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墨書 Inktalez
The fourth day
The sun was like a furnace, and wherever it shone, people instinctively hid their true selves behind a thick mask. He rubbed his tousled hair, avoiding my gaze, and hurriedly climbed out of bed.
“I’m going to wash up,” he said.
Seeing him in such a flustered state made my own tension dissipate into a laugh as I followed him back to his room.
Today was a new day. I opened my arms to the clear sky before taking my medication. Yesterday's episode had clearly frightened him; he suggested taking a day off, and I gladly accepted the reprieve. I piled all the stuffed animals into a heap, half-reclined while flipping through a book. Books truly are the best remedy for all emotional turmoil; they create a world for you, opening doors to new realms where gentle hands guide you through tales like “Eight Kings Rebellion,” “Feishui Battle,” and “King and Horse Share the World.” Each narrative unfolds against its unique historical backdrop, depicting wars, struggles among nations, and the near demise of Huaxia. Just a few terse words can bring tears to your eyes.
In the grand sweep of history, individual destinies seem so insignificant—merely reduced to names and phrases like “certain clan” or “great defeat.” The end of thousands of lives is encapsulated in just two words. What do I amount to? Whether I live or die is no more significant than a sesame seed dropped into the ocean, causing barely a ripple. No one mourns for me; no one weeps for me... Perhaps he might sigh at the fleeting nature of our encounter.
“I ordered some fruit; want to share?” he called from outside.
“Come in,” I replied. Dressed in a long nightgown, I curled my legs up as he turned the doorknob and stepped inside without hesitation. He didn’t need me to say “sit”; he naturally settled at the edge of the bed, kicked off his slippers, and walked across my bed. It’s worth noting that my room was too small to fit a chair or stool; everything from sitting to eating happened on the bed. He stepped over me with long strides, placing two boxes of fruit on the windowsill before sitting cross-legged beside me.
As he peeled a lychee, my phone rang beside me.
I picked it up and saw “Mom” flashing on the screen, causing an involuntary tension in my scalp. He pressed his damp fingertip against my brow.
“Don’t frown; problems can always be solved.”
After his fingertip left my skin, I touched the damp spot on my forehead with my right hand while answering the call with impatience almost instinctively ingrained in me.
“Hello? What’s up?”
“Can’t I call if there’s nothing wrong? You never call me either! I think about you all day but worry about interrupting your work. Your hours are so unpredictable; you’re busy until midnight…”
I suppressed my nausea and replied dismissively, “Look at the time! It’s eight-thirty in the morning! I just got off work at five this morning and was sleeping when you called! What do you want? I have to work this afternoon!”
“Okay, okay, no problem. Just take care of yourself. Bye.”
I hung up swiftly even though my mother’s voice still lingered in my ears.
“Why do you talk to your mom like that?”
He brought a lychee to my lips. I opened my mouth to take it, slurping it down before spitting out the pit.
“Are you going to criticize me?”
“I believe everything has its reasons.”
“I don’t know why either. The moment I see her calling or hear her concern for me, I feel nauseous—like I could vomit. Maybe it’s because her concern comes too late.”
"You really should see a psychologist," I said with a laugh. "I'm quite familiar with psychiatrists." I held my left hand up, poking the palm with my right index finger. "Let's drop this topic. We've been talking about me for days. How about you? Do you have any secrets you can't share?"
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