“Wait, what?” I asked.

“Aren’t you happy?” he said. “Nothing is wrong with you, the hallucinations of this Aaron figure were just a side-effect of the new anaesthetic. And, besides, the anaesthetic hasn’t shown itself dangerous to your body, and as such is a net positive towards you. I expect it to be used for your future procedures.”

My mind completely blanked. “Hallucinations? Is that what you’re calling him? A damned hallucination?” I said.

“We have no evidence towards his existence,” he said. “And we don’t have access to the testing files for the anaesthetic. We can’t tell if there is an Aaron that it was also tested on.”

“So you’re just going to write him off?” I said. “Cast him away as an impossibility? Cast me away as a hallucinating nutter? Cast my emotion-hearing away as a hallucinating nutter, when it aligns so closely with real events?”

“Emotion-hearing?” he said. “The effect that you perceive to be aligning your own mind with others’ emotions?”

“Yeah,” I said. “What about that?”

“What waking time data we’ve had from the EEG, there seems to be nothing to suggest your mind reacting to anything else than reproducible physical effects. Nothing like emotion,” he said.

“How can that be?” I said. “I feel it. How is it not real?”

“Thought still isn’t described well using the scientific method,” he said. “What thought and emotion are is purely speculative, and not something we can do science with.”

“I’m telling you, doctor,” I said. “It’s real. He’s real.”

“Look, Jordan, if I may?” he said.

“Mhm,” I mumbled.

“I have to be a good scientist, Jordan. If I cannot measure something, if I can’t measure its effects, I have to assume the negative result. I have to assume he’s not there, and that you’re just perceiving the emotion-hearing,” he said.

He might as well have been right. I’ve had barely any success reading any of the medical staff. They were all cold, walled-off husks, with nothing to tell beyond their own expert, considered words. “How are you not measuring the hallucinations, then, if that’s what they are?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think I cannot find that out with what is available to me.”

“Have you tried putting me under again?” I said, looking for the final possible way out.

“I’ve asked permission,” he said. “Of course I have, only feeling this Aaron figure while under the influence of it is a strong ehough link that I felt compelled to explore it. However, use of experimental drugs has to be approved by a panel, and the panel respectfully said no, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“It is necessary, doctor,” I said. “I have to find the truth.”

“What you want from your life is none of my concern,” he said. “I’m here to find out what’s wrong with your body, and in that, this long-term observation has been a resounding success. As I said before, I’m not a detective.”

“Doctor,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “Please. Help me.”

“Don’t you think I have my own battles to fight? Paperwork every single day, and one mistake can cost me my job not just here, but anywhere else, ever. I can’t just put someone under an experimental drug willy-nilly and expect results,” he said. “I don’t want to risk your life.”

“Please,” I said, not moving my gaze. “Be human.”

At that moment, I felt his defences breaking down. For the first time, I felt emotion from a medical professional. I felt compassion. Only human.

“I’ll see what I can do. Meet me in my office in a week,” he said, and left the room.

Finally, I thought. Someone willing and able to help me. Left to pack my belongings, I looked around the room which had been my home for weeks. All the build-up of grit on the walls, all the mess that I’ve created, all of it will be gone, and someone else will be there to make it a mess again. I hobbled out of bed and onto my weak legs, and a nurse arrived to help me pack.

“It’s so wonderful you’re getting out, isn’t it?” she said.

“Ha, yeah,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing,” I said. “I just want life to start again.”

“Something is,” she said. “Don’t you want to Ieave?”

“Well, I don’t feel healthy yet, and doc Alexander doesn’t believe me,” I said. “How’s that for not wanting to leave?”

“Sounds alright to me,” she said. “But that’s life. They don’t need you for their research anymore, so they don’t want to pay for your bed anymore. These things are expensive, y’know.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said. “Still, if I don’t feel well, and they can’t measure what’s wrong, surely there’s some reason to keep me?”

“Well, they disagree, and there’s nothing I can do. Ever heard of the golden rule?” she said.

“He who has the gold makes the rules?” I said.

“Exactly,” she said. “And they have the gold, so…”

“They make the rules,” I finished her sentence. “I know. It’s still frustrating, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “But so is life. Get used to it, Jordan. You’ll need to, or you’ll go mad.”

“What if I’m already mad?” I said.

“You know what I meant,” she said. “And I’m short on time, so let’s get you packed up.”

“Alright, alright,” I said. “Sorry.”

Having packed me up, she walked with me to the hospital doors, and when the glass panels moved out of the way, the air smelled extremely sweet.

“Well, here you go,” she said, and handed me my suitcase. “Good luck, hope we don’t see each other again.” Rude or in good humour, it didn’t matter, and she left me outside the hospital to enjoy the fresh, cool air of a London December. The sweet smell of the air faded after a minute, and all that was left was utter neutrality. Indifference of my nasal glands towards the air, and my indifference towards life.

What purpose did it have if Aaron truly wasn’t real? If I was just having random panic attacks and their end just happened to coincide with the lads scoring a goal? Where did the last year or so of my life go? How was I suddenly a year older, and yet feeling five years younger? I didn’t have the gall to answer those questions. I picked up my phone, and punched the screen to call someone I hadn’t heard from in a while.