Without his grip holding me up, I crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. The last thing I heard before blacking out was the panicked shouting of the doctor and the sound of footsteps fading away.
I woke up to the smell of disinfectant.
The hospital room was bathed in cold white light. Jonathan sat nearby, typing away on his laptop.
Noticing I'd woken, he closed it and picked up a bowl of porridge from the bedside table.
He scooped up a spoonful and held it to my lips, his movements stiff like he was just checking off a task.
I turned my head slightly. "I can feed myself."
The porridge was warm but caught in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
Jonathan watched me struggle to swallow. His brow furrowed deeper with every bite.
Just as I reached for a fifth spoonful, he suddenly pressed down on my hand.
"The doctor said you still need more blood. Things got a bit rushed back at the villa. That's why we took so much. You can … "
"No need," I cut him off. "I'm not dying."
A blank look flashed across Jonathan's face as if he wasn't used to my rejection.
Silence stretched between us until he finally spoke again. "Your phone's been ringing nonstop."