(GAVIN)

I had no way of expressing the pain, compassion and need for protection that had taken hold of me.

Ever since I had taken her in my arms at the moment that could have been her last, I had been acting in the most protective way I could. Even though I was scared and distressed, I knew I had to prioritize her safety and mental stability.

I was going to see Dr. Solloman that afternoon, too. He was the best therapist I'd ever seen, and he helped Donovan in a way that made all the difference. I was sure he could help the girl too, even if she was now in such shock that she couldn't even speak. Donovan himself would agree with that, too, that she needed medical attention.

Mentally broken people often take it out on their own bodies after a while. Some eat non-stop, others eat too little; others are on the verge of exhaustion on purpose, drink too much, smoke excessively. There are various ways of showing breakdown, some more subtle than others. But self-mutilation was the worst, in my opinion. It was the most direct, crude and cruel way to punish yourself, leaving horrible scars in the process.

Her arms were thin, but you could see that most of her forearm up to her wrist was riddled with horizontal lines. Not just scars, but very recent reddish stripes. It was an old habit, it seemed, and yet it wasn't enough. Cutting her own arm relieved her for a while, but even that wasn't effective.

... She had chosen death.

In fact, "choose" is an inappropriate and meaningless word, since no one dies by choice; many give up because they see no way out, and desperation causes them to take such actions. How desperate was she? Could I help her? Was there really a way to make her live?

I wanted her alive. I really did.

I put the slices of bread in the toaster and put the cups on the table. I hadn't had anyone over for a while, and all this domestic preparation took me by surprise. Good to know I was still a good host.

As soon as I picked up the thermos and started pouring the coffee, I had a terrible jolt.

I shouldn't have left her alone.

It was simple: I had left a girl who had almost committed suicide the night before in a closed environment, far from any supervision, with a relatively easy way to finish what she had started right in front of her. A cruel and explicit invitation, one I hadn't anticipated. The despair that rose in my throat seemed to suffocate me.

My hands broke out in a cold sweat as I dropped everything and ran to the bathroom. I didn't bother knocking on the door, I just opened it at once.

Horror. Hellish horror.

No.

No.

No!!!

The water in the bathtub was dirty, not just with dirt and the like, but with obvious traces of blood.

And inside it, the blurred but unmistakable image of a drowned body. A few bubbles were bursting on the surface.

The world simply stopped spinning.