Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 31: “As It Should Have Been.”

A moment ago, the cookie tasted fine. Now, it was utterly unpalatable.

Still, it was food, so I stuffed it into my mouth and chewed on it, bite by miserable bite.

Stop lying.

You keep saying friend, friend, friend. Just stop with the nonsense.

Anyone can see you’re doing things only lovers would do!

Ellie was fuming, her voice dripping with irritation.

I couldn’t care less.

“So what?”

“So what?! You probably didn’t even deliver the letter I asked you to give him last time. Bet you just threw it away somewhere!”

“I didn’t throw it away. I delivered it.

Though it might be rotting in Ernst’s trash bin by now.”

Ellie trembled in front of me, her body shaking with fury.

I wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“…Why on earth would someone like him want to be with someone as pathetic as you?”

“Pathetic, sure. In any other household, a sister who talked the way you just did would’ve earned herself a good slap.”

I thought for a moment about what a “sardonic smile” might look like. Should I smirk with only one side of my mouth while giving off the scent of fish?

Unfortunately, I don’t handle seafood well, and Emily doesn’t eat it at all. It must just be my dislike for it.

“Shut up. A slap? You’re weaker than me, and I’m three years younger!”

“Good for you, being so strong. I’m sure you’ll find a great use for it.

Are you saving it to beat your older sister senseless someday?”

You’re insufferable with that smug, sneering tone!

And you’re ugly to boot—so unpleasant to look at!

“That’s true. My hair isn’t a beautiful golden hue like yours; it’s dry and brittle.

My eyes are creepily red, and my skin is so pale it must be repulsive.”

I gestured animatedly with my fingers, as if weaving some theatrical spell.

In movies, a character might say these lines while holding a cigarette, but neither Emily nor I smoke.

“But Ellie, doesn’t that make you even more pathetic than me?”

Ellie’s expression twisted into a grimace.

“Ernst likes a plain, ugly person who’s worse than you in every way.”

Of course, I meant as a friend, but there was no need to clarify. She’d interpret it however she wanted.

Ellie ground her teeth audibly at my words.

“Ellie, no matter how you look or what you’ve learned, you’re honestly not someone anyone would want by their side.”

“…What do you mean by that?”

She glared at me with eyes that mirrored our mother’s too perfectly.

The only difference was that Ellie couldn’t drag me to the punishment room for saying such things.

Every single thing you do is repulsive and vile.

I know it was you who deliberately trampled on the plants and flowers I was growing.

Your personality is foul, and even if you try to appear knowledgeable, it’s all a façade. Wisdom? You’re nothing but an idiot.

Ellie’s face flushed red.

When I was younger, my mother would hit me even harder if my face turned red while being scolded.

In front of Ellie was the teacup and plate Rin had brought earlier.

A servant is supposed to assist when their master is in trouble, but Rin has bolted instead.

This must be why commoners can’t be trusted.

Although, to be honest, it’s just envy.

I wish I could run away too. Anywhere.

Living as a commoner with money sounds infinitely better than this noble life.

If I were Rin, I’d quit this mansion, use the money I’d saved to travel the world, and die as painlessly as possible.

Ellie picked up the teacup filled with hot tea and hurled it at me.

The cup smashed against my forehead, shattering into pieces, leaving cuts all over my head.

My right eye turned red and blurry.

Though nothing seemed to have gotten into my eye, the cuts above it must have bled into it.

I felt dizzy, but the sensation of bleeding made my mind strangely clear.

Staring at the shards floating in the remaining tea, it felt oddly like gazing into my own red eyes in the mirror.

I started picking out the pieces with my fingers, but the effort irritated me, so I overturned the cup onto the floor instead.

The lukewarm tea soaked my clothes.

Who would ever like someone like you?

At best, our mother and father.

Maybe Daniel and Fabian, if you’re lucky. That’s about it.

Ellie froze, either shocked by the sight of my bleeding or repulsed by me.

I picked up the plate of cookies and slammed it onto the table.

Then I grabbed the shards of glass and pressed them into my thigh, my shoulder, my arm.

Next, I picked up another cup and smashed it against the table.

The cup shattered into pieces, scattering shards everywhere. Only the handle remained in my hand.

With it, I scored lines across my shoulder, chest, hands, and wrists.

It barely left scratches.

Not much pain, either—more like the sensation of slicing paper.

That initial grating feeling was almost exhilarating, though the sting that followed was unpleasant.

Once I was done tearing at my skin, I placed the handle on the table.

Its jagged edge was smeared with blood and bits of flesh.

