Chapter 5

The door slammed shut.

As I moved a storage box from the bottom of the closet, my fingertips brushed against a worn jewelry box.

I opened it; it was empty.

That was a mechanical watch Alice bought for me with her first profits, the year she first started her company.

She said she couldn't afford a good one then, but would get me a Patek Philippe someday.

At the time, I wore it on my wrist, reluctant to take it off even when I slept.

Later, when Osman woke up and saw the watch, he complained it was uncomfortable and looked cheap, and he tossed it carelessly into the river.

Alice rushed over that day, and Osman hugged her waist, whining playfully:

"Alice, I didn't mean to. I just thought that cheap watch didn't suit your current status. If you take me to business meetings, people will laugh at you."

She stroked his head. "If the old one's gone, it's gone."

When I woke up, I questioned her, "That was a gift from you."

Alice frowned, her voice impatient. "Davis, it was just a few hundred dollars. Don't embarrass Osman. Tomorrow, I'll have my secretary send you a Patek Philippe."

She did send it.

On his days, Osman would wear that Patek Philippe, post pictures on Ins, captioning them: "Feels good to be favored."

I didn't like the post.

On my days, the expensive watch lay on the dressing table.

Alice said, "See, the new one suits your current status better."

I asked her, "Do you remember what was engraved on the old watch?"

She was silent for a long time. "Davis, people can't always live in the past."

I threw the empty jewelry box into the trash.

My tablet lit up, a memo popping up with a schedule reminder.

Next Monday: Watch the sunrise with Alice at the beach.

The note beneath read: Dr. Peter said after tonight, the integration will be complete. Finally no more waiting for his days! That was Osman's smiley face.

I looked at the words, my fingertips tingling.

He knew everything. He was even looking forward to my death.

As night fell, I started coughing up blood.

Not just a little, but great gushes.

"Davis, open the door!" Alice hammered on the door from outside.

My mom frantically stopped her. "Alice, he's asleep."

"I hear something! Move!"

"He's throwing a tantrum and broke something, don't go in..."

"Keys!"

As the lock clicked open, I was leaning against the bed, vomiting blood.

The carpet, the sheets, all stained dark red.

Alice stood at the doorway, her pupils constricted sharply. "Davis, what happened to you?"

I looked up at her, my vision somewhat blurred. "Why are you here?"

She rushed forward, pulling me up from the floor, her voice tight. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

My mom followed in, clinging to her arm. "Alice, you can't take him!"

"He's spitting blood, and you're telling me not to care?!"

Alice's eyes were bloodshot. She pushed my mom away, about to rush out.

My dad abruptly blocked the doorway, shouting loudly:

"Alice! If you take him to the hospital today, if they use a stomach pump, Dr. Peter's medication will be completely disrupted!"

"Osman's personality would be damaged, and he might never return!"

Alice froze, her feet rooted to the spot.

My mom cried, kneeling on the floor and clinging to her leg. "Alice, just this one night, please!"

"Davis is only bleeding because of a rejection reaction to the medicine. He just needs to pull through this night."

"But if Osman misses tonight, we'll lose him completely!"

The muscles in her face twitched imperceptibly, and her arm around me instantly stiffened.

I reached out my blood-stained hand and gently tugged her shirt.

"Alice, I'm in so much pain." This was the first time in five years I had cried out to her.

Her voice caught in her throat. She looked down at me.

I said, "Save me."

She only needed to take one step forward, just one step.

I watched her fingers tremble.

Just a little more, and she could touch my face.

But she stopped.