Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter: 11 Garden

“Just the two of us in the garden during a ball. You do realize that anyone who sees us might misunderstand, right?”

He grabbed my arm and led me out of the ballroom, all the way to the garden outside.

“Just get to the point already. You’ve always been like this, trying to hide whenever something happens. After spending years together, I can’t even…”

“You don’t know. You have no idea who it was. You don’t know who’s been by my side or how I’ve been living all this time.”

He was being unreasonable.

But I just wanted to be alone for now.

My entire body ached, perhaps because I hadn’t taken my medicine. Or maybe it was from being strangled just moments ago.

If I knew this would happen, I would’ve at least tucked one dose into my pocket.

“Ernst, you don’t care about me at all. Now that there’s a mark on my neck, are you just pretending to be concerned?”

“I’m not pretending. If it’s to the point where you’ve been strangled—!”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I said shut up, so stop raising your voice.”

When he shouted, it made my head throb as if someone had planted a bomb inside it and set it off.

For a moment, the world spun, and I buried my head down, slapping at my ears as if I could drive out the sound.

I kept muttering that it was too loud.

I wasn’t sure what kind of look Ernst was giving me then.

Strangely, my vision blurred. Or maybe the world was still spinning.

“……”

At least he wasn’t moving his lips.

If he’d started to criticize me here, I might’ve snapped and yelled back. Ernst was far easier to confront than my mother, after all.

“When we were kids, we might’ve been close, but as we grew older, we naturally drifted apart.”

“You were the one who started pulling away from me first. We used to play together just fine.”

That was only because my mother had forced me to stay close to you.

Being with you meant I could avoid some of the torment in that household, so it wasn’t a bad deal.

But it would’ve been dangerous to start thinking of that comfort or relief as something Ernst provided, as if he were some kind of savior.

Emily probably mistook those feelings for love.

Not that he had any intention of reciprocating.

“Our relationship…”

When he brought it up, I cut him off.

I didn’t even know why he’d dragged me into this garden in the first place.

Aria, Arianna, Ariane? I couldn’t even remember her name.

Whoever she was, he should’ve been with her, not coming to find me.

“We’re just neighbors who greet each other in passing and occasionally run errands when someone in the neighborhood asks.

That’s all. Unless you’ve had this burning interest in me all along?”

Even when my body was covered in bruises.

Even when I was locked in a wardrobe for a week and met you afterward.

Even after my mother kicked me in the stomach, and I saw you the next day.

Or the day after my younger brothers filled the drawers with insects.

Even when my cheeks were swollen beyond recognition….

Not once did you ask if I was okay or show concern.

So now that I have some mark that’s vaguely life-threatening, you finally care?

I don’t need that kind of concern.

I’m not the type to cut my wrists and flaunt my depression for attention.

If I wanted to die, I’d simply die. There’s no need for theatrics.

But I want to live.

No matter how bleak or depressing life might be, even if there’s no reason to keep going—for now, I want to live.

So despite the constant pressure, the threats, the choking—I kept eating.

Because I want to survive.

The old man told me that gaining weight and taking my medicine would help.

Next week, I’ll go back to the hospital.

I’ll ask for more medication.

“No matter how my body is or how I live, we’re just neighbors.”

“So now you want me to ignore this? Do you care that you’re in this state? Fine. The next time you’re deathly ill, I’ll just leave you to deal with it alone?”

“Ah, well, yes.”

“…What kind of response is that?”

Honestly, who could’ve guessed he’d hit the nail on the head so perfectly?

The old man said that if I ate well and took my medicine for about a year, I’d recover.

I’d manage somehow.

But clinging to Ernst, trying to stay by his side, and eventually becoming someone who didn’t even exist in his world—I didn’t want that.

As a friend, he shows concern now.

But if he started seeing me as something more, Ernst would leave.

There’s no doubt about it.

I’m ugly, unkempt, incompetent, and all I know is how to obey.

Even now, I’ve given up on that one redeeming quality in an effort to survive.

So I have no appeal.

Just as my mother always said. Over and over, without fail.

