(GAVIN)

My hands are trembling at the wheel. Nervous, I try to slow down to avoid causing an unnecessary accident and complicating my situation even further. I knew Donovan could be unpleasant when he wanted to be, but even when he was upset, he could still think, calculate, and destabilize me with ease. It was no surprise that he knew what could make my tongue slip, nor what my weaknesses were, given the time we'd spent together. Even so, I was shaken by our little argument. I dare say that this was the real reason for my stress, not the sudden loss of a member of the Urus.

He was completely right. My suspicions were quite strong, yet I hadn't said anything. Not because I wanted to withhold information on purpose, but because it could cause discord between us. Mainly: the fact that either of us liking her in that way still didn't change that until two weeks ago, she hadn't said anything about feeling something for us. We could be just enchanted unilaterally, getting things mixed up and feeding on illusions. We could be misinterpreting the signs and confusing everything.

When Amanda told me she was in love with me but also with Donovan, I felt both happiness and sadness at the same time. It was wonderful to know that my feelings were reciprocated, that her affection for me was mutual. However, the fact that Donovan was also in the equation ruined everything. In the end, one of us would be the one to belong to her heart entirely, and the idea of competing with the man who had helped me my whole life seemed unfair and cruel. It wasn't my fault that those things had happened, and it wasn't Amanda's fault for being torn between us. In her situation, it was quite understandable that all this care and joint attention would awaken these feelings.

Donovan's anger, the way he said I knew nothing about strength and how I couldn't take a single step without consulting him first... Maybe they were just destabilizing words, said in a moment of heightened emotions and lack of logical reasoning. But they could also be phrases motivated by a deep wound, perhaps some kind of resentment that had never been properly addressed.

It's clear that I feel guilty for having not spoken to him properly for two weeks. And yes, I didn't want to talk about Amanda out of pure selfishness and fear. Fear of him getting closer to her, fear of her confessing her feelings to him. If a woman could choose only one of these guys, why would she choose me? I was just a silly, sentimental coward. I didn't have the boldness, leadership, or confidence that Donovan always displayed, no matter where he was or who he was dealing with.

Amanda was special to me. She was a sweet, sensitive, attractive, and intelligent girl who had been destroyed by such appalling and condemnable miseries that they had cost her voice, her sanity, and even her life. That night on Botafogo beach, if I hadn't stopped because of Donovan, there would have been a body floating among the rocks; just another unfortunate and sorrowful act committed in the Marvelous City. Amanda would have died anonymously, far from everything and everyone, and would never be remembered. A face without a name, without an identity, without anything.

I didn't just want to take care of her and watch her leave. I mean, of course, I would like to watch her recover and take control of her own life, establishing her space and place in the world. But it would be incredible, wonderful if she decided to do that with me by her side. Yes, I wanted Amanda for myself, but Amanda belonged to no one.

I could never force her to stay with me, and I also didn't want to win this dispute with arguments. After all, let's face it, I would lose if that were the case and Donovan would easily come out on top. In the end, I just hoped she would be truly happy, take care of herself, love herself, and regain what she lost. If all that was possible, even if she didn't stay with me, I could bear it. Maybe.

I don't avoid a tear escaping furtively from one of my eyes as I think, astonished, that it's the first time in many years that Donovan and I are on opposite sides instead of cooperating. And I don't like it at all. This situation won't help us, much less help Amanda, who will surely resent not being able to see him due to my foolishness in not playing fair from the start.

And with all this strange problem forming at the company, this tension between us could really jeopardize everything. It wasn't the time for us to be at each other's throats like two animals. We needed to be united against the adversities that would soon arise.

I stop at a traffic light. I look at the clock once again, trying to calculate how long I've been out and imagining ways to make it up to Amanda. I also wonder if it would be good to tell her about the little argument I had with Donovan. Would hiding that from her hurt her? Or should the truth, no matter how unpleasant, be told to avoid more bitterness?

The light turns green. I haven't made a decision yet as I drive the last few meters to get home.

. . . . . . . . .

(AMANDA)

After all this time, after countless consultations, partial overcoming of barriers, stimulating and explanatory conversations, visible improvements, and a lot of concentration and dedication, I am once again immersed in the bathtub.

The water is murky and covers almost my entire body, leaving only my neck and head exposed. My hair is wet and properly washed with shampoo and conditioner. The foam and bath salts have such pleasant aromas that it's impossible to feel bad. I'm confident that I won't have a crisis, and in fact, this was a true test of my strength. I wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn't succumb again to those feelings of exhaustion and horror, that the intensive therapy every Thursday was really producing results.

I've been here for ten minutes, and the contact of the water with my skin is relaxing. I sigh. It's good to be able to do something like this after so long. The Voices stopped whispering and roaring a long time ago, and Dr. Solloman himself said that the trend was for improvement. In fact, the kind American gentleman was very happy with my progress. He emphasized that I would still need more consultations, obviously, but that with my recent achievements, we could move forward a phase more quickly than the usual time.

I, however, avoided touching on a very delicate subject: the triangle that had emerged between me and the wonderful men who were dedicating themselves to me. It was very strange to give personal details about that, given that the renowned therapist was an old acquaintance of both. And not wanting to affirm anything, but this kind of information could be completely harmful if it reached the wrong ears. Both were great businessmen and influential figures, you never knew when someone could say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Silence was completely preferable in this situation.

