Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 29: “Exchange.”

Aria, the one who’d orchestrated this entire situation, wore an uncomfortable expression, as if things weren’t going as she’d planned.

Maybe she regretted saying anything.

Of course, once my illness was exposed, there was no choice but to let some things slip. Still, just because it was unavoidable didn’t make it less unpleasant.

I decided I’d pay her back later, whether with harsh words to her face or perhaps a slap—something to even the score.

Why do people think sticking others together solves everything?

That only works with people who aren’t already twisted up inside.

And I was thoroughly twisted.

So much so that no matter what anyone said—whether my mother scolded me, insulted me, hit me, tried to kill me, smashed my instruments, tortured me, or cursed me—I’d always interpret it in the most crooked way possible.

Maybe it’s because my desire to live was so overwhelming that I had to become like this.

If I hadn’t twisted those words my mother and family said to me, taken them at face value, I’d probably have gone mad.

Then, I’d be locked up in an asylum, my frontal lobe shattered, slack-jawed and vacant. By my 30s, I’d die of complications, discarded like trash.

After all, I’m powerless, weak, and foolish—a pitiful girl.

“We’re not close?”

“Then you tell me—what kind of relationship do we have?”

Ernst hesitated, clearly searching for an answer.

He wanted to find the right words.

Emily… the original Emily, that is, wasn’t even a proper villain in the story. She just faded out of relevance, forgotten.

But I refuse to let that happen.

It doesn’t matter if it’s as someone else’s memory or even as a loathed figure. As long as I’m remembered, I don’t care.

Whether it’s Emily or me—both are still me.

“Not lovers. Just… friends. Yeah, friends.

The kind of friends who exchange greetings at most, never really hang out.

Maybe close as kids, but now it’s awkward even to hold a conversation.

Also, the kind of friend I distance myself from because it’s painfully obvious my mother wants to marry us off.”

There were never any tender feelings between us.

“Is this really friendship?

It feels more like we’re just acquaintances who occasionally say hello.”

I picked up the teapot and poured tea into the cup in front of me, deliberately overfilling it.

Then, I dumped in some sugar and gave it a careless stir.

The tea wasn’t warm enough to dissolve the sugar, but when I drank it, the crunchy texture wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Whatever I eat, whatever I do, whatever I say, or whoever I spend time with—what does it matter to you?

We don’t know a thing about each other.”

I don’t know what Ernst likes, what he enjoys eating, his hobbies, or if he even has a favorite animal.

All I know is that he’s reasonably kind, his name, his family, that he has some wealth, and that he’s pretty clever.

And Ernst probably knows as little about me.

“It’s not like I’ve taken to opium like the failures in the back alleys.

Nor do I spend my nights at the brothel, spreading my legs in the only decent building in the slums.”

If I said that with real emotion, it’d sound pathetic.

Whether it’s true or not, emotional sincerity just makes it miserable and dull.

And thanks to the medicine, I wasn’t feeling much pain. In fact, I was almost calm.

If I could, I’d sit on the ground outside and watch that stray cat I saw wandering the estate last time.

“Or what? Am I supposed to gather a group of girls I barely know to gossip about and bully someone?

Not that I even have a group. The only ones who talk to me are you and Aria.

So, either my words are crap, or everyone else’s words to me are crap.”

When I speak to my mother, it’s barking or growling.

She beats me for barking, and when I growl, it’s as if she’s beating a dog on slaughter day.

And when my mother, Ellie, Fabian, or Daniel talk to me, it’s the same—it all sounds like barking.

Everyone vents their frustrations on me as if I’m some kind of stress relief.

But I’m not a punching bag.

I’m not a dog.

And I’m not some cursed child born into this world.

Ernst furrowed his brow, clearly frustrated, and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dunno.”

I shrugged, flashing a deliberately smug expression.

If he got mad, this uncomfortable conversation might finally end.

I hadn’t expected Aria to tell Ernst everything so directly.

The weekly meetings I proposed were just a ruse to squeeze time and money for the hospital out of her.

Just selling that porcelain sugar jar could probably cover a lifetime’s worth of hospital visits.

“Even if I explained, you wouldn’t understand.”

I can’t fathom why someone leading such a perfect life would want someone as flawed as me by their side.

Honestly, I don’t get it either.

Why do peasants protest in the streets when orphanages and soup kitchens are already giving out free gruel—even if it’s crawling with bugs? At least no one starves to death.

“The surface may look the same, but what’s inside is completely different….”

I shouldn’t have even tried.

I was hoping for some sort of reaction, but instead, Ernst stood abruptly and approached me with purposeful strides.

