Somebody, please help me. This girl might murder me any day now. Her possessiveness is getting worse by the day. She knows I'm severely allergic to chocolate and its byproducts, yet she deliberately added it to my drink just because I was chatting with another woman. It's becoming a matter of life and death.
Andrew spent hours in the hospital before he finally stabilized. I can't stop blaming myself for what happened—it makes me feel like a villain. The doctor warned me to stay away from cocoa and chocolate, but I just nodded silently. I couldn't bring myself to tell him I was the one who caused it. Andrew was discharged the next morning. I followed behind him, too ashamed to get close. He gave me a weird smile, and I was too afraid to speak. "I could have killed him," I muttered to myself, covering my face and shaking my head in despair. What I did was unforgivable.
I drove us home, the silence heavy between us. Minutes passed, and he still didn't say a word. I glanced at him, but he barely acknowledged me. "He's really angry," I thought. And who wouldn't be? When we arrived, he got out of the car quickly and went straight inside. I sighed. "He must hate being around me. It probably feels like hell for him." After a moment of hesitation, I went inside too.
The evening came, and still, no words were exchanged. I thought, "At least he should demand an apology." But he didn't say anything. Desperate, I decided there was only one way to fix this. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and walked back to him. He looked terrified when he saw me approaching. I placed the knife on the table and said, "I'm sorry for what I did to you. Here's a knife—take your revenge if you want! Stab me if it'll make you feel better!"
"No," he replied quietly. "I can't." His voice sounded strange, almost childish. I stared at him, confused. "Don't be angry," he explained. "The reason I haven't been talking to you is because my voice often change after the allergic reaction. I sound ridiculous, like Pica or something." I dropped the knife and burst out laughing. His voice *was* hilariously high-pitched. "People make fun of me all the time," he said, slightly annoyed. "I'm sorry," I said, still laughing. "I couldn't help it." The tension eased, and I realized I still hadn't properly apologized.
A few hours later, he called me into the bedroom. His voice sounded more normal now. I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, feeling guilty. He took my hands and said, "Kyoko, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you for anyone." His tone was serious, and I was stunned. Tears streamed down my face as I apologized over and over. He pulled me into a warm hug. When he tried to stand up, I jumped on him, kissing him repeatedly. We lost control, and that night, we found solace in each other.