Chapter 6
803words
I pulled my hand away from Yannick’s grasp, my fingers brushing against the small bandage on the back of my hand.
"I’m fine now. You should go."
He arched an eyebrow. "Go where? What, now that you’re done with me, you’re just tossing me back into the guest room?"
I forced a small, tired smile. "No, I mean… you’re free. You can go wherever you want."
Without another word, he turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him, the impact shaking the walls.
Yeah. He was pissed.
I had planned to hold out until the seventh day, but what was the point? I had already gotten everything I wanted.
In the end, it was all about the experience.
I had been selfish. If hell existed, I'd probably be first in line.
…
On the ninth day of my illness, I still had a mild fever, but that did not stop me from dragging myself out to buy a burial plot.
The saleswoman smiled politely, "What kind of arrangements would your elderly relative prefer?"
I shook my head. "It’s for me."
Her smile faltered.
"As for requirements…" I tilted my head, pretending to think about it. Under her increasingly sympathetic gaze, I finally said, "I want it to be lively."
I hated being alone. There was nothing I could do about it while I was alive, but at least in death, I did not want to be isolated.
I had probably pissed Yannick off too much to count on him for my funeral, so I would have to trouble Quella instead.
When they asked for an emergency contact, I wrote down her number. Then, on a whim, I asked her to come with me for a fancy photoshoot.
She raised a brow. "A birthday shoot? Are you finally coming around?"
I just smiled.
It was not a weird assumption. After all, my birthday was in two days.
It would be my 26th birthday.
Flipping through the dozens of bright, colorful photos, I picked the one where my smile was the widest. Leaning over, I whispered to the photographer, "Can you make it black and white?"
She hesitated. "That’s… kind of morbid."
I grinned. "It’s fine. I need it for my memorial portrait."
…
That night, Louisa called, her voice as warm as ever. "Yulia, your birthday is coming up. Why don’t you celebrate it with us? Yannick will be there too."
I thought back to the way he stormed out the last time we spoke, how furious he had looked. I hesitated, then gently declined, "Sorry, Louisa. I've already planned a trip with a friend. I’ll visit after I get back."
I did not want my birthday to turn into some dramatic mess. To be honest, I had never really feared death. I had gone through every mental breakdown and every moment of despair alone. Each time, the only thought running through my head was why was I still here?
Maybe I had wished for it too hard, and now, the universe had finally decided to grant me my request.
But when the doctor put a real expiration date on my life, something inside me cracked. Suddenly, I was like a drowning person in the middle of the ocean, desperately grasping for anything to hold onto.
It was not because I wanted to live.
It was just because I wanted to die with a sense of security.
…
For my birthday, I wanted a huge cake, a wild party, and to drink myself into oblivion with Quella. Instead, I passed out inside the bakery.
When I woke up, I was already in the hospital. The bakery staff had called an ambulance, and for that, I was grateful.
But a small part of me also thought that if my life had ended right then and there, maybe that would not have been so bad either.
The doctor stood beside my bed, looking grim. "You need to be hospitalized."
I gave him a tired smile. "No, I don’t."
Walking out of the hospital, I spotted someone I had not seen in two days—Yannick. He was not alone. Next to him stood a beautiful woman I had never seen before, and he was smiling at her.
I clicked my tongue.
What a bastard.
…
I got a call from Mom. My parents divorced when I was in middle school. They both had money—plenty of it—but neither of them wanted to deal with me.
So, they just packed up and moved out, leaving me alone in a giant house with a maid who was hired to take care of me.