Lost in thought, I barely hear the apartment door open and the clinking of keys taking over the environment. Gavin's footsteps seem hurried when he calls me:

"Amanda?"

I tap the bathtub three times, our sign of trust and proof that everything is fine. Then he knocks on the bathroom door three times back.

I take a deep breath once. Twice. I focus enough to know that everything is fine, then I open my mouth.

"You can come in."

Promptly, Gavin enters the bathroom and stops in the same spot. I can clearly see his thoughts: he's in shock that I'm in the bathtub. Slowly, he approaches and sits right next to me on the toilet lid. Now it's he who seems unable to speak. I notice his pink cheeks and the drumming of his fingers on his jeans.

I remain still, also looking at him. I wait for him to take the time he needs to organize his thoughts.

"You..." he finally says, quite hesitant. "You're speaking again. Are you feeling okay?"

"I am. Are you?"

The man seems slightly uncomfortable and looks at his own feet.

"Not exactly."

"Problems at the company?"

"Yes... We had a setback. That by itself may not mean anything, but it could also be a sign of bigger problems ahead. Only time will tell." He says, then plunges into a new silence.

Taking all necessary care, I move through the bathtub and go closer to him, right at the opposite end. My movements seem to hypnotize him, but now he looks away more frequently. He's very distressed.

"I'm sure you guys will manage to solve this without major difficulties," I try to offer support.

"I also hope so, Amanda." He finally looks at me again. There's a tinge of guilt and distress there. "How's the water?"

"It's great," I smile.

"And... you didn't..."

"No triggers have been set off so far, and I'm feeling quite comfortable."

He seems to accept it well and nods. In silence, I see him going to one of the cabinets and grabbing a bottle that looks like liquid soap. Then he looks at me and asks, a shy smile on his lips:

"Can I put some on your back?"

Shyly, I nod. I rest my back and close my eyes. Then I feel his hands on my back, delicate and soft, yet firm. The liquid soap smells like coconut, and I make a face.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like coconut."

His giggle is almost tinkling, like the chime of small bells.

"Oh, really? I didn't know that."

Then Gavin stops. I look at him.

"Do you want me to rinse you off and switch soaps, then?"

I readjust myself as I say:

"No, no. You can continue. I'm just not a big fan of the smell."

He resumes the gentle movements. We remain silent for a few seconds, and I'm completely absorbed in the sensations and shivers running

up my body. Then two hands are massaging and rubbing my neck.

"Where did you learn to do that?" My question sounds more like a murmur, and I fear he didn't understand. To my delight, however, he responds:

"I took some massage courses when I was younger."

"I see."

More silence. He asks:

"Are you comfortable?"

I respond with a drawn-out "mmhmm," making it clear how relaxed I am.

Gavin starts to pour water to rinse off the soap. I lean a little more forward to help him. I notice his hesitation upon seeing the full extent of my back, but he says nothing. I know he must be wondering how each scar appeared, but I wasn't ready to talk about that yet. Fortunately, there were no embarrassing questions about the marks, and I silently thanked him for that.

Once I'm completely rinsed and free of any traces of the liquid soap, Gavin asks:

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

I return to my original position and answer, looking at him:

"No."

"Do you want to talk?"

"...I do."

I think for a bit, choosing the right way and the correct words so as not to hurt him. I play with the wet curls that fall over my shoulders.

"Did you and Donovan have a falling out?"

. . . . . . .

(DONOVAN)

I didn't go home.

I'm sitting on the bench in the square near Donovan's apartment, the very same one where Amanda told us a small part of her story two weeks ago. Sullen and annoyed, I can only think about how quickly I lost my temper and how everything could have gotten much worse. The words exchanged between us left me ashamed and angry. But it was more than that, his reaction when he left seemed very distinct. A hidden message.

What did she say when Gavin confessed his feelings for Amanda?

"You'll have to ask her that."

It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't a taunt. His eyes were sad, almost as if the answer itself wasn't as satisfying to him as he thought it would be.

I remember for the umpteenth time the day I almost kissed the beautiful girl. How her eyes stared at me, not with anger, but waiting and analyzing every inch of me. However, that paralyzing fear that still gripped her body... I could never touch her knowing she still felt that way.

Has this barrier also been temporarily destabilized now that she discovered she could speak?

Did Gavin manage to do what I couldn't? Take that step?

I breathe slowly.

Whether I like it or not, he was right about one thing. I could no longer hide, nor wait for a miracle to happen to tell her what I felt. Regardless of her answer, the least I owed her was my sincerity and total transparency. Amanda was special to me. I couldn't imagine doing anything harmful to her, even unintentionally.

I decide, then. I don't care if it seems inappropriate, and if Gavin knows what's good for him, he'll give me the time and space I need to talk to Amanda. I know him, I know he would never make an unnecessary scene in front of her, especially since it would only hinder her recovery. However, I also doubt he wouldn't position himself strategically, listening to our entire conversation. I need to be bold and take a step ahead of the line.

Once I have my goal set, I stand up from the bench and look at the clock. Quarter to four. They were probably having a snack at this time.

I start heading towards Gavin's apartment.