Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 27: “Seriously.”

“Couldn’t you at least ask permission before barging in?”

Fabian ignored my words and spoke as if he hadn’t heard me.

“…You know you haven’t been acting normal lately, right?”

To start with that kind of nonsense… If I had a gun at my waist, I probably would’ve shot him.

Not that there was ever a time I was particularly “normal,” but I didn’t bother to say so.

“I told you this morning, didn’t I? There’s no need for you to concern yourself.”

“Is your hand okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

It’s wrapped in a white cloth anyway, so there’s nothing to see.

“Hey, Fabian. How long are you planning to keep coming into my room without permission? Even if you hate me, isn’t basic courtesy the least you could manage?”

“…Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really fine with it. But since our conversation is over now, can you leave? I’m really fine, so just go.”

“…Stop lying. This morning, you couldn’t even tell the difference between bread and your fingers, and you were biting down on your hand. Don’t act like everything’s okay.”

Fabian threw the notebook he was holding onto the desk.

When I looked inside, it was filled with my conversations with Emily about the best, least painful ways to die.

“That’s just a novel. See? It’s all written as dialogue.”

“You know I’m not going to believe that, Emily.”

“And why were you reading my notebook in the first place?”

“Because you’ve been doing insane things lately, as if it’s nothing!”

You’ve seen the bruises all over my body, haven’t you?

Have you ever been beaten like that in your life?

Living like this, isn’t it normal—

“Karel found out what people have been saying about you and told me. Do you know what they’re saying?”

“I don’t care. And who’s Karel anyway?”

“My fiancée. You met her before.”

“So what? She’s not even worth remembering.”

“They say you’re nothing but a bundle of insults, never seen smiling, and talking to you feels like conversing with a statue.

When you’re alone, you hole up in a corner, stuffing your face with food.”

“So?”

“So fix your behavior if you don’t want these kinds of rumors spreading about you.”

“Hah, give me a break, Fabian.”

“What?”

“Fix my behavior”? You could’ve just ignored that stupid notebook.

Hey, listen. Just because your mother pampered you doesn’t mean mine didn’t treat me like trash. Writing in a notebook is about all I can do!

My emotions flared up.

I usually handle things quietly when I’m about to explode, but today, Fabian was right in front of me.

It felt like he was deliberately getting in the way, preventing me from doing what I normally would.

Or what? Do you hate it when I sing? Or play an instrument? Or when I pick up a pen, trying to study?

When I barely learned to read without a proper teacher? When my mother, lacking any manners or decency herself, tried to teach me? Did you think I’d turn out well?

Everything that could’ve led to a better life was taken from me.

It wasn’t laziness or apathy that made me like this. My entire family shoved me down.

Did Fabian ever tell me to stop practicing the “noisy” violin?

It’s soundproofed. Even if I screamed like a slaughtered pig, no one would hear. So how the hell was I noisy?

Or am I wrong? Is this much not enough to vent?

Now even writing in a notebook bothers you?

Fine, I’ll just destroy it, like my violin. I don’t need this either, right?

I started ripping pages from the notebook.

Conversations with Emily, neatly written ones, music notes on hand-drawn staves, scribbles, even pages stained with what looked like dried blood.

I tore every trace apart and threw it onto the floor.

At some point, my legs felt weak, and I almost collapsed. Fabian caught me.

“Get your disgusting hands off me.”

I tried to push him away, but my strength wasn’t enough, so I just sank down.

I felt like I was being buried—under what, I wasn’t sure.

If I stayed in this sinking mood much longer, I’d probably end up preparing to jump from somewhere high.

Fabian’s presence felt like dirt being dumped on my head as he smirked down at me.

“My hair—old and gray like an old man’s, brittle and dry. My eyes—a cursed red. What, do you hate them so much you want to pluck them out?”

“I never said that. Anyway, Daniel’s the one who—”

“Have I ever cursed you? Treated you as anything less than an older brother?

Have I ever acted like you were filth to me?”

“Emily, that’s not what I’m trying to—”

“Then what the hell is it? Because you’re the golden eldest son, I, this pathetic excuse for a sibling, should just disappear?”

“Just.”