“If I don’t understand, does that mean I shouldn’t care about you?”

“You’ve got it. That’s exactly it.”

Was he about to slap me?

I’d said something insolent, after all.

But no, Ernst isn’t my mother. There’s no way he’d do that.

I’d prefer he just leave the room instead.

But contrary to my wishes, Ernst suddenly grabbed my outer coat and began rifling through its pockets, then tossed it to Aria.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Shut up.”

He leaned over me on the sofa and started searching me, patting down every part of my body.

“Aria, right now in your estate, a young lady is being manhandled by a man! Aren’t you going to… ow! Stop, stop it!”

Aria merely crossed her arms and looked on, doing nothing to intervene.

Eventually, Ernst found the pills I had hidden in my inner pocket. He handed them to Aria, asking her to figure out what kind of medication they were.

“You… You! Why are you doing this to me? What are you going to do if I go out and tell everyone you assaulted me?!”

You can barely hold back your trembling while saying that. Even though you know it’s not believable.

And you’re not going to say anything anyway. You’re too busy hiding your illness from even childhood friends.

The trembling—it’s just the cold.

It’s not like I’m overwhelmed with emotion or anything.

“If you’re struggling, just ask for help.

Stop pushing away people who want to help you.

You were like this as a kid, and you’re still the same now.”

Like asking for help ever did me any good.

You wouldn’t offer me shelter, so what’s the point of your words?

“All this is just your pride talking, isn’t it? You’ve always been ridiculously prideful, even as a kid. Whenever I tried to help or talk to you, you’d just shut me out.”

I felt utterly drained.

I used to be stronger than Ernst—or at least I thought so.

But that must’ve been before puberty hit because now I couldn’t even remember when that had been.

Even with all my effort, I couldn’t shake off his grip on my wrist.

I was left trembling, powerless.

“Remember when we climbed that tree? You got to the very top before I did, but then you slipped and fell.”

I tried kicking him off, but Ernst didn’t budge.

All he did was dust off his clothes with the back of his hand.

I felt a hollow sense of defeat and slumped against the chair, letting my strength ebb away.

Even then, Ernst didn’t let go of my wrist.

At moments like this, it was funny how the chair felt more comfortable than the bed in my own room.

“You broke your leg back then, didn’t you?

But you didn’t cry or even complain. You just said you were fine and walked home.

From your house, all I could hear were shouts.

The next day, you showed up with your leg hastily bandaged with a stick.”

“So what?”

“If you’re in pain, just say it. Do I really need to hear about your suffering from someone else?”

His voice shook, and his grip on my wrist tightened.

“My wrist hurts. Let me go.”

“…Ah.”

My wrist was already bruised.

It might just be because I’m physically weaker now, but thinking back to the arm-wrestling matches we had as kids, the sheer difference in strength was almost laughable.

Right, I’m Emily.

That’s why this is happening.

What would the original Emily do in this situation?

But no voice from within came to guide me.

“So, you’ll help me?”

“If you just say the word, I’ll do whatever I can.”

Then kill my mother.

No, don’t kill her—tie her up in the basement or the punishment room where she used to hit me.

I’ll handle the rest myself.

Fabian? Don’t kill him either—just gouge out his eyes and cut off his fingers.

Let him rot somewhere he can’t use anything he’s learned, slowly fading into nothing.

And when that happens, I wonder if that Karel or whatever her name is will still stick around.

As for Daniel, take his tongue.

Without it, he won’t be able to criticize me or tattle to Mother.

His hands? Cut off his wrists; he used to shove me around with those.

His ankles too—he always wandered the halls making those annoying footsteps, barging into my room without permission.

The youngest? Forget it. I barely even talk to him.

Ellie? Pull out all her hair.

Burn that precious face of hers.

Oh, and since she always mocked me about my chest being smaller than hers, make her the same size as me.

It’s just fat—it’s not like cutting it off would kill her.

“…….”

I started to voice my thoughts, but the moment I saw Aria and Ernst’s eyes, I froze.

They were different.

Maybe I should just bury these thoughts and get along with them.

If I ask, they’ll take me to the hospital and help me.

Ernst would do it, I’m sure.

And Aria wouldn’t abandon someone from her own world.

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my posture.

I sat up straight with poise, keeping my expression serene, my shoulders relaxed, my movements graceful.

With a calm and collected voice, I finally said:

“…Fine. Help me.”

I don’t know how they’ll help, but if it involves good food and a warm smile, I’ll take it.

Judging by their faces, it looks like they think they’ve already saved someone.

What a joke.