I woke up to a stinging pain at the back of my throat, sore and dry. The walls appeared pink from the evening light trying to make it through the red curtains; everything was quiet except for the sound of the ceiling fan moving rhythmically. I pushed away the blanket and sat up, still groggy from the medication. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a bag of nails, the pain spreading to my jaws so excruciating tears formed behind my eyes against my will. I searched around desperately for my water bottle, the red gloominess of the room fueling my grey thoughts of self-pity and misery, half-hoping for a warm, soothing drink to appear somehow...
I heard him before I could see him. The door creaked open, letting in the light from the living room to fill in the dark spaces of the room. Holding a bowl with both hands, the boyfriend walked in and laid down the bowl carefully onto the desk beside me. Drink, he said in a mock-commando tone. I scooted over to see what he’d brought in. It was barley with lo hon guo.
Sigh. I feel so blessed sometimes it scares me.
