Mimi's POV

"Shhh, honey, shhh, its okay…" I whisper, reaching into the cup for another ice cube. Opposite me, sitting beside Angel on the hospital bed is Collins. He's leaning over her, smoothing a moist compress over her forehead with one hand, his other hand turning white and purple as she squeezes it so hard that I think it will break. He's so amazing that he does this for her. Nothing matters except her.

Nothing matters except Angel.

I can't believe what I'm seeing, what my best friend in the world has become. She's lying in this hospital bed, so thin that I can count her ribs like the rungs of a ladder, so frail that her arms seem like they'll snap at any moment. She's burning with fever, hotter than I thought a human being could be without bursting into flame, and she's shaking so hard that I think she'll fall to pieces. That's the worst thing. The shivering. It comes and goes in waves, ranging from gentle tremors to shudders that make her bones clatter against each other, so hard that she blurs as you look at her.

"Angel, please, take it, honey, take it." I hold the ice cube to her lips, running the cold, wet surface over her thin dry lips. She puckers her lips slightly, as though she's trying to absorb every drop of moisture she can. I take the opportunity to push the ice into her mouth before her teeth clamp shut again. She has it under her tongue now, and I know it will melt within seconds from her body heat. Hell, the water will even be warm as it trickles down her red, swollen throat.

Collins gave her his hand a while ago, and she hasn't stopped squeezing it since. She's been asleep, if you can call it that, for about an hour, but even after that she hasn't let go or loosened her hold. Indeed, she tightened her grip. It must hurt; Angel was never weak, even when she could control how her muscles moved. But he doesn't mind. I know he doesn't.

Collins has been a gladiator for the last few weeks. Everything Angel needs, he practically kills himself to get it. He sleeps every three days for a couple hours at a stretch; he won't leave her alone while she's asleep or awake, and even though I and everyone else tries to come more often and make him sleep, he refuses. And really, we can't force him. It's up to him, and I respect that. No, I completely worship that. It's incredible, what he goes through for her. I try, but I can't do what he does. Hell, I can't even do something for myself; he can do everything for someone else.

As I watch, Collins shifts himself a little closer to Angel. His free hand rubs up and down her cheek, curving around the compress and wiping the droplets of sweat away. She shudders violently, and he holds her face gently, thumb resting against her cheekbone and hand cradling the side of her head. This gesture is so loving and caring, so tender that I can hardly stand it. What they feel for each other is something I've never seen before, and it's going to end soon. No, scratch that. It's never going to end. But they won't be allowed to enjoy it, not with each other at least. It's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard in my life, and there's not a single person who I can blame.

That's what hurts so bad.

"No…no, no please, it hurts, it hurts…" Angel's voice, strained and gasping as she mumbles words that we can't respond to. Her eyes flicker half open, and I can't look. Those eyes are empty; Angel's disappeared. I stroke her forehead instead, using a tissue to sop up the sweat that pours from her temples. She's so sick. I can't understand it.

She mumbles again, and this time I can make out Collins's name. It's like that a lot; she says names, ones I know and a few I don't, words in Spanish and English, pleas for help and complaints of pain. Of all the names, Collins's shows up the most, closely followed by mine. I think it's partly because we're both here the most, almost all the time. But it's also partly because we know her best; we've been closer to her than the others. She needs us so much.

"Oh no…Mimi, help." Collins's voice is low and calm, and his face shows nothing. I don't understand what he's asking for, until I see that Angel's body has started to curl into a ball, muscles contracting and limbs folding into themselves. This isn't good; it means she's losing control of her body. We have to make sure that she uncurls. Otherwise, she might hurt herself.

Setting down the cup if ice cubes, I stand, placing one hand on Angel's shoulder and the other on her knee. Collins forces his hand past her arms, which have locked over her stomach like iron bars, and pushes on her abdomen, at the same time easing her chest back with the other hand. I press on her knee and shoulder, moving them backwards and slowly straightening her position. She whimpers, and I know that it's painful. But we have to do it.

Finally, she's lying down again, shivering and sweating and panting. I grab an ice cube and press it against her lips, forcing it past them and worming her teeth apart with my finger. Before she can resist, I push the ice into her tongue, massaging her jaw and throat with my other hand so she'll swallow. Her skin is angry red, and so hot that when I place my hand about half an inch above it, it's like I'm letting my hand hover over a stove burner.

"Baby, relax, relax, we're here, its okay." Collins gently replaces the old compress with a new one, soothing her with soft consolations. His hand still grips hers; he never let it go. I watch as he presses his free hand against the skin of her face, letting her know that he's there, he's staying with her. Collins is breathing hard too, and I see the look on his face. He's scared. He's scared to death that he'll lose her, lose her for good. My breath catches in my throat, and I can't just sit there anymore. I press my forehead into Angel's arm, hand resting on her bony chest. I just need to feel that she's still alive, even trembling as hard and burning so bad as she is. She's alive. We haven't let her go yet.

I hear a sudden sound, and I look up to see that Angel has started to sob, burying her face in Collins's chest and shivering even harder. She's not awake, not conscious. I think she's delirous, but all I know as I watch Collins stroke her back and I hear my best friend sob so hard she almost chokes is that this can't be real. It can't be real life.

I take a breath and raise my head, glancing at the clock on the wall above her bed. 11:47. Thirteen minutes and eight hours to go before this nightmare of a night is finished.