The snatches of sleep I steal aren’t enough to keep me from feeling grumpy when I get jolted awake. I’ve just peeled off the seatbelt sticking to my cheek when I hear a rumbling voice call out, “Hey, Athea!”
I swallow a groan. The only time I hear his voice is when Athea decides to drop me at the hospital underground parking lot.
“Oh,” Athea says. “It’s been awhile since I saw you.”
“Woah, I must be luckier than I thought. I didn’t think I’d meet you on the first day of my night shift!”
Good lord. I found this cute six months ago, but he’s still doing it even after Athea deflected every single come on. His obnoxious persistence makes me feel sorry for her.
I can’t see the expression Athea’s making, but her answer is neither cold nor welcoming. “Your warm welcome is much appreciated. I won’t take too much of your time since you’re on your shift, so if you could raise the barrier, I’ll be on my way.”
What’s-his-name ignores her polite deflection. “Don’t worry, there isn’t a single car behind you. We can take our time to catch up. So, what have you been up these days?”
Athea gets dragged into an endless loop of generic questions and equally generic answers. Deflections don’t wont against rabid enthusiasm and purposeful ignorance. I’m frankly awed she’s endured it so far.
“Nothing special. I rotate between work and social activities,” Athea demurs. “Now, if you could let me through, I need to drop someone off.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. It’s the same old for me. I don’t get much excitement guarding this place. People are breakin’ out, not in. Anyway, I hope you had a good lunch. Let me just say that a soggy ham and cheese sandwich makes not for a satisfying meal.”
I decide to go back to sleep. I hang my head and shut my eyes, drowning out the pointless blabber by concentrating on my breathing.
“That’s interesting. I attended a buffet spread for lunch.” My eyes spring open. Athea, no! You’ve doomed yourself!
“Wow, a buffet? I wish the canteen here had a place for it. One meals just isn’t enough sometimes,” What’s-his-name goes on and on and on.
Seriously, what kind of terrible luck do we have to run into him? If we encountered him during the day, we’d at least had the chance to make a clean escape by virtue of busy traffic.
I check the clock on the dashboard. The dotted red lines forming 12:30 blink erratically. Yes, I know. I want to get away, too.
When the numbers creep up to 12:42, I finally decide to intervene. Athea’s far too polite to reject him outright, and we’d be stuck here until another car comes along. Also, watching this clumsy play on my best friend is driving me bonkers. I’d like to remind him that she’s way out of his league.
“Sorry to interrupt your thrilling conversation,” I call out. “But there’s a porcelain bowl in the building calling my name.”
“Oh. You’re with her.” The cosy lilt to his voice disappears. His annoyance is almost visceral in the way he emphasizes the last word. It’s satisfying to know my presence is enough to cause extreme distress. “Hey, if you were here, you should have said something.”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘eavesdropper’. Oh ho? It’s been awhile since I’ve experienced this. Blaming someone else for your shortcomings is such a Shi Ning thing to do.
“I would have. But you seemed pretty interested in the sound of your own voice, so I decided to let you enjoy yourself.” Athea coughs into her fist, lightly tapping my thigh. I sulk. Fine, I won’t make him cry. “It’s my bad. I’ll speak up next time.”
“It was my fault for not bringing it up.” I swear Athea is haloed by a bright light as she says this. She’s way too polite for her own good. Still, it’s one of the great things about her.
What’s-his-name blinks the stars from his eyes clears his throat. “Athea, if you don’t mind waiting for my break… I’d like to treat to supper, maybe.”
Darn. It’s not exactly late enough to whip out the ole ‘I can’t stay out too late’ excuse. There’s still enough time for a meal if she’s driving back.
Before I can come up with a convincing reason not to send Athea off with the awkwardly persistent man of uniform, she beats me to the punch with a simple, “No, I won’t be staying long.”
“That’s… too bad.” He sighs in disappointment. The gantry blocking our path lifts with a quiet click. “Next time, then.” He mumbles a farewell before the convertible window rolls up, sealing us inside.
Athea foots the pedal, and the convertible is finally kicked out of its stasis. We roll down the slope into the expansive parking lot. It’s partially full, the more troublesome parking lots left free. She’s in the middle of navigating into a tight spot when I burst out laughing.
“There’s a term for people who enjoy the discomfort of others,” she says in displeasure.
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the situation.” I have to bite down on a finger when I recall the soggy ham and cheese line. “If you’re reacting like this, I guess he must’ve bothered you the last time you came to pick me up.”
“Yes.” Her eyebrows pinch. “This makes it the third time this month.” Poor thing. If I knew, I would have jumped in earlier. “I don’t understand why he keeps attempting to woo me. I should have hinted enough times about my lack of interest.”
“You need to say it directly. Some people are like termites.” That’s the least offensive comparison I can think of. “If you’re desperate, I can think of a couple of drastic measures to permanently keep him away.”
“You aren’t allowed to maim or blackmail him.”
“There goes my ideas.”
“He might be a… pest, at the worst of times, but he’s dutiful in keeping this institution safe. I worry your actions might have a negative effect on him.” Ah, so that’s what she’s afraid of. Not for the first time, I suspect my best friend is a literal angel.
