I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

30. stand down.

|◁ II ▷|

sza ft.ty dolla sign — hit different.

"OH, IT'S YOU?" Ebén's eyes were clear from the blur, and only then did his chest sink at the sight of the woman who had come to visit him.

He was hoping that she had been someone else.

Somebody in the body and form of certain brown-skinned, dripped in curls, cynical woman that he had spent hours making love to.

The visitor certainly wasn't that.

She was perceptive enough (especially with Ebén) to recognise the tinge of disappointment present in his voice as soon as she burdened him with her arrival — but didn't have the strength or the patience to demand answers about what she had seen.

She had wanted to ask him why he had been so quick to break his promise to her about giving this a go, when it was a decision that he arrived at, on his own accord. She wondered what had changed — in the space of 48 hours that left her, again, trying to scramble for his affection and not getting it.

Nope, she wasn't about to have this conversation.

He didn't want to either.

But his reluctance to have that conversation wasn't because of his injury — he had grown tired of pretending to give a single damn about her.

"I came as soon as I heard," Eben didn't swarm her with that criminal smile of his or show her slight affection that had made the trip down.

Instead, he spoke at Ezra coldly from his seated position, "Thanks, but you didn't need to come"

She didn't need to come? — She knew that she did, even though their lives were a battle of keeping up appearances. Though, she did have a professional vested interest in Ebén, the professional athlete, she did love and care about Ebén, the person, fondly.

More than he or anyone knew.

"Are you sayin' that you wish I didn't?"

"Yes," had been Ebén's one-worded reply who knew that her showing up was to present this guise that she had been this doting loving girlfriend, concerned about his safety — but she wasn't.

She never did miss the chance of a photo op.

"Ebén, let's not do th — "

As the door in Ebén's private hospital suite swung open, the unannounced strides of Dr. Batra intruded on the not-so-happy couple, "Morning?"

She was greeted back with a monotonous growl from Ebén who didn't share in her morning chipper.

"Morning."

She flipped Ebén's medical chart open that hung on the foot of his bed as she began to scribble down notes in preparation for his discharge, "Doses okay? How are you... given the circumstances?"

"Fine," Ebén didn't expand to explain his feelings any further but continued to sit, all stony-faced.

In silence.

"And you knee... isn't giving you too much trouble?"

"It's fine. Like I said," said Ebén, whose mood continued to sour after every passing minute.

Ezra jumped in to try and reset the mood by sounding as diplomatic as she could, as Ebén's 'own' spokesperson, "Sorry. He's a bit irritable this morning. I think it might be the morphine. He's not usually like this. Any news, Dr. Batra?"