☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎
Exhausted, I hung my coat in the hall cabinet before heading down to the kitchen. I took a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and swirled it slowly, inhaling its scent. In retrospect, I had always been birdwatching. Après la chasse, Rose was the trophy mounted on the wall, ready for viewing. The interpretation of beauty was always relevant to art; more important than existence itself. To anyone, I could have been a connoisseur. I could have built my own wealth, but it had already been passed down to me. It was never a struggle. C’est du gâteau.
I sank beneath the weight of the comforter. I was drowsy, lightheaded from the whiskey. But the moment my eyes closed, the phone vibrated against the nightstand, shattering the silence. It was Rose.
“Hello, Arthur? Are you still awake?” her voice was thick and nasal, punctuated by a heavy breath.
“Hi, Rose. Yes, but I was just drifting off. What’s wrong?” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, my brow furrowed in the dark.
“Sorry to bother you… I know it’s late.” A sneeze erupted on the other end, followed by a shaky exhale. “I just need your help. I’ve been sick for a few days, and my headache comes and goes. I feel fatigued. I thought I could handle it, but… I have no one else to call. I just tried dialing your number, hoping you’d answer.”
My head rested, while I stared at the ceiling. The fog of interrupted sleep left me disoriented. I massaged my temple to relieve the headache.
“Arthur? Arthur? You there?” Rose called on impatiently.
“Yes, I’m here. But you should’ve called me earlier.” I exclaimed, pacing the window. “We’ll talk when I get there. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” she sniffled. “Oh, and one last favor. Could you bring me some painkillers or something for the fever? I’m really sorry. I can’t make it to the drugstore right now. I owe you big time.”
“Sure,” I replied, resting against the headboard.
After the call ended, I grabbed the medicine from the cabinet, threw on a black hoodie and a thick jacket, and headed out.
The city lights blurred past the window while I stayed awake, troubled by Rose’s unexpected call and her sudden illness.
It was 23:45 when the bus pulled up to the stop. I walked a few blocks to her apartment, sending her a message to let her know I was outside. Before I reached her door, my phone buzzed with a notification. She replied that she had left the door open. I entered her unit, and called her name. I was greeted by nothing but silence.
“Rose, I’m here.” I said, locking the door behind me.
Walking down the hallway of her apartment, I heard the faint sound of Rose’s coughing. The sound echoed as I noticed her silhouette through the half-open door, its paint chipped in several places. I pushed the door open, revealing her dimly lit bedroom. Her bed had a double-sized maroon frame, arranged with four pillows and a thick comforter that cocooned her. I moved to her side, set the bag on the bedside table, and checked her temperature and vitals.
“You’re running a high fever,” I said, holding the digital thermometer. “Tell me what else you’re feeling.”
“I’ve got a headache, and I feel really tired. My throat hurts too,” she murmured, coughing softly as she hid behind the comforter.
“I’ll prepare something for you before you take the meds.” I left her side and headed for the kitchen. I hadn’t thought about what to feed her, so I checked the cupboards and refrigerator for anything I could cook.
After twenty-five minutes of preparing her meal, I returned to her bedroom to find that Rose had fallen asleep. I gently woke her, and her eyes flickered, momentarily blinded by the desk lamp. She stirred, trying to sit up against the headboard, and I helped her. I pulled the tray closer and fed her soupe de cresson. Though she only took a few spoonfuls, it was enough. She sniffled, pulling the napkin and wiping her nose. Even when she hadn’t taken a shower, or looked pale and sick, Rose never looked average to me. She was so pretty.
“I’m full Arthur,” she said. “Can you please pass me the meds?”
“Here,” I said, handing her the medicine.
I continued to stare, engrossed in the details of her face. It was small and well-proportioned. She had almond-shaped eyes with a slight roundness to them, almost exotic. Her nose was pointed but small, and her thick eyelashes made her look like a doll. She smelled of sweat mixed with florals and cinnamon. Her hair was silky and golden, with waves that seemed almost too alluring to touch, Her lips were plump and heart-shaped. I could go on all day staring at her.
“Arthur? Arthur? Where’d you go?” Rose asked weakly.
“Sorry, I was just tired,” I mumbled. “What is it, Rose?”
