Noelani’s “I’m not talking to you!” would have been a great deal more scary had it not been uttered in a feeble, breathless whine and accompanied by the unmistakable retching sound that only comes when there is nothing left in your stomach. Taking his life into his own hands, Gordon pushed open the bathroom door, kneeling down beside her to push her hair back, placing a glass of water down on the floor beside her as she twisted her head and murmured, exhausted, “I hate you, you know that?”

Gordon reached out a hand to run over her hair, smiling as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch, and whispered, “I know... I hate me too.”