve her, after all….

Maybe he deserved to be alone. He couldn't support her, couldn't aid her in sickness or emergency, and he couldn't let her off the hook. All she had done during her return was help him: doing his laundry, helping him recover from his sickness, saving his apartment from burning to the ground….. Let's see, what had he done for her? He let her stay at his place, but that was a small price to pay. He… made her feel guilty for not being able to stay, for getting remarried. He hid in his bedroom while she was…. Shaking his head, he sat at the end of the bed, his hands on his knees.

I'll bet if Trudy were still alive, she'd probably leave me. I'm so—I can't do anything good for anybody. I can't even take care of myself, landing myself in the hospital with pneumonia for days on end. He put his head in his hands and stared down at the floor, feeling his eyes tingle.

"Adrian," he heard. The voice of Trudy. He opened his eyes, scanning the room around him. Trudy stood by the head of the bed, a concerned expression on her face. Around her shown a halo of light; her presence was a delight to his eyes, all of his senses, in fact. His uneasy nausea ceased, but the fear and guilt remained within him.

"It's—Sharona," he said, bowing his head. "She's sick. Her mother's ill. She's… miserable. I—I don't know what to do. I can't do an—"

Trudy walked over to him, smiling softly, and he reached for her hands and held them in his own.

"There's only one thing you can do," she told him. "You have to let her go, let her move on with her life."

"—But—why?"

"All these emotions are hurting her, Adrian."

"So it's because of me that she's sick?" He was distraught at the mere thought, and swallowed loudly.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's not your fault. She—has a lot of stressful things going on in her life now, with her mother, her husband and her son. She's feeling guilty, blaming herself for everything that's been going wrong."

"That's probably my fault… but why do I have to let her—move on?" He could feel his voice breaking.

"Oh, dear Adrian—it's the only way she'll truly be at peace with herself. Just as I want you to be, happy and moving on with your life."

"I'll never leave you. I would never do that to you," he murmured huskily.

"You're not leaving me by moving on," Trudy replied. "You're—allowing yourself to live, to enjoy life again. I want you to be happy again, Adrian."

"—I… can't let you go, Trudy," he cried.

"Adrian, you have to let Sharona choose her own path. Her family needs her right now. Maybe she'll return to you someday. Maybe she won't. You have to let her decide."

His eyes filled up with tears, and he allowed them to stream down his face as the vision of his wife faded before his eyes.

"—but I… can't do th—Please don't leave, Trudy; I need you so much," he sobbed, as she disappeared from view. He sunk to the floor, his head in his hands. He was going to have to let Sharona go? He could feel his heart breaking and sinking to the pit of his stomach, filling him with dread and indecision.

Please tell me what you think... I'll have the next chapter up sometime this weekend!