“You seemed to just drift away. I… I was just saying thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“Nothing. I was just… never mind,” I said, looking away.
“Are you sure?” she asked, turning toward me, her eyes widening as she waited for my response.
“I… I was exhausted at work,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Overtime?” she asked, her eyes fixed on me even more intently.
“Yeah, something like that,” I said, lowering my gaze.
“Do you want to go home?” Rose asked, adjusting the comforter on her side. “I’m fine now. Thank you.”
I smiled at her as she took the tablets and watched her slowly sink into the pillows.
“You should get some rest and follow the instructions I wrote down,” I said, pointing to the paper. “I’ll leave everything on the table.”
Rose nodded as she slowly closed her eyes and fell asleep.
On the bus, I noticed Sophie, the nurse from the hospital. She was with a man, and they were both seated on the left side, hunched over their phones. Suddenly, Sophie turned her head, her eyes squinted trying to figure out who was the man seated at the back. Then her eyes widened as she recognized me, she instantly smiled and waved her hand. A shiver crept down my spine. It was cold on the bus, yet I was sweating under my hoodie. I gulped, my fingers dragging along the side of my pants, unable to stay still.
“Hey! Doctor Hoffmann!” she greeted, pulling the jacket of the man beside her. Reluctantly, he nodded at me.
I didn’t say a word. I just nodded and turned to the window, avoiding her further intrusion. Sophie turned her back to the man and whispered, occasionally glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
When the bus suddenly halted, Sophie and the thin, tall man stood up at the same time. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled slowly. Something about it felt wrong. I didn’t know why. I only knew I didn’t like it. I couldn’t shake the feeling they had been talking about me.
By the fourth night of caring for Rose, I followed the same routine, checking her temperature, cleaning her with a damp towel, and feeding her. It had been four days of little sleep, and the exhaustion was starting to take its toll. Lack of rest would affect my work. I could not afford to lose my job, not after my recent promotion. But Rose was disrupting everything because of her illness. I was trying to make sense of this. Maybe I would gain more of her trust and take advantage of getting her phone. That night I was feeling ill myself, and tired. But I continued to be there for her.
“Hi, Rose. How are you feeling?” I asked, pulling the pillow to her side. “Here, let me help you.”
Rose nodded and smiled. “I’m feeling a bit better now, unlike the first few nights.”
“That’s good to know,” I said. “I’ll just wash the dishes. You should rest now.”
“Arthur, are you okay?” Rose asked, her cheeks flushed from the flu.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied, standing at the doorway. “Why?”
“You look tired. You don’t look the same tonight,” she muttered. “Something happened?”
“Lack of sleep, but I’ll manage,” I said, smiling. “You must sleep now, Rose.”
“Okay,” she said, turning onto her side and shifting the pillow under her head.
Once she was asleep, I closed the door behind me and seized the opportunity to take her cellphone. It was buried under a pile of magazines in her living room. I quickly turned it off, slipped it into a faraday pouch, and hid it. The smell of laundry was seeping out of the basket. Before leaving, I quietly checked on Rose and put the lid back on the basket.
The travel back home was much better this time. It was not crowded, unlike before. There were few passengers on board, and some had already fallen asleep, snoring loudly and almost tipping from their seats. Their faces all seemed like clones of one another, heavy and puffy.
Early morning, the sound of birds chirping at my window drilled through my slumber, sharp and irritating. I got up with a throbbing headache from lack of sleep. It was 06:00, and the sunlight almost blinded me. When I opened the medicine cabinet to get an ibuprofen, I noticed the lines on my face and the dark circles under my eyes. The room had become a blur. My vision swayed as I vomited into the sink, a heavy sensation settling in my stomach.
I immediately washed my face, the pungent smell of the vomit lingered onto my skin. So, I scrubbed both my arms until it was gone. I was not disgusted, but I was disappointed of everything.
At the study, I brought the faraday pouch with me and hid it in the vault behind a painting before leaving for work. I hadn’t had time to eat the food served by Mrs. Moreau, as I was running late.
Arriving at the hospital, my assistant noticed the heaviness in my eyes. Still, she didn’t say a word. Her usual quiet, shy demeanor resurfaced, although Claire had changed her appearance; she had dyed her hair and added highlights.
