Dylan

"Sam still not back?" I question Iain.

He's by no means my favourite person, but he works with her, so I thought he'd be likely to know what's going on.

"No." He informs me civilly – as such is our working 'relationship' – if you can call it that, because, after all, he did steal my wife. "She's got a sick note." He adds. "Apparently she's got the flu." It's clear that he doesn't want to converse with me, any more than I do with him. Iain and Sam are friends, but he tends to display a show of slight jealousy to me if he's seen any interaction between Sam and I – for she's always made it quite clear that she's not interested in being more than friends with him – and that their 'affair' was never about him. Nevertheless, we are on the same page with our concern for her.

Yes – I am very concerned by her absence. Iain tells me she's been signed off for two weeks.

Before she went, Sam had just found out that I am a recovering alcoholic and we had a slightly heated argument as a result. She was distressed to learn that I'd been secretly battling such demons all the while we were together - and she felt that our whole marriage was based on a lie.

"Sam said she let you down." Iain informs me before I leave the Ambulance station.

I understand why she had the affair now. Sam was lonely – even when I was with her in a physical sense, I wasn't there emotionally. I was pre-occupied by my own problems and I can see that now, so maybe there was something in what she said about our marriage being a lie.

Sam didn't let me down – I wrongly chose to hide it from her. However, our latest argument (for there have been many over the years) has reaffirmed what I have always hoped to be true.

It was me she wanted – me she loved. At least until our marriage ended and Tom came along.

Although she remains friends with Iain, Sam was looking for comfort and company when she had the affair. She was never in love with him – a fact he's obviously aware of, and maybe that's the reason behind his afore-mentioned jealousy. Of course, the big questions on my mind are...

Did Sam still love me when she ended our marriage?...or...Had she already stopped? If the answer is the former – why did she end it?

These questions go around my head daily - on a loop, but they'll have to wait.

Anyway, at the end of our argument, Sam stormed out my office and we haven't spoken since – we haven't had the chance. After that Sam had a couple of days off between shifts and she was back on Monday. I worked the night shift on Sunday, so I wasn't in that day, but by all accounts, she looked awful – and before the end of the shift she'd been sent home too poorly to work. That was three days ago – and if she's been signed off by the doctor for two weeks, it sounds bad.

To say I'm worried, would be putting it mildly.

With Iain just as in the dark as I am, I decide that I will pop over to Sam's on my way home – so that I can find out exactly what is wrong with her...

I stand and wait, after ringing the bell to her flat. It takes her a while to answer.

"Ye-s-s?" It sounds nervous and hesitant – not like Sam at all. But it must be Sam – this is her flat.

"Hi..." I begin. "It's-"

"Dylan." She finishes. "Come up – door's open."

When the buzzer clicks, I step over the threshold and make for the stairs. Upon reaching her flat, I find that the door is indeed open. I hesitate for a second – her voice was unrecognisable on the phone, so I can tell that something is very wrong and I'm a little apprehensive of what I might find.

I am now pretty sure, you see, that whatever is wrong with Sam, it's not flu as Iain has been told. If it was, she would not have offered me an invitation into her flat. Flu is very contagious and Sam certainly wouldn't allow me or anyone else to risk their health. Besides, I'm pretty sure that she had her flu jab like the rest of us. It's a matter of our own safety, in the environment we all work in – we are, after all, exposed to plenty of germs every day.

I sigh and push the door open further to admit myself, before shutting it behind me. "Sam?"

"In here." The answer is muted and again, not the voice I am accustomed to.

I follow the strange voice to the living room, and as I round the sofa, I see her frame lying on it. She's shaking and sweaty, but is wrapped in a thin blanket and seems unsure of whether she's hot or cold.

"Sam, you look-" I say, sitting down on the sofa next to her.

She cuts me off and finishes my sentence again. "Terrible – I know." She agrees.

"I'll-I'll get you...something." I stammer, getting up.

She puts out a clammy hand to stop me. "No!" She snaps sharply, though when I react as if I've been slapped, she apologises immediately. "Sorry – I didn't mean to shout." She whispers croakily, grasping my hand as if she's afraid that I'm going to walk out.

"It's ok." I answer, sitting back down. "Sam, I know it's not the flu."

"Oh."

She doesn't offer anything else, so I continue – explaining my deductions. "You've had your flu jab." I point out. "And you let me in." I reason. "Because, regardless of the jab, if you even suspected that you had something contagious, you would have told me to go away."

Again Sam doesn't answer – she just lies there shivering uncontrollably.

I feel her head – and her cheeks. "You're in withdrawal." I conclude.

Sam

I close my eyes. I love his touch. And all this – the cold sweats, the shaking, the cramps, the nausea – it's all worth it. Even if I never feel his touch again after this – even though this whole thing is painful and horrible. I'll savour this moment forever.

"Yes-" I confirm his conclusion, but then I'm racked by a cramp. "Argh!" They've been happening off and on. My stomach starts cramping and then after awhile it dies off again. "Argh!" They're bloody horrendous while they last though.

"Shh-shh." Dylan soothes me. He puts his hand over my stomach and rubs it gently – the way he used to when I had a bad period pain. This time though, the cramps are a bit higher. "What are you in withdrawal from?" He asks.

"Pain-killers." I gasp. "Argh! With-draw-ral from pain-killers."

"Shh-shh." He repeats. "Breathe through it." He adds – as though I'm having a baby.

I gasp again as the current ripple of cramps die down. "You're sorting yourself out, Dylan. I thought I should to."