I would have jumped out of bed if it were physically possible, " You changed my clothes?!"

He automatically inched away from the bed and imperturbably responded, " You've been unconscious for almost two days in this very room of a house that apparently belongs to a complete stranger, your own words, and this is your biggest concern?"

After taking a quick look at me, he perchance realized I was still appalled.

He scoffed, " I didn't change your clothes. The housekeepers helped with that. Female housekeepers. And I have better things to do than that. This is my first time coming to this room after bringing you here from the bridge, which was such an easy chore, as you can imagine. "

I awkwardly cleared my throat and quietly said, " That's okay then, I guess."

He simply raised his eyebrows in amusement and slowly turned to leave. As my stinky luck would have it, that is when it occurred to me that I needed to use the washroom and there was not one in the room from the looks of it. Must be the IV fluids.

Although admittedly I was embarrassed and still uneasy with this man around, I blurted out before he could exit, " Excuse me... um...I really need to use the loo please."

Even though he was standing with his back facing me, I could tell that he was laughing inwardly. Did I just say loo? Loo?! Have I ever used the word loo in my life before? Did I truly break my brain? Honestly, even if I did, is the word this funny to him?... ugh.

He turned back to face me and simply smirked, "When our housekeepers come back from the grocery store, I will ask one of them to take you to the loo, so in about 20 minutes or so."

As much as I wanted to smother him with a pillow, I could not wait 20 minutes. So, I put on a smile and emphasized, "Um...thank you but if you can just tell me where the washroom is, I can just go now by myself."

"Alright. You just go out of this door and take a right. Keep walking and you will see an exceptionally beautiful fountain. Don't stare at it for too long because you might get lost. Take a left from there and go down the second stairs you see on the way. It will take you to a corridor. The guest loos are there." His weak attempt to hide the smug smile made it more obvious that he was just messing with me at this point.

Right, I will magically walk all the way there with all these injuries by myself. Does he have to behave this way when I am like this? It made me furious—not just at him, but at everything.

The anger wasn’t really about him—I hardly knew the man. It was about the unbearable, exponentially increasing weight I’d been carrying for so long. A dam inside me had burst, and now, every raw, jagged piece of my brokenness came rushing to the surface. I realized, with a sharp sting, that the feelings that had led me to that bridge—those dark, suffocating emotions—were still there.

Yes, I’d survived. Yes, I’d been pulled back from the brink. But survival doesn’t erase the scars, does it? The wounds of my past were still etched deep, unhealed, and screaming for attention, reminding me that a second chance at life doesn’t mean the pain vanishes.

My heart began to beat faster than before.

He must have felt something was off as I did nothing but look vacantly at the doorway past him. He carefully articulated, "Maybe you hit your head too hard and your sense of humor is gone. Anyway, I do have a bit of time to waste now, so follow me. I will show you the washroom."

Tears were welling up in my eyes. I did not want to reply to him, even though I heard his voice as clear as day. Without making any eye contact with him intentionally, I silently dragged myself to the side of the bed and slowly got off to stand on the floor. I could not tell if I was actually shaking or if it was all in my head. Am I having a panic attack now or what?

Both my legs gave away at once.

Right then, there were two hands holding me up by my arms. It seemed like I had still yet to recover from the cold from being out on the bridge because his hands felt like the autumn sun on my skin. The warmth ran up my arms, and down to my torso in pulses. Surprised, I inadvertently looked up at him. His face was closer than I would have guessed; I was staring directly into his eyes.

"I think you are having a panic attack. It will be okay. Focus on one thing and breathe. Count steadily from one to five on each in-breath and each out-breath."

Much to my own astonishment, I followed obediently and took a deep breath. 1.. He had this light, citrus musk scent with hints of vanilla that was washing over me in waves. 2... One would not be able to notice it if they were not standing this close, but his eyes had beautiful tinges of black and mocha around his pupils. 3... The eyes were doe-like and rounder than I had initially thought and almost enthralling. 4... Nonetheless, unlike his hands, the eyes felt cold. 5... And, oddly, in contrast to the rest of his face, there were bags under his eyes as if he had not slept in days.

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He added, " Now, let it out slowly and count to 5 while you do so."

I let out my breath slowly while counting again. I wonder if he has his own history too, maybe like mine -- who knows.

I was no longer trembling. He took his hands off me carefully and stepped back. Whatever spell had swept over me when I was in close proximity to him ended. My heart was still pounding but for a different reason possibly.

I looked away instinctively.

I knew he did not have to help me calm down. He could have left me by asking me to rest and to handle myself on my own. That would have been understandable too. Maybe he's not a bad person. Maybe he's like a gangster, who is not a jerk?...