“Much as I hate to agree with him, I can’t think of anyone who’d come to a hospital to hurt someone. It would be smarter to let the diseases and viruses run their course. This is the best place to take a hands-off approach.”
“The principle of it is what matters.” Athea continues, “You’re in a considerably better mood than before. I wasn’t sure if you’d continue crying your eyes out once you woke.”
Athea’s wry observation wrests an annoyed grunt from me. “Shut it, or I’ll call him to come get you.”
We laugh about it as we enter lift lobby. I jab the lift button, then turn to look at her. “You told him you wouldn’t stay long. Were you lying to get him off your back, or do you really have to work tomorrow?”
““I’ll be off once I use the bathroom. And unfortunately, I do have work. Heres is currently working on another major update. I hear he’s already worked the people under him to near insanity. I’ll need to lighten the load before anyone decides to drop dead.”
“That’s harsh.” I shudder at the image of someone face planting on their desk, never to get up again. “Don’t overwork yourself, alright? I don’t care if other people keel over. You can’t be one of them.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“It won’t happen. In truth, the worst part about the work isn’t the quantity or the long hours. It’s my brother,” Athea admits.
“I wish I had skills to help.” I sigh enviously. “Even if Heres is a slave driver, it would be nice if you and me could work together.”
My ‘elite’ education taught me nothing about how to survive outside the bubble created by those in the upper echelons. I couldn’t even use my surname since doing so would bring too much media scrutiny. Cutting my ties had ensured only one thing – swim, or die trying.
I wish I’d been born into a family like Athea’s. Her parents aren’t on good terms, but they’ve given Athea and her brother everything they needed to strike out on their own. Now, the siblings work under a well-established gaming titan that’s been in the industry for years. It’s only recently that they’ve branched into developing games rather than distributing them.
Her brother, Heres, had been a regular developer there, but he swiftly rose to a leading position because of his brainchild – the beta version of his now explosively successful game: Ascendance.
The endless, branching storylines, fluid character classes and addictive propelled the game to ridiculous heights of popularity. Millions of copies were already in circulation in this point, with content updates rolling out on a semi-regular basis. There was no platform that didn’t play it. There are rumours of a mobile port coming, too, though how accurate they are remains to be seen.
Still, Ascendance is Heres’ crowning achievement. It’s hard believe it’s his first, and only, game.
I had played the game when it first came out. Once I was taken in by Auntie Bao, I never found time to go back to it. There was also the fact that the sheer scope of what players could accomplish felt extremely daunting. Add that on to the aggressive monetization tactics the company employs, I easily justified not making time for it.
“You’re able to say that only because you have never met him. Heres is an overgrown child masquerading as a adult,” Athea complains. “I wouldn’t mind trading him for Ling Ge.”
The lift numbers count down in steady blinks. I reach out to prod the button one more time, like it would make the machine faster. “Don’t be ridiculous. Ling Ge chases so much skirts I’m surprised he hasn’t started wearing one. And his womanizing ways aren’t the only thing to be worried about. At least your brother’s a decent human being.”
The lift’s arrival is soundless. We walk inside when the doors slide open. Athea presses the button of the floor I’m headed to, and a quiet whirr of machinery rings out as the lift ascends.
“Heres is controlling to the point of insanity. He’s a nightmare to work with in addition to his horrid temper,” Athea says.
“There are worse faults than being a workaholic,” I argue.
“Workaholic?” Athea’s laugh is bone dry. “He doesn’t work till his bones ache because he cares about Ascendance. To him, the game is simply a useful tool for his true project.”
We arrive at the hospital lobby before I can ask what she means. Her pace is quick. We reach the visitor’s counter before I can press her to elaborate. The flurry of activity that follows after – waiting in line, registering for passes, navigating the maze-like hallways to find the correct elevator to the ward – overrides any questions I had.
I fiddle with my guest card as we wait for the lift to Auntie Bao’s ward to arrive. There’s niggling feeling that I might have forgotten something important. Oh, well.
We reach Ward E and step out. The beige hallways extend in two directions, stretching the length of the building. It’s one of the bigger wards in the hospital, which made it easier to get into. The bill is nothing to scoff at, however. The invoice for the first month of her stay nearly made me pass out.
Relying on memory, my legs carry me down the ward’s left extension. My footsteps are light, but still they still squeak on the linoleum floors. Other than that, the hall is an echo chamber of silence. The nurses on night shift must be on their break or tending to vastly more important matters. We don’t meet any on the way to Auntie Bao’s room.
“I don’t think I’d ever get used to how dead this place feels,” I say. “I always feel like something’s about to go wrong.”
“An idle mind is ripe for pointless thoughts. You worry too much, Mei.”
“I know, I know.” I read the name plaques on the doors we pass by. Certain names are familiar, while others, are simply blank, white slates. Each time I travel this route, my mind pelts me with the worst outcome for the people behind the names once slotted into those nameplates.
It’s irrational and ridiculous. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about it.
We come to a stop in front of the room Auntie Bao has been stuck in for the past year. When I see her full name in thin black lettering, amidst three others, my tightly locked shoulder muscles finally relax.