“So, I went out of my way to meet your pathetic, idiotic fiancée and her obnoxious, fake-smiling self, and you act like it’s no big deal? And now you’re telling me this isn’t what it’s about?!”

I really hadn’t wanted to go back then.

The only reason I didn’t reveal who I really was was that I had no desire to meet her.

“That time, she said, ‘Oh, you picked up the wine glass so well! Thank you for helping! Seeing how deftly you caught it, you must have excellent reflexes.’ Then, as if it was some grand advice, she added, ‘But men don’t like women doing things like that. Don’t act like that in front of others.’ What a load of crap coming from some idiotic, pretentious whore…”

Fabian’s face stiffened.

“What’s wrong? Why don’t you respond like usual? ‘Yes, yes, I understand. Sure, if you slap me, I’ll say sorry. I won’t do it again. Yes, yes, I understand. I apologize. I’ll be better. It’s all my fault…’ Ah.”

The words tumbled out of my mouth out of habit.

Words I’d grown used to saying, not just at home but wherever I went.

“It’s all so damn exhausting. You, your mother, our ever-busy father, my siblings, and myself too.”

Looking at the torn notebook scattered on the floor, I felt tears welling up.

The emotions wouldn’t stay in check anymore.

Tears started falling, and as my feelings swelled, so did my body heat. My head spun.

I tried to suppress the cough rising in my throat, clutching the bedframe to steady myself. Fabian reached out to help, but I shook his arm off and sank back down.

I’ll stand on my own if I need to.

If anyone should help me, it should be a passing stray cat or Ernst.

A friend would at least do that much, right?

Or maybe not. Friends probably have plenty of others to lean on besides me.

But it doesn’t matter. I can still get up on my own for now.

I grabbed the pills on my desk and swallowed them without water.

“If you think treating me like this will make me hang myself in my room, you’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t have those thoughts sometimes—but I, I…”

Even if it feels like I’m dying, I’ll keep living by choking down these pills.

Someday, I’ll recover from this sickness.

To hell with the idea of being terminally ill. That’s nonsense.

If I just take my meds and eat properly, I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.

I can still walk, still run like I did with Ernst. I can still play around, dance with my friends.

Just because my body’s a little battered doesn’t mean I’m broken.

“So shut up and get out of my room, Fabian. And don’t expect me to meet your beautiful, dumb whore again… urgh, ha, ah.”

Fabian stood there watching me.

I sank onto the bed, exhausted.

“Or go and tell Mother. Emily finally lost it! Don’t you think we should beat her back into shape?’ She’d fix me up in no time.”

Maybe she’d drag me off to some asylum, gouge out my eyes, and shove a metal rod into the sockets to stir things around. People say that sort of thing makes patients docile.

If Mother suddenly decided to take me somewhere, I’d have no choice but to resort to my last option.

Fabian, looking like he was about to cry, rubbed his face and walked out of the room.

Not that it matters.

He’s nothing but a weak, bookish idiot with nothing in his head.

All he’s ever done is study alongside his peers. Someone like me? He’d push me to the back of his mind and forget about me entirely.

He’s in no position to help.

What, is he going to knock Mother out for me or something?

When I first ended up here, music was everything to me.

From the classical pieces I loved to the pop songs my friends enjoyed or the jazzy tunes I didn’t care much for—everything was precious.

But what do you call it when this bleak world takes away the only thing that lets you avert your gaze from its misery?

Yes, life. My mother shattered my life entirely, and my father just stood there watching.

Fabian and Daniel cheered, relieved that the noise was finally gone.

They patted me on the back, saying I could always get a new one.

But what guarantee was there that the new one wouldn’t be destroyed again?

That was probably when it began.

Until then, I hadn’t given up on learning things. But slowly, I started wanting to.

In the end, all I’ve done is endure. I haven’t achieved anything.

And now, it feels like I’m just wasting away.

Mother probably wants me to wither and die. It feels like I’ve already fallen ill.

But I won’t let things go her way.

I will survive, somehow, no matter what.

Even if I have to beg Ernst. Even if I have to plead with our dazzling protagonist to save me.

Even if I have to cling to someone else, I won’t let my wretched mother be the one to kill me.

I don’t cry over something as small as a cold.

Yeah, this is just a cold.