(?)

The guy called Gavin left, leaving me alone in the bathroom. It was absurdly clean and immaculate. A man like that probably didn't do housework, but I hadn't seen any servants yet. Maybe he'd dismissed them for taking me in. Yes... He must have disliked me, my hair, my clothes.

Slowly, I began to undress. I'd been wearing those clothes for a week, a month, a decade; it was hard to tell. At no point did I feel the urge to change them or even clean myself. After all, I was unworthy of things like that. I felt as filthy on the outside as I did on the inside.

I threw the clothes in the hamper, as he asked me to. I couldn't look down at what was left of my body. I was very ashamed of what had been done to him, but I had also mistreated him severely. An empty carcass: that was me. Someone who had once wanted to live, but now couldn't wait for the embrace of death.

Gavin and Donovan's interference came as a shock. I was determined to die, and yet they brought me here. They wanted to look after me - as far as I knew. Why would two rich foreigners care about something as insignificant as me?

They were very different physically. Donovan was a little taller, with a more robust complexion, black skin and onyx-black eyes. Gavin wasn't exactly strong, but he wasn't too thin either. He had slightly tanned skin, probably from spending too much time in the sun on Brazilian beaches, honey-blond hair and eyes as clear as sapphires.

American friends who had come here to prosper and rub it in everyone's face that they were very happy, rich and would never experience any kind of problem that they couldn't buy their way out of.

I got into the bathtub.

The water was hot and blurred the image of the destroyed expanse of my torso, arms and legs. On the cabinet next to it, as promised, were the cleaning components. I reached out for the mint-colored liquid soap, but didn't take it. I put my hand down.

It didn't make sense.

Take a shower? Why bother? Did it change anything in my life? Did it change the course of anything?

I wasn't such a fool. I knew that once Death chooses you, no matter how far you run, you can't escape. And I had a giant target painted in red on my back. There was no escape.

I looked at the water once more.

All the sounds of the world disappeared instantly.

The liquid wasn't transparent, but rather brownish. From the dirt that had stuck to my skin over the last few days, yes, but also from dried blood.

I raised my hands again and noticed my nails. They were chipped, uneven and with hints of brown on their tips.

A strong impulse began to arise in my mind. My heart beat faster and faster, and soon it was the only noise I could hear. My fingers flexed, as if they were going to grab someone.

The problem was that the prey... Was me.

Problem? That wasn't a problem.

I was a problem.

I shouldn't exist. I should be dead. My body should be floating in the sea, probably found by a clueless bather who didn't care about the terrible hygiene conditions of the place.

This had to come to an end. I refused to stay alive.

I refused.

I refused.

Refused.