Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 63

Ariana made a complicated expression after hearing what I said.

She let out a long “Hmm…” and seemed to think for a while before speaking.

“I might feel the same way. Maybe not as much as you, though.”

After taking a deep breath, she continued.

“Even so, you know…

You’ve always said there’s no one around you who loves you, but at least two people do.”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’m a lesbian or anything—wait, or am I? Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“…That’s not what I meant.”

“It was just a joke.”

“Anyway, honestly, I can’t say what you did was right. But I can’t say it was wrong either.

It’s a bit awkward, but that’s how it’s always been from the start.”

“That’s a little hurtful, you know.”

“From the beginning, you looked at me like you already knew everything about me. You gave me those resigned, unpleasant looks…

And then, when I came to check on you because I was worried, you were coughing up blood, and when I tried to help, you snapped at me instead.”

“…”

Come to think of it, I didn’t really have much of a rebuttal.

If I wanted things to change, I couldn’t keep brushing everything off like I always had.

So, I didn’t make a sarcastic remark this time.

“I’m sorry. For everything up until now.”

“…Are you in a lot of pain?”

“What am I supposed to say after gathering the courage to apologize like that?”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s just that a lot of unfortunate things have happened, that’s all.”

Most of it could be written off as unfortunate, and I suppose that wasn’t entirely wrong.

Maybe that’s all I’d ever been capable of doing—writing things off.

“Just don’t overthink it. At least not right now.”

“Alright.”

The atmosphere grew a bit awkward, but it wasn’t like the unbearable awkwardness of the past.

About 20 minutes passed in silence before I suddenly blurted out something I was curious about.

“Hey, Ariana.”

“What?”

“About us—our relationship, I mean.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Are we friends?”

“If we weren’t, I wouldn’t have helped you this much.

I didn’t even get mad when you secretly took that gun from my father—or rather, your father.”

Ariana gave a slight smile, as if stating an obvious fact.

“Yeah, we’re friends. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what else to call it.”

How many people in the world could truly love themselves?

A lot, probably—a huge number.

Even someone living in a worse place than me, like a homeless person in an alley, might love themselves more than I do.

It wasn’t surprising that I felt this way, but I had still hoped that someday I’d get better.

Could I be okay before I die?

This lingering gloom didn’t feel like it would disappear anytime soon.

I looked at the ring again.

A clean gemstone was set in the center, and the band was made of thin, twisted gold without any ornate decorations.

Do I hate myself?

That’s absurd.

If I hated myself, would I have gone through all this trouble just to survive?

Who else loves me as much as I do…?

The answer came easily, without hesitation.

I really do hate myself.

I hate being Emily.

Sometimes I even wonder why I didn’t just kill my family sooner.

I could have ended it all, just like this, a long time ago.

But I was scared. I ran away. I hesitated, unable to do anything, and ended up in this mess.

Even now, I’m running away, scared.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

I made it that way with my own hands.

It’s an undeniable truth, but it’ll eventually fade into the background, become a forgotten rumor as people’s attention shifts elsewhere.

Yet, in front of me stood someone who firmly declared they were my friend.

So maybe, no matter what happens, it’ll be okay.

I could visit her sometimes, talk to her, share tea or cookies without any particular reason, maybe have a meal together occasionally.

And someday, if we both had children, we could introduce them to each other.

If that’s the case, maybe it’s fine if I stop worrying about everything.

What does it matter if Ernst’s parents disapprove?

My tormentor of a mother’s so-called “education” had already been appropriately revised through a few conversations, and there was nothing left to fear.

There was no reason to keep agonizing over it anymore.

I used to have no one, but now I have two people.

That was much better than having no one at all.

It was absurd that out of the people I could lean on, none were family.

The thought made me let out a hollow laugh.

Still, realizing this gave me an odd sense of relief.

I looked at the ring and slowly slipped it onto my ring finger.

Now that I think about it, “Emily Reichten” doesn’t really have a nice ring to it.

By the way, what was Ernst’s last name again? I’d called him “Ernst” so often that I seemed to have forgotten.

I think it was Altenburg.

“Emily Altenburg” didn’t sound particularly pleasant either.

Ariana, her face slightly flushed, explained how close our friendship was. Then, perhaps embarrassed, she nibbled on some snacks before leaving the room, saying she was heading home.

As time passed, the sun began to set.

Ernst came into my room to take me to dinner—or rather, to invite me, though it felt more like being taken there.

Before he could speak, I held up my hand to show the ring and smiled.

“Hey, doesn’t it suit me pretty well?”

“Of course, it does. I picked it, after all.”

“Aren’t you supposed to just say it suits me in moments like this?”

“Let’s go eat. My parents are waiting downstairs.”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t feel like going anymore.”

Ernst shrugged.

“Can’t be helped.”

“Still, shouldn’t I freshen up first?”

At that, Ernst approached and sniffed the air around me.

Annoyed, I flicked his forehead, but he didn’t seem to react much—it probably didn’t hurt since I didn’t put much strength into it.

“Ah, well. I can’t tell, but if you feel grimy, go ahead and wash up.”

I’d been lying in bed for three days, so of course, I probably smelled.

Then again, maybe I didn’t.

Or maybe I’d just grown used to it.

A servant guided me to the bathroom.

The mansion was enormous, but the bathroom wasn’t much different from the ones at the Reichten household.

If anything, it was slightly smaller and simpler.

I didn’t mind it, though.

My body still bore scars.

Most of them had turned dark and scabbed over.

I picked off the scabs one by one.

The stinging pain was mild, accompanied by a faint itchiness. But the idea of dried blood clinging to my skin reminded me of the bits of brain matter that had splattered on my face when I smashed Daniel’s head. It was disgusting.

“Ugh…”

A wave of nausea hit me.

In hindsight, the grotesque sight that followed the rush of excitement was just a horrifying memory now.

Back then, my blood had been up, my vision slightly blurred by exhilaration.

It was like how wearing a corset too tightly dulls the pain of a knife pressed to your chest.

Now, with the tension gone and the feeling of slowly being strangled fading away, all I could think was how filthy it all was.

I didn’t want to attach any emotions to my family anymore.

Not hatred, not resentment—nothing.

If I did, they’d haunt me endlessly.

After lightly washing up, I dressed and headed to the dressing room—a hallway-like space—where a servant awaited me.

Though I’d visited Ernst’s mansion often, I didn’t recognize her. She must’ve either worked in this area exclusively or been hired during the time we’d grown distant.

She seated me, dried my hair, and tidied it up nicely.

Once I was properly groomed, I stepped out to find Ernst waiting for me.

It felt like I was being led to the gallows, but running away at this point seemed impossible.

I really needed to work on my habit of diving into things without thinking.

Following Ernst to the dining room—if you could call such an enormous space a “room”—I saw two people seated at the large table, their meals before them.

I slowly crossed the room and sat across from them.

“Do young people not greet their elders first these days?”

The man looked stern.

He had wrinkles and a beard, giving him a grumpy air that reminded me of Ernst.

“I’m Emily,” I said.

“And your family?”

The question had a teasing undertone.

“Well, they’re all dead, so I’m not even sure if I still have one.”

He frowned.

I half-wondered if he had a gun hidden somewhere.

If things went poorly, this cantankerous old man might kill me right here.

That wouldn’t be the worst outcome.

At least it would be a fittingly theatrical end to the comedy of my life.