I scold myself a little. Athea’s right, I’m such a worrywart. I need to stop overthinking or I’ll worry myself into the grave.
I place a hand on the door handle before a strikingly ominous thought hits me.
“Remember not to bring up anything involving the Hans,” I tell Athea. “Auntie was already reluctant to let me be part of the funeral proceedings. I don’t want to accidentally worsen her condition.”
“Does that mean I can’t tell her how you cried into my arms when I tore apart your stoic facade?” Athea’s smirk is infuriating. I swat her on the arm and she shrugs as if she didn’t bring up my moment of weakness. “It was a joke. This mouth of mine will reveal nothing.”
“How do you still have energy to sass me?” I slide the door open and we step inside.
The large room is shared by three other people, all of whom have curtains drawn around their beds. I internally breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t think I can tolerate the grumpy, half-lidded stares my entrance usually invites. Auntie Bao would nag me to death if I threatened to cut someone’s IV line.
I like how this room looks in the day. Under the tender caress of natural light, the peach coloured walls would turn a comforting baby pink. Sunlight would flood through the windows, turning the floor reminiscent of melted orange pudding.
But it’s past midnight. The room drowns in pitch. The noise and banter associated with a will to live is nowhere to be found. Worse is the tense silence and the sleeping patients. It turns the room into something of morgue. The three days of funeral service are finally over, but it feels as if I never left.
I tell myself it’s understandable to feel this way. After all, it’s not strange to project images from the environment one is entrenched, day in and day out. I can only hope these depressing thoughts fade with enough rest and copious amounts of good food.
I creep to Auntie Bao’s bed. Hers is the only one not fenced off with curtains. She never liked to be cut off from her surroundings. I suspect it makes her feel claustrophobic, not that she’d admit it. She’ll just chalk it up to bad feng-shui.
“Oh,” I whisper. “She’s asleep.”
“I’d be shocked if she wasn’t,” Athea replies, keeping her voice low.
Auntie Bao has the woollen hospital blanket pulled up to her chin. She hates being cold, always complaining about how it makes her bones ache. I’d told her on multiple occasions to ask for an extra blanket, but she doesn’t want to cause trouble. I haven’t asked for one in her stead because she’ll likely make me give it back.
I shuffle into the narrow space between the bed and wall. I lower myself into the visitor’s chair, cringing as the cheap plastic protests with a shrill creak. There is a pang in my chest as I cast my gaze over Auntie Bao’s slumbering outline.
When she first went in, she had convinced me she would be out in no time. Her initial picture of semi-perfect health was gradually chipped away into how she looked now, small and shrunken. She always had a wiry figure, but here, she’s stick thin.
The curly hair she once proudly maintained, carefully puffed to resemble the head of a dandelion, is plastered lifelessly to the sides of her head. I’m not sure if it’s an effect of the medicine or stress, but there are a number of visible bald spots on her head as well.
Tonight, Auntie Bao looks comfortable. Cosy. It’s been a long time since I saw her in such a restful state.
I rarely visit this late, coming in early afternoons or evenings. She’s usually up with the sun and doing something or the other. Reading rag articles, watching shitty dramas on her smartphone, or gossiping with the other patients.
I take in her wrinkles, the downward curl of her mouth. I never believed worries could leave physical marks on a person, but here was proof.
“It took some time, but I’ll be getting enough money that you’d never have to worry about anything, ever again.” I whisper into the stagnant silence. I gently cup her hand, mindful of the lengthy tube running up her arm. “And I won’t forget about your son. I’ll get both of you something expensive for putting up with me for so long.”
The chill of the room starts to gnaw at me. I suppress a shiver. I sit in that position until I start to feel the dredges of sleep creep into my consciousness. It won’t be long until the weight of my eyelids become heavy to bear.
I lean back into the chair and cross my arms. “Hey, Athea. Can you wake me in fifteen minutes or so?”
Athea looks up from her phone, adjusting her stance until she’s no longer leaning on the wall. “You should stay the night. When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Before the whole situation with funeral, I think,” I say. “I don’t mind staying, but she’s going to ask a ton of questions about it when she wakes up. It’s going to be a pain to deal with.”
“What about the situation with Ling Ge?””
“I planned a cover story for that a long time ago.”
Athea muses over my words. “I think you should tell her about it. Matters like that can’t be kept secret forever. They’ll just bring harm in the end.”
“I’ll tell her eventually. I can’t do it now, it’s still too… raw.” Despite saying that, I know I’m never going to. It’s far too risky. If Auntie Bao finds out I was the one who took Shi Ning’s pornographic photos, and even got paid off by Ling Ge for doing it, I can’t imagine what her reaction will be. I’d rather die than have that happen.
“I understand,”Athea says. “Get some rest, then. I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t toppled over, yet.”
“Same goes for you.” I yawn. “And I’m sorry for tonight. You didn’t sign up for this mess.”
“I’m not affected by it in the least. Thank you for the apology, regardless.”
I let myself be comforted by her words and close my eyes. I count the rise and fall of my chest for five beats before everything fades.