“Good. A strong support system is critical during recovery.” She looked at Rook. “And you're?—?”
“Rowan Kincaid,” Rook said. “We're—” He hesitated, and I saw him searching for the right word. “We're together.”
“He's my boyfriend,” I added, because watching Rook try to explain our situation was both endearing and painful. “And he's been letting me stay with him since I got out.”
Dr. Patel smiled. “That's good. Having a safe, stable environment is important. Rowan, do you have any questions or concerns?”
Rook leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How do I know if he's getting worse? What should I be watching for?”
“Increased isolation, changes in sleep or appetite, giving away possessions, talking about being a burden, any kind of goodbye language. If you notice any of those things, you call the crisis line immediately or bring him to the ER. Don't wait.” She turned back to me. “And Soren, if you're feeling unsafe, you need to tell someone. That's non-negotiable.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. This isn't about willpower or toughing it out. This is about survival, and survival sometimes means asking for help before you think you need it.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The rest of the appointment was logistics—follow-up bloodwork in two weeks, another check-in with Dr. Patel in a month, instructions to avoid certain medications that could interact badly with my system. Rook asked a few more questions, taking mental notes with the same focus he brought to studying game tape, and by the time we left I felt wrung out and slightly nauseous.
We didn't talk muchon the drive to Dr. Lin's office. Rook kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console where I could reach it if I wanted to, and I spent most of the ride staring out the window at the gray Toronto sky and trying not to think about how many more appointments like this were in my future.
Dr. Lin's was waiting in her usual chair in her office when I came in, a mug of tea balanced on the armrest and her notebook already open on her lap. When she saw me, her expression softened in a way that made me want to bolt.
“Soren,” she said. “I'm glad you're here.”
“Yeah, well. Rook wouldn't let me skip.”
“You want me to come in, or you want me to wait?” Rook said from behind me.
I looked at Dr. Lin, then back at Rook. “Can you—would you come in for a few minutes? Just at the end, maybe?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He squeezed my shoulder once, then headed back down the hallway to the waiting room. I watched him go, then forced myself to step inside and close the door behind me.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Lin asked once I'd settled into my usual chair.
“Like I got hit by a truck, backed over a few times, and then someone made me fill out forms about it.”
She smiled faintly. “That sounds about right. You've had a hard few days.”
“That's one way to put it.”
“How was the hospital follow-up?”
“Fine. The doctor asked a lot of questions I didn't want to answer.”
“But you answered them anyway.”
“Yeah.”
“That took courage.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “It took Rook staring at me like a disappointed dad. Same thing, really.”
“Is he taking good care of you?”
The question made my throat tight. “Too good. He's been hovering like I'm gonna shatter if he looks away. It's kind of ridiculous.”
