Dear friend,

Forgive me for what happened before, I was called over by one of the staff members of this establishment and had to take care of certain things.

I’m feeling a tad less nervous than in my previous entry, but I’ll write more on that later.

To continue from where I left off: David and I were outside enjoying each other’s company. The reason for our trip was that I’d suggested we dine out at least once whilst he was staying over.

The plan was that I’d treat David to whatever he wanted on a restaurant’s menu, and then, if he felt up to it, we’d stop by the local theatre to watch a movie as well.

The closer we got to the restaurant, the more David seemed to grow unsettled. He was jumpy, and made the kind of face children do when they don’t want to go to the doctor. I asked him if he was feeling ill.

He shook his head. “I’m just really hungry,” was the only reply I managed to get out of him.

I don’t know if I can forgive myself for ignoring the gut feeling I had that something terrible was going to happen. It was a busy night, we had a good couple minutes before a waiter would come to take our order. I should have said something. I should have. And yet, I didn’t.

I hope David will forgive me for not looking out for him better.

I hope this will not have any repercussions on the future—his future.

“Do you come here a lot?” David leaned over the table covered by a white cloth. The candle between us made shadows dance across his face. “It seems…”—he cupped his hand over the side of his mouth—“expensive,” he whispered.

I shrugged. “It’s okay if you make a decent amount during the month,” I remember saying. “And you? Are you a seafood enthusiast?”

“I…” It was the first time since our initial meeting that I had ever seen him speechless. David rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm. The smile he wore seemed strained and unnatural. I parted my lips to ask him if the menu wasn’t to his liking, however, we were both interrupted by the waiter who’d returned to take our orders.

David quickly changed the subject. I wasn’t sure if I should bring it back up again. Maybe it made him think of his ex-girlfriend, or a dead relative, I thought. I shouldn’t press him any more for answers.

He ordered vegetable soup. It was something the chef had on hand for the eventual vegetarian that happened to step in here, but they did not cook it often. The waiter was making the kind of face that implied David shouldn’t be here. It made me want to leave. In fact, I did get up to leave. But David stopped me. He reached for my wrist and curled his fingers around it. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s just eat and go see the movie, okay?”

“But—” But he’s being patronizing to you! I didn’t bring you here so that some stranger could judge you on your culinary choices! We should leave! We should just get some food at the movie theatre and binge on that instead! I’ll take you someplace nicer tomorrow, I promise!—these are the words I wanted to say.

Yet, David interrupted me before I could. “No, really, it’s fine. I guess it is kind of weird. Me ordering the only thing that doesn’t have fish in it when it’s a seafood restaurant. I would have laughed, too. So don’t worry, I really don’t care.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.” If you say so, David, but I’m still angry.

The waiter arrived with our plates. I don’t remember what mine was, only that there was some crab in it with a side dish of seaweed served as salad. The most vivid memory in my mind is that damned vegetable soup, because when David started eating, it only took a few seconds before he was choking on his food and swelling up around his throat.

It all happened so fast. And everyone was screaming, and I was too afraid to scream, and nobody was calling a doctor. So I took out my phone, and I called them. I called the hospital. I told them, “Hurry up! He’s dying!” And it was so surreal, because it’s not like I really believed those words, yet, in a sense, I knew that David really would die if they left him this way.

I rushed to David’s side, I told him it would be all right. But will it really? Will they get here in time? Why doesn’t this damned restaurant have anything on hand just in case something like this happens?—the questions ran through my mind as tears soaked the side of David’s face; as he wheezed, and trembled in my arms.

A minute passed, maybe less than that. The ambulance still wasn’t here. I picked up my phone again. I called back. They said there was too much traffic, and that they were having trouble finding the place. Something snapped within me. I insulted them. I wanted to tell them again that my friend was dying, but David was still conscious and I didn’t want him to hear that. I didn’t want it to make it worse than it already was. Instead, I ran a hand through David’s hair. His whole body was soaked with sweat. I smiled at him, did my best to make it appear genuine. I gave his hand a squeeze, and I told him it would be all right again.

“Where are they?” I asked the woman on the phone.

“Two streets away,” she said. “They’ll be arriving soon, please stay put, miss.”

I hung up. I told the waiter—and some man who was maybe the owner—that I’ll be right back.

I must have knocked over a few people after I ran out of there, in fact, I don’t recall ever running so fast in my life. I crossed two streets without even checking if there were cars or not. The scenery was a blur. It was reckless. I was reckless. But it was worth it in my opinion, if it could save the man that I love.

I found the ambulance. I knocked on its door as if not only David’s, but my life also depended on it too. The people inside were pretty scared at first, I guess I didn’t look as civilized as I’d imagined I would. It seems there was some kind of miscommunication, and that they did not understand how serious the situation truly was. (Turns out a lot of people call and say someone is dying to make them come quickly, and that’s without taking prank calls into account…) Thankfully though, once they grasped hold of the situation as it truly was, one of them ran out and followed me with the necessary medication.

Even though David had passed out once we made it back to the restaurant, he was saved and soon taken to the hospital.

It hurts my heart to think of the moment where he lost consciousness. I wasn’t able to be there for him then. I left him alone, surrounded by strangers.

What triggered his reaction is still unclear, but I got the gist of it. It seems he was allergic to seafood—according to the nurse currently taking care of him—which is why David just ordered vegetable soup. Apparently, there were traces of whatever the cook had made beforehand in his soup, and well… you know the rest of the story, friend.

Part of me is glad I hadn’t ever eaten seafood before kissing David during his stay here… even so, it seems this didn’t prevent the worst from happening.

I can’t express what I’m feeling right now. It’s hard to think straight. I’m both angry and sad, and perhaps a little confused, too.

I wish he would have told me.

We were idiots to speak of sex before health.

I should have known this.

I hate myself for not asking.

The nurse is calling me again. Apparently David’s awake for real now. (Last time was just a false alert.)

I’m scared, but relieved all the same…

I suppose we’ll see what happens. For now, this is it, friend; until next time.

Yours,

Alexander