05
I drive aimlessly through the snowy streets, eventually stopping in front of a shopping mall.
Through the car window, I watch people come and go, carrying shopping bags.
Aunt had said that Mom could do dialysis at home, but how could it be the same? The attic is small and dark, with no sunlight. It's just a place for her to lie down and wait for death.
I take out my phone and browse social media. The woman Mateo brought to our anniversary party, Luna, is a model.
Before her, Mateo had been involved with several other women, but Luna has stayed the longest.
It doesn't take long to find Luna's account. It's filled with photos of her traveling, blonde hair, heavy makeup, and minimal, revealing clothing.
I get out of the car and walk into the mall, buying cosmetics and sexy lingerie, trying to mimic Luna's style. Then I wait for Mateo to come home.
Several days later, the butler informs me that Mateo has returned from his business trip and is attending a company party. He'll be home later.
I take a shower, do my makeup, and put on a set of black lace lingerie. I also bought a tight, nude-colored dress that clings to my body. The store clerk had complimented my figure when I tried it on.
But after some thought, I decide to wear my usual blue shirt and jeans first. The dress is so sexy that I'm not sure I can walk properly in it.
The sound of a car in the garden signals Mateo's return. I take a deep breath, step out of my room, and walk down the stairs.
Mateo sits on the sofa in the living room, looking drunk. His face is flushed, and his eyes are unfocused.
"Welcome home," I say as I approach him.
Mateo looks up at me and then smiles. But he isn't smiling at me. Behind me, I hear the sound of high heels. Luna walks over, holding a cup of honey water. "I told you not to drink so much. Now you have a headache, don't you?"
I suddenly don't know how to react.
Luna greets me casually, placing the honey water on the table. She then says to Mateo, "You're home now. Your wife can take care of you. Bye-bye, I'm leaving."
But Mateo grabs her wrist and pulls her onto his lap. "You're not allowed to leave."
Luna chuckles, looking between Mateo and me. "Madam—"
I force a smile. "Take good care of him."
I don't know how I make it back to my bedroom. I lie on the bed, curling up and staring into the endless darkness outside the window.
They say that curling up is the most relaxed position, like being back in your mother's womb, providing an endless sense of security.
But I still feel exhausted.
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. I drag my weary body up and walk barefoot to open it.
"Hi—" Luna smiles, peering over my shoulder into the room. "Can I borrow your night cream? You know, Mateo didn't tell me I'd be staying over, so I didn't bring enough cosmetics."
"I don't have night cream," I say, suppressing my discomfort.
"Don't be so stingy, Madam—"
"I don't have night cream." I repeat, ready to close the door.
"What took you so long?" Mateo's drunken voice comes from the hallway as he stands beside Luna.
Luna tugs at his robe's belt, drawing out her words, "Your wife won't lend me her night cream. How can I stay overnight and keep you company? A woman's skin is very delicate. Without proper care, it easily wrinkles..."
Mateo looks at me and says, "Give her what she wants."
I swallow and say, "I really don't have night cream."
The next moment, a slap lands on my face. The force is so strong it feels like a swarm of bees has invaded my ear, buzzing loudly as I fall back, hitting the side cabinet with my back.
Mateo's voice penetrates the ringing in my ears, "Got a temper now, huh? From your tuition to everything in this room, which one isn't paid for by me? This slap is to remind you who you are."
I open my mouth. I want to say that Saint Martin's tuition is very expensive, and I can't afford to pay him back right now; but I'll work hard.
I'm just too tired, too tired to say a single word.
The bedroom door closes, voices fade away, and the room sinks into endless darkness.
My face hurts, and when I move my mouth a bit, I feel something warm is flowing out.
Actually, until today, I was very grateful to Mateo. I know he didn't want to marry me, but if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have gone to my dream university to study my favorite subject.
My aunt used to say that my mother's illness was already costing a lot of money, and Saint Martin's tuition was too expensive. She wanted to send me to a government-funded public art school in France or Italy, where students only had to pay a small fee each year.
But because of the marriage, I had to stay in London, so I passed the interview at Saint Martin. After I became Mateo's wife, he covered these expenses.
