Chapter Fifty-Four: Love So Deep, I Wish I Could Become You
It felt as if she had slept for an eternity; when she awoke, her eyelids were so heavy she could barely open them. It was only when she saw him standing beside the bed that her mind truly cleared.
“Where do you feel uncomfortable?” he asked with concern.
She wanted to reply, but her throat was unbearably dry, so she shook her head instead.
“When you’re a bit better, we’ll leave. The medical conditions here are too poor. We’ll go back to the hospital and see a specialist. I can’t rest easy otherwise.”
She tried to swallow, and with difficulty managed to say, “I want to go back to where we’re staying. The hospital smells too terrible.”
She had become used to the hospital’s scent over the past four years, but now she wanted to leave, not because of the smell, but because she feared facing him directly. At least, in the home of the Tibetan family, they each had their own room and didn’t have to confront each other.
He seemed troubled. “Is that all right?”
She nodded.
Perhaps it was the aftereffect of her fainting, but at dinner she had no appetite. The strong smell of butter made her nauseous, yet she couldn’t refuse the hospitality, so she ate a little and hurried off to her room.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Who is it?”
His voice.
“Is something wrong?”
“Open the door.”
She opened it just a crack, but he slipped through the gap, holding up a bottle of medicinal oil to show his purpose. “It’s from the host,” he said—though in truth, he had begged the host for this Tibetan remedy.
She reached out to take it, but he said, “Let me do it.”
The electric light was feeble, flickering whenever the voltage wavered. She leaned against the bed while he sat, head bent, carefully massaging the oil into her scraped calf, his manner as earnest as ever. The sharp scent of the medicine stung her eyes, making her want to cry.
“That’s enough. Let me do it,” she said, knowing when it was best to stop.
“It was my fault you fell off the horse,” he said, his tone as remorseful as the time he had caused her hand to get caught years ago.
She couldn’t bear to hear more. She drew her leg back, refusing to let him touch her again. His hands found only empty air; he looked up, meeting her stubborn gaze. He had no intention of yielding, so he sat beside the bed and gently took her slender ankle, placing it on his thigh.
Her eyes quickly filled with tears, and she pleaded, nearly in despair, “Lin Shuo, please, let me go.”
His hand, poised with the medicinal oil, paused. If he could, he would avoid reaching this point. Yet every time he tried to move on, a hidden ache would stir in his heart. Just thinking of her, he’d fall back into the mire, unable to escape. Who could say which of them chose to descend and degrade themselves? His gaze dropped as he whispered, “You’re the one who won’t let me go.”
She was hopeless, tears falling onto the quilt. She apologized again and again: “I’m sorry, I still can’t face you calmly. I’ve tried so hard, but every time I see you, it’s so painful. I can’t pretend I don’t care about you, can’t ignore you, can’t overlook my own feelings, can’t—can’t pretend I don’t love you anymore…” She spoke quickly, as if she had to spill everything in one breath, or else the words would rot inside her forever.
“Don’t say any more!” His reaction startled her; his face was cold and tense, as though he dreaded hearing those words, desperate to stop her.
But she pressed on, utterly reckless, as if she could split open her heart for him to see. Ignoring his resistance, she confessed without reservation, “I love you—love you so much that I wish I could become you, just to see exactly how insignificant a place I occupy in your heart.”
Lonely moments are no time for romance. Chapter Fifty-Four: Love You So Much I Wish I Could Become You—completed.