Chapter 3

I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, unable to respond.

She stood there for a long time, seemingly believing I was fast asleep.

A soft clink sounded on the bedside table.

"If the medicine is bitter, have a candy."

"Don't always frown; Osman will have a headache when he wakes up tomorrow."

I opened my eyes; she had already turned away.

"Alice." I called out to her.

She stopped.

"Is the candy for me, or for this body?"

She didn't turn back, her silhouette distant. "What's the difference?"

I forced a smile. "None."

The door closed again.

The candy lay on the bedside.

She had bought me this candy five years ago, when her startup was at its toughest.

The wrapper was still blue and white.

I reached out and swept it into the trash can.

In the drawer were a few things that only belonged to me on my days.

A spare phone with a shattered screen, a notebook filled with intricate details of Alice's company's financial vulnerabilities.

And the tie clip she had bought me before.

I put them all into a trash bag.

When the pain grew intense, I paused to retch for a while.

Before dawn, I finally finished packing my things.

In the morning, my mom pushed the door open, carrying a set of skis.

"Osman, hurry up and try on the new board..."

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at her calmly.

Her voice abruptly stopped, and the skis clattered to the floor.

My dad squeezed in behind her. Seeing my face, he blurted out, "How are you still awake?!"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

My mom's face drained of color, her hands trembling violently. "How can this be? It's an even-numbered day; Osman should be awake!"

My dad lowered his voice. "Did you not finish the medicine?"

"Alice made sure I drank it."

My dad immediately pulled out his phone and dialed a number, walking onto the balcony and speaking in a hushed tone. "Dr. Peter, what's going on? Why is he still awake?"

"That experimental drug... yes, the project Alice invested in, the data for that project can't have any errors!"

Whatever was said on the other end, my dad's face changed. After hanging up, he looked at my mom.

"We can't let Alice know." My mom pressed his arm. "If she knows we added something to the medicine, our business will be completely ruined."

She turned to me, a momentary look of embarrassment in her eyes. "Davis, Mom knows you resent us."

"Yeah."

She froze, clearly surprised I'd admit it. I used to always say I didn't resent them.

The year I was diagnosed, Osman woke up for the first time.

He smiled and hugged my mom, sweet-talking her for half an hour.

My mom froze, then her eyes welled up. "This is my son."

I stood by, seeing the disappointment in her eyes.

She didn't speak, but I understood.

Davis, you're too gloomy; you suffocate people.

You can't offer any emotional support; all you do is stay up late looking at reports.

From then on, I endured for five years.

They made me shift my birthday to one of his days so we could celebrate together. They cleared out my bedroom balcony so Osman could store his skis and gaming chair there.

Whenever there was a business dinner, she'd make me take sleeping pills, forcing me into a trance so Osman could take over, socialize for her, and take all the drinks.

Once, on one of his days, Osman even used my account to text Alice, claiming I didn't want to celebrate my birthday, so she wouldn't feel awkward.

Alice believed it. That year, on my birthday, she didn't even call.

I thought, in the end, I'd earn my family's and lover's sympathy, but they just resented that I hadn't disappeared completely enough.

"Give me your phone." My dad walked over, reaching out.

"Why?"

"You're emotionally unstable right now. Don't go contacting Alice."

I handed over my phone.

The quiet click of the lock echoed in the room.

I sat back on the bed, looking at the empty balcony.

There used to be an old film camera there, one I'd saved up for ages to buy.

On my days, I'd clean the lens.

On his days, Osman, complaining it took up too much space, threw it and its film cartridges into the recycling bin.

He always claimed he didn't know anything.

But every time I liked something, it would disappear on his days.