I don’t know what to do. Regan is getting worse and worse. It almost came to blows between her and Tereza today at dinner. I’ve tried talking to Regan, but she won’t listen. I’ve told her about double and triple dosing, but she doesn’t seem to care, which is odd, because she’s been showing signs that the virus is affecting her in a bad way. All day long she’s been grabbing her stomach. She convinced Dr. Cruzie to let her out of group a few minutes early today because she was going to throw up. I asked Regan about it a few minutes ago:

Regan. It’s cool, man. No biggie. I just couldn’t listen to that windbag spout off any more of his nazi-crap. This whole place is a real drag, man. I gotta get something done, feel me? I gotta get out of here in a bad way.

Me. Please, please, just calm down. I’ve tried all that already, you can’t do anything. Just chill out and play it cool, please. You’re going to get us both triple-dosed and they’ll suspend my right to have visitors. Please, Regan, calm down, for me.

Regan. Oh, they won’t do that to me, don’t worry about me. I won’t let them. I’ve had it with this place and all their lame rules. I’m out, I swear to god. I’m out. They won’t touch me with that needle again.

Me. I thought the virus didn’t bother you?

Regan. You gotta play it so you’re in control, man. You should know that. But I’m done playing their game. It’s over, man, Oh-ver.

Me. Regan, please…

It went on like that, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I’m at my wits end. Something bad is going to happen and it looks like I’m powerless to stop it. Because of what she said, I’m really worried about tomorrow. Regan’s booster is in the afternoon. I’ve got to figure out some way to calm her down before then, or the next entry I write will probably be from the infirmary.

God, what am I going to do?