Symbiosis - Chapter 13

Not long after we lay down that night, however, I decided to take back my conclusion that Xie Zhao wasn’t troublesome.

He lay beside me, apparently unable to fall asleep. Every so often, he shifted a little, making faint rustling noises.

I knew those tiny sounds were all that escaped his painstaking efforts to keep still.

But I slept badly. I wasn’t used to suddenly having someone beside me at night, either.

Soon I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Get off.” I sat up and looked down at him in the dim moonlight. “I can’t sleep with you moving around like that.”

“Huh?” He looked up, startled, and pressed his lips together. His hair was a little mussed from bed, making him look pitiful.

“Was I disturbing you?” After a pause, he sat up too. “I’m sorry.”

I had no patience and didn’t think apologies were much use. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked, none too kindly.

“I don’t feel well,” he said. “My hand hurts a little.”

“Oh.” I thought I’d already done more than enough. I didn’t want to waste more energy worrying about a near-stranger’s health.

“I understand,” I said coldly. “Get off. Sleep on the floor.”

“You’re disturbing my sleep.”

He blinked. “But…”

Before he could get any further, I cut him off. “I said get off, Xie Zhao. I don’t want to say it a third time.”

I’d chosen to bring him home. Now I was telling him to get out of my bed.

I admitted I was moody. Sometimes my anger was utterly unreasonable.

The ugliness I occasionally showed was exactly like Shen Lin’s.

Xie Zhao said nothing more. He obediently climbed out of bed and lay on the floor.

Of course it was hard and cold. I had no spare bedding to cover him.

So what?

I turned on my side, pulled the quilt tightly around my whole body, and closed my eyes to sleep again. I planned to send him away first thing tomorrow. Whether I’d let him stay for breakfast would depend on my mood in the morning.

But shortly after I closed my eyes, before I’d fallen properly asleep, a sudden clap of thunder burst outside the window.

I opened my eyes in the dim room, cold shivers running down my back. Most of my drowsiness vanished.

I’d never enjoyed a particularly good standard of living. Yet I had one very fragile weakness.

I was afraid of thunderstorms. Especially the thunder.

It made my shabby room—my barely adequate shelter—feel unsafe too.

I shrank back involuntarily and wrapped the quilt tighter.

My fingers clutched its edge, trembling beyond my control.

Outside, the storm showed no sign of stopping. It only grew fiercer. Soon two more claps sounded. Rain began to fall, quickly turning from light to heavy.

I closed my eyes again and pinched my arm hard.

As the pain reached me, I felt someone climb onto my bed.