“Wait, wait—what are you doing?!”

“Ellie, what are you yelling about now?

You’ve already made a mess of me—just sit quietly until someone comes to clean up the glass.”

I should’ve worn white.

The blood would have looked more dramatic.

Sometimes, I’d go to the bathroom, slice my wrists, and let the blood drip into the sink.

It had been years since I last did something like this.

After my mother noticed the marks on my wrists, I realized it would be easier to drink water through my nose than to avoid her suspicions again. I gave it up entirely.

Seeing my own blood again after so long, it finally felt real.

Even earlier, when I was with Aria and Ernst, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just some kind of dollhouse play—some childish game of pretend. It was tiresome.

But what could I do when those two were having such a wonderful time?

Feeling an itch crawling under my skin, I picked up the glass handle again and traced lines along the back of my arm like I was drawing.

“I’ll call the physician right away. Stop it! Just stop!”

My dear younger sister, stronger than me in every sense, grabbed my wrist and held it tight.

“Oh, you call a physician when you’re hurt? Don’t fuss over something this trivial.

Surely a brilliant little sister disciplining her stupid older sibling isn’t worth all this commotion, is it?”

I shook off Ellie’s hand, which was trembling slightly.

Brushing off the shards and glass powder stuck to my body with the back of my hand only seemed to worsen the wounds, but I didn’t care.

The physician would pull out the pieces, apply ointment, and wrap them up in bandages.

If it seemed particularly bad, a few stitches would do the trick, and I’d heal in time.

My mother wasn’t home.

If she had been, she would’ve rushed out of her room, filled with worry for her precious Ellie, checking if she was hurt.

She’d look at me and ask, “Wasn’t it your reckless words that caused this?”

Her touch—her marks—covered my body already.

Bruises, scars from beatings, and countless reminders of her discipline.

I wanted to erase them all.

Scratching away with something sharp seemed better than leaving those disgusting reminders.

I didn’t want her legacy etched into my skin.

With that thought, I focused on erasing every trace left on my body.

But something grotesque—a remnant of my mother’s temperament—grabbed my wrist and refused to let go.

It hurt.

Terribly.

“…It hurts. Let go.”

“I-I’m sorry, okay?! Just stop, please, stop! I’m sorry! It’s my fault, so please put that down!”

Ellie didn’t sound genuinely sorry—just scared at the sight of blood.

She couldn’t possibly mean it.

“No, I’m the one at fault. How dare I get along so well with Ernst in front of my brilliant little sister.”

At that, Ellie’s grip on my wrist slackened.

I sat there, looking down at my tattered body.

It reminded me of a worn-out sock—trodden on daily, patched over and over until, finally, it’s thrown away without hesitation.

Maybe I was worth more than a sock, though. I could at least be sold for a hefty price.

Ellie stood frozen, staring at me as if paralyzed.

If she was so concerned, she could go outside and fetch a physician herself.

Though, for these wounds, there was hardly a need.

A clean white cloth and a bit of time would heal them just fine.

Eventually, Fabian arrived.

At the sight of me covered in blood, he screamed for the servants.

The staff came rushing in, fussing and panicking over me.

Ellie, still in a daze, was sent to her room.

The servants began undressing me, carefully revealing the bruises and fresh wounds. Fabian observed, his expression contorted into a mix of anger and pity.

“Hands off.”

My voice was weak, but the servants obeyed, stepping back.

Most of the glass shards had already been removed. Cleaning up the mess would fall to the servants anyway—nothing for me to worry about.

Barefoot, I walked across the grand sitting room, up the staircase, and through the halls to the bathroom.

There, I turned on the water, letting it cascade over me.

The coldness drenched me, washing the blood down the drain.

I heard Fabian’s muffled voice outside, but I didn’t bother answering or opening the door.

Ernst said he would help me.

The protagonist of this story had said so too.

Things would work out.

At worst, I’d die.

The sensation of Ernst’s embrace earlier still lingered.

So I hugged myself under the stream of water, letting the sensations wash over me, silencing my thoughts.

I set aside my worries about life, health, the future, emotions, relationships, people, sadness, and rage.

Ernst had promised to save me.

He said he would help me.

We were nothing more than acquaintances exchanging pleasantries, yet he still offered.

How noble.

Perhaps he’d even save me from my mother, whisking me away.

All I’d have to do is thank him repeatedly for purchasing me.

At the next ball, I’d dance again.

Of course, I’d wear long sleeves.

In the midst of a grand ballroom, we’d clumsily sway, exchanging lighthearted conversation, cracking little jokes.

Another day would pass like that.