CHAPTER SIX: NOT TOO LATE TO DIE

The hospital smelt like bleach and sickness.

It was the kind of smell that stuck to your clothes and clung to your skin long after you left.

I hate hospitals. Always had.

They make me sick, like I was breathing in someone else’s last moments.

Everywhere I looked, there were white walls and tired faces. People waiting. People crying. People dying.

Hospitals were like pre-graves, place where you come to wait for the end.

I didn’t stay for even a second.

I left her there without a word.

She could sort herself out.

By the time I got back to the house, the air felt heavier.

The doors closed behind me, muting the world outside. Empty halls stretched in every direction, lined with cold marble floors that reflected the dim lights. The silence here was different, controlled. Owned.

I walked straight to the kitchen.

Eggs. Toast. Black coffee. I ate in silence, staring at the empty chair across the table.

I love silence.

It was why I usually discharge the staffs by nightfall. Their footsteps wer