Twenty thousand pounds a year to Mateo is nothing. He can spend five thousand on a single special cocktail at the Playboy Club.
But my life changed because of him.
So, I once thought, this is it. Even if he's always rude to me, even if he messes around with different women outside, he is my husband for life, and I want to treat him well.
But tonight, I'm in so much pain.
My face hurts, my back hurts, and my heart aches with every beat.
The phone ringing wakes me up. I open my eyes and see that the sky outside is already light.
I get up to go to school, then look at my phone again and realize it's the weekend, no classes today.
Mateo and Luna are still sleeping in the old mansion. They must have had a great time last night—there's even a piece of bra on the hallway floor.
I feel a bit dizzy and touch my forehead; it's burning hot.
I skip breakfast, put on a thick coat, wear a mask, and drive to the hospital.
Because it's the weekend, There is a long line early in the morning. I queue up for registration, feeling dizzy a few times and wanting to go to the restroom to vomit, but for fear that no one will hold my place, so I keep standing there.
The hospital has central heating, but the heat doesn't reach this large area of the hall. My forehead is hot, my hands are cold, so I put my hands on my forehead and eyes.
There are still a dozen patients ahead of me, plus one patient covered in blood being brought in on a stretcher who cuts the line.
Gradually, my vision becomes blurry. I feel myself swaying and instinctively grab the arm of the person next to me.
"Sorry," I apologize and pull my hand back.
But my legs are weak, and my body sways again.
This time the person reaches out and holds my arm, "Are you okay?"
I nod, trying to push him away. I can stand on my own.
"But you don't look okay to me."
I slowly lift my head, and through the blurred vision, Lincoln's face appears.
"Why are you here?" I ask softly.
He doesn't answer my question, instead, he holds my arm and leans in to whisper in my ear, "Come on, I'll get you to jump the queue."
Just like that, he leads me to the door of a consultation room. The door opens, and the doctor first sees Lincoln's face and starts teasing, "Didn't you say you didn't need treatment? Why are you back?"
Lincoln replies, "my ligament is okay, you're just overreacting."
The doctor continues, "You have the hands of an architect! they are precious! Can't you be more responsible about your profession—"
While they talk, I hide behind Lincoln. I've always been afraid of doctors since I was a kid.
But Lincoln grabs my hood with one hand and pulls me in front of the doctor, interrupting him, "She's sick. Check her out."
The doctor widens his eyes, "Who is she?"
"Just check her out," Lincoln says, pulling me to the chair.
This doctor looks familiar, I've seen his face on the outstanding doctors' board in the hall.
But I'm still uneasy. Lincoln stands behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders.
The doctor looks at Lincoln, then at me, "What's wrong?"
"Fever."
"Take off your mask so I can see."
I touch my forehead, "I really just have a fever."
The doctor stops, then smiles, "Are you the doctor or am I? Lincoln, your little girlfriend is quite interesting."
Lincoln pats my shoulder, "Be good, take off the mask."
"I'm not wearing makeup," I say.
"You look better without it," Lincoln replies.
"I really don't want to."
"I'll help you."
Lincoln's hands reach behind my ears, and I try to dodge, but end up leaning into his chest.
I close my eyes in embarrassment.
The room falls into a brief silence.
"Lincoln, did you hit her?" the doctor suddenly asks.
"Shut up," Lincoln's voice rises, "Mateo hit you, didn't he?"
He directs the question to me, but I don't open my eyes.
The mask is put back on my face.
"Bastard."
While adjusting a strand of my hair that got caught by the elastic band behind my ear, Lincoln curses under his breath.
He then touches my forehead and says to the doctor, "She definitely has a fever."
"Take her for a blood test," the doctor replies.
I try to stand up, but the next moment, I feel weightless. When I open my eyes, I realize I;m in his arms. I struggle a little, but he just holds me tighter.
As Lincoln carries me towards the door, the doctor calls out, "Hey! So, she's your sister-in-law, right? You can't—"
"There's nothing I can't do," Lincoln retorts, leaving the doctor behind.