So, I mumbled only loud enough for him to hear a little, "I am okay now. Thank you for that. "

He gave his signature shrug and moved away to my left. Sliding his right hand into his sweatpants pocket, he motioned towards the door with the other one. While still avoiding looking at him, I took a step. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from yelping because of the sharp pain. Apparently standing was not the main issue here -- trying to walk was what undoubtedly hurt the most.

The man must have again noticed the expression on my face because he dryly offered, "You can hold on to my arm to relieve some of the weight off of your legs if you want. I am not gonna sue you for it."

I was not sure if it was my meaningless pride or the fact that I was embarrassed that I was unwantedly showing vulnerabilities to this stranger again and again -- whether it was being discovered by him on the bridge in a nightmarish state or almost crying in front of him -- but I simply shook my head. I did not look up to see his reaction and bit my tongue to take another step toward the door. It stung worse this time. I somehow stopped the grunt from escaping my mouth.

I kept my head down, closed my eyes, and held my breath to balance and take the next step -- still refusing to look at the man.

He had a fleeting tone of urgency in his voice when he said this time, "Okay, you don't have to hold my arm. I am going to hold you up. If you don't like it, feel free to shove my hands away."

His right hand reached out for me and hesitated for a moment as if still waiting for my permission, despite his words. That made me meet his eyes. There was no mischief in what he said this time. This is so stupid. I should just take the help when I clearly need it and it's being offered.

I pushed my unease aside.

When I nodded, he calmly expressed, "Hmm, I don't think that carrying you would be a good idea due to your other wounds. I think the best way would be to have you lean on me so there's less pressure on your legs as you walk."

Soon, I felt his right arm across my back; his right hand held me by my hip on my right side. Using his other hand, he tucked the back of my left shoulder into the front of his right shoulder so that I can shift my weight. Finally, he offered his left hand for added support.

The only problem was that, in a flash, I was too aware of how physically close we were and was not sure anymore how to shift my weight toward him. Before I could continue struggling in my mind, he said "You can just think of me like a wall and just lean against me, so you can just take my hand, here. "

I was fairly sure my cheeks were starting to get flushed as I started to feel that warmness again as if emanating from him and into me. This was unknown territory for me. Yet, I followed accordingly and held his left hand with mine. The warmth of his hand settled snugly against the cold of mine. I gently leaned against him, visibly trying not to put too much pressure on him, worrying if I was making him uncomfortable.

Probably after reading my body language, he casually shared, " You can lean a bit more you know. I am not the one who is hurt with like a million injuries. In fact, I am very fit and quite athletic, so frankly, it is a little insulting if you think I will collapse under your weight. So, yeah just be comfortable, and let's walk when you are ready. "

Even though I had probably turned into a tomato at that point, I was still grateful that he was comfortable saying things like that since otherwise I would still be very awkward.

As we attentively walked towards the door, the pain much more manageable now, it came to my mind that I did not know his name or who he was. I peeked at him; since he was much taller than me, my head was basically against his chest. He was facing down, concentrating on my feet -- probably to make sure I did not step on him.

I hesitatingly asked, "So who are you? Like your name? You never shared your name."

Although I was looking ahead, I could tell that his eyes had shifted to my face. " You didn't either. Do you remember yours? "

" I asked -"

" Don't tell me that you are going to say you asked first so I must answer first."

Okay... he is still quite annoying. Anyway, I should still get to know his name, that is, if he says the truth.

I put on a sarcastic smile, " Hi, my name is Zara...just Zara. And who are you? "

He abandoned my left hand to open the door.

"Zara... Nice. " I could not decipher his tone as he returned to holding my hand. "Well, honestly, given the circumstances and all, I can't say it's nice to meet you, Zara but I am glad that it looks like you will not be dying on my watch, at least. And my name is Kai. Just Kai. "

Kai. The name rolled around in my mind, familiar yet foreign, carrying an air of gravity I couldn’t place.

" Well, frankly, I am not sure about this situation or you, Kai, but thank you anyway for helping out so far. "

We had exited the room by then.

"As I said, it was in some way, the least problematic way to be out of this situation so there's no need to feel so much gratitude toward me. Also, I should let--"

" Yeah, yeah. You have made that abundantly clear, " I pursed my lips and retorted.

"Well, that's a surprise. She has a sassy side. I told you. The ones that look the quietest turn out to be the most surprising. And not to jinx it, but have you seen Kai complying with someone this nicely before on the first encounter? Miracles happen after all. ", a bright voice rang through the air, followed by a mix of chuckles and short-lived laughter.

My eyes shot away from Kai to the source of all this.

Without missing a beat, my jaw dropped.

What the actual hell?

We had left the room I was in and were now standing in an expansive drawing room, at the other end of which, there was a set of sofas amongst other things. Sitting in them were four men -- four, young men other than Kai. Four men wearing black clothes just like him. Four men with ethereal looks like him. Four men who gave me chills from the first glance, just as he did.

My stomach twisted.