Chapter 43 Dizziness
BELLA’S POV
The sudden sharp pain in my abdomen woke me up from my sleep, cutting straight through the little rest I managed to get. It felt like someone drove a knife right into my stomach and twisted it for fun. My eyes slowly peeled open, heavy and tired, as I stared blankly at the ceiling above me. For a moment I didn’t even move, I just breathed through the pain, waiting for it to reduce a little before sitting up.
My hand shakily reached for my phone beside me on the bed, and when the screen lit up, I saw the time. Already evening. Somehow, I had slept the entire day again without even realizing it. And the painful part? I hadn’t eaten anything since morning. Not a single bite.
A wave of dizziness hit me as I placed my palm on my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. The headache was like someone repeatedly hitting my skull with a drumstick, the pounding sharp and merciless. When I finally forced myself to sit up, I scanned my room and almost turned away from how horrible it looked.
The place was an absolute mess — clothes on the floor, books scattered, the bedsheets twisted, my curtains half hanging like they were giving up too. And the worst part was the smell. It was strong, like stale air mixed with something rotten. I knew it wasn’t healthy for me to stay in a place like this, but what could I do? I didn’t even have the strength to stand for more than fifteen minutes without feeling like I wanted to faint.
Five years ago, when Anna still lived with us, she cleaned all the rooms. She kept the entire house spotless. After she left, I took over, and it didn’t feel like a big deal at first. I handled everything on my own. But now? Now cleaning wasn’t even an option. Everything changed the moment this sickness started, and I became too weak to do the simplest of tasks.
And Mom? She was barely around these days. She left early, came back late, and half the time I didn’t even see her until she peeked into my room to check if I was still breathing. She worked almost every night just to scrape together enough money to pay the doctor who treated me here at home. Or should I say, kept pretending to treat me.
Because honestly, what annoys me the most is that we’re just dashing that asshole free money.
For the past six months, everything he’s done, every antiviral medication he has given me, every so-called test he claimed to run, none of it has changed anything. Not one bit. Instead of getting better, I just keep getting worse. Every day feels like another piece of me is being stripped away, slowly and painfully.
I wasn’t even supposed to be left alone. I was supposed to have a maid taking care of me, like I did when Dad was still alive. Back then, having help wasn’t even a question, it was just normal. But now, we barely have enough cash to buy food, talk less of hiring someone who would be with me throughout the day.
Over eight months ago, I found out I had caught hepatitis C. I can still remember how my heart dropped the moment the doctor mentioned it. It felt like my whole life ended right there in his office. Because everyone knows the antiviral cure, the real one that works the fastest, is crazy expensive. Even if Mom and I sold everything we owned, we still wouldn’t be able to afford it.
And the part that hurts the most?
I got it from my boyfriend.
My stupid, useless, irresponsible boyfriend.
The fucking asshole had it all that time and didn’t bother to tell me. We were having sex unprotected, trusting each other, and he still hid it from me. When I found out, when everything started getting worse, I tried to reach him — call, text, anything. But he disappeared. Blocked me everywhere. Ran away and left me to face this nightmare alone.
He came into my life, did the damage, destroyed my health, and ran like the coward he is. I hate him more than anything.
Now the only hope I have left is Mom, who is out there working herself to death, probably praying that some rich man will magically notice her and save us. Or my stupid doctor, who happily takes the little money we have left while giving me medicines that do absolutely nothing.
But honestly, that isn’t even the worst part of everything.
The worst part is how I look right now.
My stomach is slightly swollen, round in a way that makes me look sick and bloated. And there’s nothing I can do to reduce it because standing is a struggle. I can’t even walk around the room without holding onto the wall.
And my skin…
Just a few months ago, it was flawless, bright, and smooth like snow. Now it’s yellow. Completely yellow. And my eyes? They match. When I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself. I look like a monster, like someone drained the life out of me and left only the shell.
Seeing myself like this breaks something inside me every time. I can barely stare at my reflection, talk less of leaving this room and stepping outside where people will look at me.
My stomach growled softly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten. The hunger made my insides twist, but eating was another struggle on its own. Every time I tried to eat, the pain in my abdomen intensified until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Turning my head slowly to the right, I saw the food Mom left for me in the morning. She placed it carefully on the small table beside my bed before rushing off to work. It had been sitting there all day. The pasta didn’t even look appetizing anymore.
I let out a small breath, stretching my arm weakly towards it. My fingers shook as I picked up the spoon and took a small bite of the pasta.
The moment it touched my tongue, I almost spat it out.
It tasted sour. Completely sour. Like Mom didn’t even bother to warm it before giving it to me, or maybe it had already gone bad after sitting out the whole day. Either way, it was disgusting, and I refused to swallow another bite. I dropped the spoon back into the bowl, pushing the plate away.
It was already evening. Mom would be back in a few hours. I would just wait for her. Maybe she would cook something fresh. Maybe she would bring something I could actually eat.
With a slow exhale, I lowered myself back onto the bed. My body sank into the mattress, weak and exhausted. Once Mom got home, we would have to talk again. We needed to find another way to buy the medication. We couldn’t keep living like this. I couldn’t keep living like this — alone all day in this room, unable to move, unable to do anything. If we couldn’t find a fast solution to this…
…I was going to kill myself.