I was discharged as soon as I completed the required twenty-four hours of clinical observation. Gavin took over speaking for me, so all the questions about me were directed to him. They gave me an injection, explaining it was a booster dose of iron since I was anemic. They also provided specific instructions about the supplements I should take once a day for at least a week. They brought out papers with my test results and continued talking avidly about my physical health. But no one dared to touch on the subject of mental health, at least not around me.

Dr. Solloman came in shortly after, greeting Gavin with affection and solidarity. Then he came directly to me and quietly began talking to me about the excellent psychological services the hospital had. He said they would be there, waiting for me when I was ready, and they would do whatever was necessary for my well-being. I didn’t respond, just kept swinging my legs in a repetitive motion. He didn’t seem to mind my apparent indifference. He nodded positively to me and Gavin and left. The nurses followed him out.

Gavin came over to me with a sad smile. I looked at him.

“Are you ready to go?”

I touched my loose hospital shirt, and he mentioned he had bought some clothes for me. I blinked, surprised, as I hadn’t even noticed his absence. Perhaps he had asked someone to deliver the purchases.

He went over to a large brown paper bag I hadn’t noticed before and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt. There was also a pair of small black slippers that would fit my size 36 feet perfectly.

Before I could stop myself, my body betrayed me. I started to smile, just a slight lift of the lips, which quickly faded. He noticed, of course, and smiled back with all his teeth.

“I’m glad you like them.”

Like last time, I went to the bathroom with the American with excellent taste in women’s clothes trailing behind. He stayed facing away, blocking the view of the door, while I changed. I noticed he had also discreetly included underwear with the jeans. It was cotton, beige, and comfortably sized. There was also a matching bra. I tried to feel the embarrassment that should have made my cheeks flush, but I couldn’t. I only felt a strange gratitude.

Fully dressed, I looked at him and cleared my throat to let him know I was ready. He turned around and seemed satisfied with what he saw. Then he handed me the slippers, which I put on slowly. It felt strange to be wearing clean, new clothes, and for my skin to smell of soap. It was almost like not being completely dead.

We left the room. He didn’t touch me but stayed close enough to catch me if anything happened. We passed by the pharmacy annexed to the large, pristine, chlorine-scented space, and I waited patiently for him to pick up the necessary medicines. Medicines I could take later... In large quantities and end everything once and for all.

“I’m taking you back to my apartment,” he said as soon as the pharmacist was out of earshot, fetching the medications.

I kept staring into the void, hands now in my jeans pockets. He continued:

“I’ve set everything up there to make you comfortable. I’ll buy more clothes for you, and I’ll take care of the food. You don’t need to do anything, just eat, bathe, and take your medication. You don’t have to leave. Stay as long as you want.”

He had to be joking. Was he saying I could use his resources indefinitely? And why? Did he really think he had saved me from death once and for all?

As if reading my thoughts, he sighed and continued softly. I loved the slight accent that accompanied his words.

“I know you must be scared and confused. After all, we don’t know each other. But I know you need help, and I want to help you. I don’t want to see you hurt or... feel that you need to see the end as the only solution.”

I started trembling and swallowed hard. He came closer, hands raised again. It seemed to be his new habit and method to calm me whenever he saw the unmistakable signs from my body.

“Stay calm. Don’t worry about anything. You’re my responsibility now; let me make the decisions for you. You’re safe.”

His words were identical to Donovan’s. And as absurd as the idea of being safe was, at that moment, I let them sound like the truth. I made direct eye contact. His eyes were shining. Seconds passed, but they felt like minutes.

He kept staring at me. It was easy to get lost in the intensity and unspoken words, but I remained firm, simply conveying that, for now, I would comply with his request. Or was it an order? He was a wealthy and influential businessman, and now he was taking charge of things.

No. I wasn’t just a business inconvenience. Not to him and not to Donovan.

So, what was I?

The question lingered in the air. Our contact was broken by the return of the pharmacist with the bottles of medicine and various blister packs of pills.