Chapter 2

"Jasmine Delgado, you're gambling with your own life."

The attending physician walked in holding all my test reports.

His brows were knit tight, his face ashen, and he slapped the reports down on the bedside table.

"Your heart rate spiked as high as 180, and your blood pressure blew straight past the danger line."

"This isn't desensitization at all. This is deliberate, murder-by-accumulated-trauma."

I leaned back against the pillow, listening numbly.

"The nerve in your right leg is damaged again."

The doctor pointed at the scan, his tone heavy.

"This forced exposure has already triggered a relapse of severe PTSD."

"Any more stress could be life-threatening."

When he saw I gave no response, the doctor sighed and left.

The ward door was pushed open.

My dad and James walked in, one behind the other.

James saw my pale face and asked gently.

"How are things? Any better?"

I held the real diagnostic report straight out to him.

"See for yourself!"

My dad snatched it away and gave it a careless glance.

"Torn nerve in the right leg? Severe PTSD?"

He sneered, crumpled the report into a ball, and threw it on the floor.

"Jasmine, are you paying for fake medical records to run away from reality?"

My dad jabbed his finger at me.

"Your mother passed early, so I had to be both father and mother to you."

"When you got bullied at school, how did I teach you?"

"Dad's here, don't be afraid. When you hit hard times, you face them head-on."

He glared at me, disappointed I hadn't turned out tougher.

"And now look at you, playing dead at the first little setback."

I looked at my dad.

The man who once shielded me behind him was now driving the knife into my wound with his own hand.

A flicker of hesitation crossed James's eyes as he reached up and gently wiped the tears from the corner of my eye.

"Jasmine, are you really hurting this much?"

After wiping my tears, he laid his hand across my mouth.

"If it hurts, bite me. As long as it heals you, I'll hurt right along with you."

Myrtle's voice rang out.

"James, Mr. Delgado."

"I've brought the assessment plan from abroad."

Myrtle walked up to the bed and handed the file to James.

"I consulted a top expert at the Johns Hopkins University Psychology Lab for this."

"A plan tailored specifically for Jasmine."

James took the folder and opened it.

It was packed densely with English jargon and flashy charts.

"It's written out very clearly here."

Myrtle pointed to one line of text.

"The initial physical rejection and mild self-harm are all stage-by-stage victories."

"The bleeding shows her psychological defenses are reorganizing."

James gave the report in his hand a quick look.

Then he looked at me, every trace of tenderness gone from his eyes.

"Myrtle went to all this trouble to make a plan for you."

"And you try to fool us with those alarmist fake medical records?"

I stared hard at that report.

There were obvious watermark traces along the edges of the layout.

Some of the English translations even carried the stiff feel of machine translation.

But I said nothing.

My chest heaved violently, and tears fell in strings down my collar.

I stared numbly at these three self-righteous people.

Calling for help was pointless now.

They only believed what they wanted to believe.

My dad patted Myrtle on the shoulder.

"Myrtle, thank you for all your hard work this time."

"Jasmine doesn't know any better. Don't take it to heart."

Myrtle waved her hands again and again, smiling sweetly.

"Mr. Delgado, Jasmine is my best friend. This is the least I can do."

Seeing that I was fine, the three of them turned and left to attend to their own affairs.

The ward went quiet again.

I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling.

There was a knock at the door.

Saul stood in the doorway, wearing a trench coat.

He walked into the ward, his gaze falling on my leg.

"I've got a rough picture of your situation."

He pulled over a chair and sat down, then took a blank power of attorney out of his briefcase.