As Ellie said.

As Daniel said.

As Fabian said.

As my fourth sibling said.

My father used to call me beautiful, special, but how could a man who rarely came home possibly know?

He once told me that someone with a terminal illness must have hope to recover.

I’ve always had hope.

It’s never been broken.

Every day, I prayed to see the cats perched on fences along the road.

I made small wishes to the heavens, and they were granted.

I didn’t ask for impossible things.

Like opening the windows, stopping my mother from hitting me, preventing my family from tormenting me, or leading a happy life.

There was no point in wishing for those things in the first place.

If I prayed for my mother to die, she could pray to heaven for me to live a long life.

That’s how prayer works.

So I only wish for what’s within reach.

And I believe I’ll survive.

I won’t die.

For quite some time, we sat next to each other in silence.

Ernst, seemingly awkward, kept scuffing the ground with his shoes and adjusting his clothes. Meanwhile, I stared at the moon hanging in the sky.

Killing time like this didn’t mean much, but it felt better than being stuck in that stifling ballroom, listening to clumsy waltzes.

So, keep your distance from me.

Don’t bother concerning yourself; just go about your business.

It’s about time you found someone to love—or at least someone you should tell you love, even if you don’t mean it.

Some people actually meet someone they truly love.

That’s how life goes.

Anywhere would be better than this damned household.

Unless, of course, the man turns out to think it’s perfectly fine to hit his wife—then life might get a bit harder.

By that point, though, I’d likely be long dead.

How could I wait for a man to grow old and die?

I’d have poisoned his food or shot him in the head, meeting some ridiculous end of my own.

“What kind of person do you think I am for you to say things like that?”

“A well-off neighbor. A friend who’s out of my league.”

Someone destined to rise far above me someday.

Someone who would meet another and live a happy life.

That’s who Ernst was.

“…Friends aren’t supposed to have leagues.”

“They do, Ernst. Do you have any friends who live in the slums?

Maybe some ordinary commoners, if they’re rich or clever enough.”

“…Still!”

As we continued talking, a voice interrupted us.

It wasn’t dry or cracked like mine—it was a stunningly beautiful soprano.

“…Ernst, who is this woman?”

She had hair of a similar shade but far more vibrant. Instead of white, it was a silvery sheen that seemed to glow under the moonlight.

Her skin wasn’t pale but healthy, likely from growing up basking in sunlight.

She must have run freely wherever she pleased as a child.

Her lips were crimson. Even if she wasn’t wearing makeup, they would surely be a lively shade of pink.

Every movement she made exuded elegance—not the kind beaten into someone like me, but the natural grace that comes from having good teachers and living a refined life.

If you were to picture a noble daughter, this is what she would look like.

“Well, I should head back. My mother might be looking for me. Enjoy your evening, Ernst.”

I gave Ernst, who seemed flustered, a light nudge and started walking back toward the ballroom.

Honestly, I didn’t want to return. But staying there would have been uncomfortable.

Still, that girl was genuinely beautiful.

The thought lingered as I walked, but someone suddenly stopped me in my tracks.

It wasn’t Ernst.

“I suppose you think you’re making a subtle exit, but I haven’t even heard your name yet.”

“…A neighbor. Just a childhood friend. That’s all there is to it.”

“A childhood friend wouldn’t stand that close, don’t you think?”

“Is that so?”

“‘Is that so?’ What kind of answer is that?

Forget the neighborly talk—I want to know your name.”

Emily.

Just Emily.

No need to include “Reichten.”

My throat tickled suddenly, so I raised my hand to cover my mouth as I coughed.

Blood splattered.

I glanced back briefly to see if Ernst noticed, but he didn’t.

The lady before me, however, seemed to have caught the faint twitch in her eye as her gaze lingered on the blood on my hand.

I wiped it away quickly with the handkerchief in my pocket, forcing a smile as though it were nothing, and made my escape.

That night, I found a secluded corner and sat quietly, letting the clumsy waltzes fill the air until dawn broke.

Staring blankly ahead, letting time slip by.

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