I was lost in thought the whole way, until Ryan called out to me, and I came back to my senses, “Lily, do you still like James?”
For some reason, I heard a hint of caution in Ryan’s tone. I paused, not saying anything.
I couldn’t answer.
The car was very quiet. Finally, I heard Ryan give a bitter laugh, trying to sound relaxed as he said, “I get it. By the way, thanks for pretending to be my girlfriend today. In the future, you won’t be able to scam money out of me anymore. Let me take you home.”
I’m not a young girl experiencing her first love. Of course, I knew Ryan’s subtle feelings. So I opened my mouth and said, “I’m sorry.”
“No need to trouble you, I’ll take a taxi back myself.”
My tone was polite and distant. Ryan watched me get out of the passenger seat but didn’t
stop me. The car stayed in front of me for about a minute, and finally drove away.
I took a taxi all the way home, sat on the couch and stared blankly for a long time. After two years, I thought I had long since let go, but when I saw James, the high walls I had painstakingly built in my heart crumbled without a fight.
Fragile beyond imagination.
The more I thought, the more heartbroken I felt. Finally, I channeled my grief into appetite, tearfully ordered fried chicken. At the banquet earlier, I had only drunk alcohol, now I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hungry.
As a result, I ate myself into the hospital in the middle of the night, diagnosed with gastritis.
I just remembered that in these two years of living alone, I was really comfortable. I could come home and do nothing, lie on the couch and play with my phone, order takeout when hungry, drink beverages when thirsty.
It had more or less affected my stomach. In my foggy state, I suddenly heard, during the year I was with James, although he demanded perfection in my personal matters, he would also knock on my door every day to call me for meals.
The meals he cooked himself. Only, every time we ate, I would be scolded by him, like, you dropped a grain of rice, can’t you drink soup without spilling it, and so on.
It seems his germaphobia was always the most prominent, so prominent that it could make people forget all his other qualities.
I had the misfortune of ending up in the hospital, and even worse luck to see James’s familiar face. It was the first time I saw him looking panicked, with a group of doctors in white coats behind him.
Then I was pushed away by him, becoming a patient under his care.
Enduring the severe pain in my stomach, I asked, “Aren’t you not a doctor here? How come you’re in charge now?”
James replied without changing his expression, “I will be in the future.”
My heart sank, no longer speaking. At this time, James raised his hand and used his gloved finger to wipe the corner of my mouth. I had a bad feeling, sure enough, James raised an eyebrow, “Fried chicken? Or barbecue?”
“Shut up.”
A nurse beside me comforted me while saying, “Don’t worry, you might need to have a gastroscopy. Do you want to do it with direct intubation or under general anesthesia? General anesthesia requires a family member’s signature.”
I was shocked. I’m the kind of person who fears nothing except injections and surgeries. Just thinking about how I saw others do gastroscopy before, with such a thick tube directly inserted into the throat, I was terrified, “General anesthesia, I want general anesthesia.”
The nurse nodded, “Okay, then where’s your family member?”
I suddenly remembered that I’m actually an orphan without parents. When I was in high school, my parents died in a car accident. I went to college relying on that little bit of
compensation money and scholarships.
Where would I have any family members in this world?
James looked at me, then said to the nurse, “Go get the consent form, I’m her family member, I’ll sign it.”
I looked at James strangely, but the severe abdominal pain prevented me from speaking.
With one shot of anesthesia, I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was already lying in a ward, with a nurse checking my IV drip. I swallowed my dry throat and asked, “Nurse, where’s Dr. Quinn?”
That nurse was the one who gave me the anesthesia. She looked down at me, “Dr. Quinn has gone back to the hospital over there, he won’t be taking up his position here for a couple of days.”
My eyes were dizzy, “He agreed to the transfer?”
The nurse nodded with a suppressed smile, “Yes, after all, his family is here, how could
<
he not transfer?”
Fo
I tugged at the corner of my mouth, denying, “I’m not his family member.”
The nurse looked unconvinced, “Then last night…”
Me, “Can you expect a not–so–normal person to say normal things?”
Nurse, “…”
Lying in bed waiting for the anesthesia to wear off, I suddenly remembered that I still had to go to work today. I hurriedly opened my phone, looking at the time displayed on it.
10:30 AM.
I dejectedly lay back down, unlocked my phone, about to explain to the manager.
But as soon as I opened it, ding ding ding came several messages.
It was the manager’s message box, with three messages sent at nine in the morning, “When did you get married?”
