Infections of a Different Kind of Human

22. A Dangerous Thing

"I brought some soup," Owen said as he entered the apartment, walking past Amelia to rest the things down, "And some snacks."

"This is a lot," Amelia commented as she watched him empty the bag on the kitchen island.

He smirked and blushed as the snacks cascaded across the tabletop. "I guess I went a little overboard..." She covered her soft smile with the back of her hand as she watched him trying to sort all the options into separate spaces on the counter.

"Where do you keep your pots?" he asked as he flitted about the small kitchen.

"The first cabinet," she answered, pointing to a cupboard behind him. As she watched him set it up on the stove, she offered, "I can make it, you know. I mean it is my apartment."

"Nonsense," Owen denied, dismissing her, "It's my treat." He turned on the stove and poured the soup in, going for a cutting board to add a few extra veggies to the mix. "Plus, we both know you can't cook."

"I think I can heat up a can of processed soup," she bluntly stated.

"Yeah, but how will it taste?" he quickly retorted, smiling coyly at her as she rolled her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Crampy," she muttered as she sat on one of the barstools across the table. His back was turned against her, so she couldn't see his facial expression.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know where to start."

They settled on the couch and ate the soup first, and Amelia watched as he scrolled through the tv to see what movie they could watch.

"Where's Ryan?" Owen asked as he scrolled, finally settling on a Sherlock movie.

"He went to buy a new mattress," Amelia informed him, blowing on a spoonful of soup, "And probably new sheets. I only had one set." He quirked an eyebrow at her, very obviously judging her for only having one set of sheets.

"Is he okay?" He didn't entirely care about the well-being of the man, but he felt obligated to ask for her sake.

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"And what about you?" He looked across at her and could see her thinking as she stared at the bowl of liquid. She didn't know how to verbalize how she felt. Her pain had started the moment Owen had rejected her, and despite her many attempts to distract herself with other relationships and things, that pain continued to eat away at her and was now a huge mountain of disappointment. Between Owen, Ryan, her sobriety, and now another failed pregnancy, one that she had not even wanted, Amelia felt like her brain would explode. She also still felt a bit of malice towards Owen, even though he was trying to console her now.

"Honestly," Amelia said as she sipped on the spoon, "I wish I was dead." He knew she wasn't trying to scare him, but he worried nonetheless at her repeated statement.

"Stop saying that," he pleaded with her, "If you died, I'd die."

"You'd be fine without me," she dismissed him, scoffing, "You'd have the kids, and Kelly." She rolled her eyes as she said her name, and Owen wanted to laugh, but it seemed inappropriate.

"No, I wouldn't be," he disagreed, "No one would be okay without you, not even Ryan." Ryan. He had been gone an hour now already, and Amelia wondered how long he would take, or how he'd react to seeing Owen here. She'd sent a message a few minutes earlier, but he hadn't replied yet.

"Everything just hurts," Amelia continued, "All the time. Nothing feels good anymore."

"It's okay if you feel like shit all the time."