Chapter 1
I was already three hours into my IV drip for acute gastroenteritis when Martin Gentry finally dragged himself in.
He reeked of cigarettes, bringing in a chill like he'd just come in off the street.
Martin scowled, glancing at the IV bag. "What's your deal? How much longer is this gonna take? I was in the middle of a ranked match with Todd and the guys, and your call made me go AFK right at the crucial moment."
My left hand, with the IV needle still in it, was freezing cold, but my heart felt even colder.
"Can you go to the front desk and pay the deposit for me? I didn't bring enough cash," I said, my voice weak.
"I left in a hurry and didn't bring my wallet. Don't you have any money left in your bank card?" Martin replied.
"I just used up all my balance to pay the bill," I said.
Martin clicked his tongue, looking really impatient.
He pulled out his phone, started tapping away, muttering under his breath, "Of all times, you just had to get sick now..."
I closed my eyes.
The overpowering stench of hot pot, mixed with the reek of cheap cigarettes clinging to him, flooded my nose all at once.
Just ten minutes ago, the guy in the next bed was also down with acute gastroenteritis. His wife kept scolding him, "You just can't help yourself, can you?" But she was still running around, fetching him hot water, fluffing his pillow, and even draping her own down jacket over him.
And my boyfriend, after seven years as a couple, was standing by my hospital bed, whining about how I'd ruined his gaming session.
The IV fluid dripped down, drop by drop, and each one felt like it was chilling my heart a little more.
The last bit of warmth inside me finally faded away when he started complaining, "Why is the hospital Wi-Fi so slow?"
"Martin," I called out.
"Yeah?" he replied, not even bothering to look up.
"Let's break up," I said.
His fingers finally froze, and he jerked his head up, staring at me like I'd lost my mind. "What did you just say? Barbara, are you out of your mind? Did the fever fry your brain or something?"
"I'm not running a fever," I said, meeting his eyes calmly. "I'm totally clear-headed. It just hit me that these seven years have been me trying to convince myself that everything was fine. I'm done acting like everything's okay."
"Just because I was late? Just because I didn't bring any money?" He stared at me like I'd just told him the world was ending. "I'm here now, aren't I? Do you really have to blow this up like it's the end of the world?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "I do."
He was clearly pissed at how unmoved I was, his chest heaving. "Alright, you're sick, so you're the boss now, huh? I'm not gonna fight with you. Let's talk when you're not sick and freaking out."
He turned around and walked out like he couldn't care less.
He didn't pay the deposit, didn't ask if I'd be able to get home tonight, and didn't even glance back at me.
I knew it. He wasn't here to see how I was doing; he was just here to clock in and out, like it was some chore he had to get over with.
I stared at the nearly empty IV bag and pressed the call button myself.
The nurse came in, gently removed the needle, and asked softly, "Where's your boyfriend? The deposit still hasn't been paid. You'll need to take care of it yourself."
"He's not my boyfriend," I said quietly, holding the cotton swab to my arm.
"Huh?" the nurse blinked, a little confused.
"He's just... some random guy who wandered into the wrong room," I replied.
That night, I paid the bill myself and took a cab back to our apartment.
It was two in the morning, and the living room lights were still on.
Martin wasn't there, but his computer screen was still lit up, showing the game he hadn't even bothered to log out of.
In the kitchen sink, a pile of takeout boxes from his lunch were stacked up, with sauce leaking all over.
For the past seven years, every day after work, the first thing I did was pick up after him and deal with whatever mess he'd left lying around.
While I cleaned, I kept making excuses for him. He was busy, he was stressed, he was just a boy who never learned to take care of himself.
I was his mom, his maid, anything but his girlfriend.
I was exhausted.
Instead of tidying up his mess, I headed straight to the bedroom and grabbed my suitcase.
I tossed in a handful of clothes for the season, my skincare stuff, my laptop, and my DSLR.
While I was still packing, the door suddenly opened.
Martin came in, smelling even more strongly of alcohol and smoke, barely able to walk straight.
He saw me in the living room and the suitcase lying open on the floor, and just froze.
His drunken haze cleared in a flash.
"Barbara, are you out of your mind? What are you doing at this hour?" he blurted out.