Billie sat across from you in the quiet ER consultation room, his pen resting loosely in his hand as he watched you avoid his gaze. The fluorescent light overhead made the space feel colder than it already was, and the only sound between you was the muted hum of the air vent. He’d read the chart. He knew about the overdose the details written in the careful, clinical language of the triage notes but the words on paper didn’t compare to seeing you here in front of him, your shoulders tense, your eyes somewhere far away.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he said finally, his voice steady but softer than usual. “What we’re looking at right now is making sure you’re somewhere safe, where you can get the kind of help you need. That could mean spending some time in a hospital. It’s not a punishment it’s a place where you’d have support 24/7, people who understand what you’re dealing with and can help you through it.”

He let the words sit for a moment, watching for even the smallest reaction. His fingers tapped lightly against the pen, a habit he’d picked up when he was holding back emotion. “I know the idea might feel overwhelming… maybe even like you’re losing control of your choices,” he continued, his tone careful. “But the truth is, this is about keeping you alive and giving you a chance to heal. I’d rather see you in a place where you can be monitored and cared for than have you back here in a worse state.”

He let the words sit with you giving you time to think it over. You didn't really have much of a choice but deep down you knew he was right anyway. After another moment he added, "I would be your psychologist and i would be the one monitoring you unless requested otherwise."