Chapter 44 Living Room
BELLA'S POV
I made up my mind to stand up on my feet and dragged myself out of the room. Staying in bed wasn’t helping, the pain was only getting worse and the hunger was beginning to feel like claws scraping the inside of my stomach. If I didn’t eat something soon, I knew I would faint in my sleep, and waking up on the floor again wasn’t something I wanted to experience twice.
The moment I stood up, my head spun violently. I reached out quickly, grabbing the edge of the bedside table. My fingers shook as I held on, my breathing uneven. I tried again, taking one slow step forward, then another. By the third step, my legs almost gave out and I had to grab the wardrobe to keep myself from crashing to the floor.
Three times.
I almost fell three times before I even made it out of my room.
Each step felt like I was dragging a body that wasn’t mine anymore. A constant reminder that something inside me was wrong. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass, counting my breaths like the doctor once told me to do. In… out… slow… steady. But nothing about my body felt steady anymore.
The living room smelled a little better than my room, less suffocating, less stale. Still, I barely noticed. The entire place felt empty, quiet in a way that made my chest ache.
I finally made it to the kitchen, my heart lifting just a little at the thought of food. Anything would do. Bread. Rice. Soup. Even leftovers. I just needed something in my stomach.
I walked straight to the pots on the stove, lifting one lid after another. Empty. Every single one of them. I stood there for a moment, staring into the last pot like maybe food would magically appear if I looked long enough.
Nothing.
My chest tightened. Of course. Mom must have dished the last portion for me earlier before leaving. I should have eaten it then. I should have forced myself. Now here I was, paying for it.
I opened the fridge, hope flickering weakly in my chest. Maybe there was fruit. An apple. An orange. Something light.
The fridge was almost empty.
No food. No fruits. No leftovers. Not even milk.
Just water.
I shut the fridge slowly and rested my forehead against it, my eyes closing as a tired sigh slipped past my lips. Why did we even have a fridge when there was never anything inside it? It felt like a cruel joke at this point
At least I was already standing.
Since there was nothing here, all I had to do was go back to my room, bring that spoiled food, and warm it. The thought alone made my stomach twist, but hunger was stronger than disgust. I turned to head back when I heard a knock on the door.
The sound startled me so badly I flinched.
My head snapped toward the door, my heart jumping. For a brief second, hope rushed through me.
Mom.
She was back already. Maybe she brought food. Maybe I wouldn’t have to eat that sour pasta after all.
Ignoring the pain shooting through my legs, I dragged myself toward the door and opened it.
My heart sank.
It wasn’t my mom.
It was him.
Our landlord.
The reminder hit me instantly. Mom had promised to pay him two days ago. My stomach tightened again, this time with fear. This was the last thing we needed right now.
“Sir…” I began softly.
“Save it, Bella,” he cut me off sharply, raising his index finger in my face.
I swallowed the rest of my words.
“I don’t even want to hear any of your excuses this time. Where’s your mom? I want to speak with her,” he said, his tone cold and impatient.
“She’s not home yet,” I replied, my voice weak. “She should be back any minute.”
“Then I’ll come in and wait,” he said flatly. “Because I can’t take this anymore.”
Before I could say another word, he brushed past me and stepped into the living room without permission. I turned slowly, embarrassment burning in my chest as I watched his face change almost immediately.
He sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling.
“What’s that bad smell?” he asked.
My throat tightened. I bit down on my lip, my hands curling into fists. I knew the smell was coming from me. From my room. From my body. From this sickness that was slowly destroying me. But how was I supposed to say that out loud?
Before I could force myself to speak, the door opened again.
“Mr. Landlord,” my mom’s voice rang out as she stepped inside.
Relief washed over me so fast my knees nearly gave out.
Thank God.
She came just in time.
“Because you told me you would give me my payment two days ago,” he snapped, turning toward her. “And I haven’t seen anything. It’s either you pay me tonight or you both are leaving. Look at what you’re doing to my place.”
“Relax,” my mom said quickly, forcing a smile as she dug into her purse. “There’s no need for that. I have your payment right here. And your place is still fine, it’s just my daughter — she’s been sick lately. I’ll even pay extra for that.”
She pulled out a small bundle of cash and handed it to him.
I watched silently as he counted the money right there in front of us, his expression unreadable. Once he was done, he stuffed it into his pocket and turned without another word, walking straight out the door.
I closed it behind him and leaned against it, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
At least that storm had passed.
“Mom,” I said quietly, turning to her. “Where did you get that money from?”
“Business was good today,” she replied immediately. “I had a lot of customers.” Her eyes moved over me critically. “You shouldn’t be standing. Why are you here?”
“I was hungry,” I admitted. “I went to the kitchen but there was nothing.”
“I ordered takeout on my way back,” she said. “It should be here any moment.”
I nodded, then slowly made my way to a chair and lowered myself into it, my body aching with the effort. Once I was seated, I looked up at her.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically before sitting beside me. “What do you want to talk about now?”
“My health,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm. “Can’t you see? I’m not getting better. I can’t live like this. That medication the stupid doctor brings every morning — it’s not working. And you know it.”
Her jaw tightened. “Okay,” she snapped. “So what else do you expect me to do?”
The edge in her voice made my chest tighten, but I pushed on.
“Get me the right medication,” I said. “We already know what’s wrong with me. Hepatitis C. We need the right medicine before it kills me.”
“You think I’m not trying?” she shot back. “You know how expensive it is. We’ve had this conversation before. I can’t just walk into a hospital and request medication without paying.”
Hearing her say that made panic flood my chest. My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the chair. I knew the price was high. I knew we couldn’t afford it now, but doing nothing felt like a death sentence.
We couldn’t just sit back and watch me die.