“Good morning, Doctor Hoffmann,” she greeted. “I’ve arranged the patients’ files on your desk and updated your calendar until next week.”
“Thanks, Claire,” I replied, brushing my hair back neatly. “Did you do something to your hair?”
Claire stopped typing and touched her hair, smiling. “Y-yes, Doctor Hoffmann.”
“I see. Nice highlights,” I said, taking the laptop and files with me before leaving the clinic.
The hospital had been busy before lunch, with patients lined up outside my clinic, each with a different issue. At noon, I took quick lunch at the bistro and returned for the meeting at 15:00.
In the hallway, I passed Sophie. She stopped abruptly and matched my pace. Her eyes were daggers, fixed on me.
“Afternoon, Doctor Hoffmann!” she greeted with a grin.
“Hey, Sophie, right?” I asked, my hands tucked into my pockets.
“Yes, Doctor. Fancy seeing you on the bus late last night. Where were you headed?” she asked.
“Why?” I said, continuing toward the meeting room.
“Nothing, Doc. Just making conversation,” she replied, exhaling as she stopped. Her cheeks were flushed.
I turned toward her, glanced down the hallway, then stepped slightly closer. Sophie’s eyes looked heavy-lidded, almost innocent. “Don’t you have anything to do besides gossip?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Hoffmann. I don’t want to be intrusive,” Sophie said, lowering her head as defeat settled across her face.
“Sshh… it’s okay. I was just asking. You wouldn’t want anything to affect your references, would you?” I said, my jaw tightening as I held her gaze.
Sophie’s face dropped. She didn’t reply; she only gave a small nod.
At the meeting room, I straightened my posture as Doctor Weber greeted me.
“Doctor Hoffmann,” she said, smiling. “You’re early.”
I didn’t say a word. I only smiled at her. We seated ourselves in the chairs while Doctor Weiss’s assistant handed us copies of the documents related to the meeting. She placed the laptop in the center and turned on the projector. A few moments later, Doctor Weiss arrived and began the introduction.
Later that evening, I arrived at Rose’s apartment in fresh clothes. At the entrance, the limestone was cold and wet from the earlier rain. Inside, the staircase spiraled upward, its wooden guardrails chipped and its metal supports corroded.
When I reached her floor, the hallway stretched into a dim corridor, with rooms facing each other and a flickering light overhead. The building owner clearly did not prioritize maintenance. The air smelled of rotting floorboards and I wondered why Rose would choose to rent such a place.
Before knocking, I brushed my hair back and adjusted the buttons on my shirt. Rose greeted me with a friendly smile.
“Hi, Arthur!” she said, her eyes widening at the sight of me. “Didn’t expect you today.”
“I just wanted to check if you’re feeling better,” I said, raising my eyebrows before smiling. “You didn’t answer my call.”
“I’m okay now, recovering,” Rose replied, leaning against the door. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call. I couldn’t find my phone.”
I cleared my throat. “Where do you think you left it?” It was ironic.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, fixing her hair into a ponytail. “I can’t remember. I’ve been looking everywhere. I feel like I’m going insane.”
“Are you sure you’re free of the flu?” I asked, smirking at her.
“Of course,” she said, stepping aside. “Come in. Sorry about that.”
“For what?” I asked, scratching my forehead.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, pointing to a pile of laundry. Boxes of magazines, books, and files were scattered in every direction. Her trash bin was so full the lid could barely contain its contents. “I haven’t had time to clean the place. Maybe when I get back. Can you help me, please?”
“Yeah, sure,” I murmured, barely holding back a laugh. “Finding your phone does sound like a challenge.”
Rose poked me on the shoulder, smiling as she moved quickly into the living room. I considered inviting her to dinner at the manor, but before I could speak, she cut me off.
“Arthur, come here. Can you move this cabinet? There was something underneath,” she said, trying to push the heavy bookcase aside.
“Sure.” I moved to her side.
“Oh! It was just the remote!” Rose slapped her forehead, laughing. “Silly!”
“Almost…” I mumbled, smiling at her. “Ah, Rose…would you?”
Rose did not pay any attention to what I was about to say and continued her conversation. She was completely self-absorbed. I thought about pulling the white plastic bag from the drawer and imagined asphyxiating her with it, but I stopped myself. I was not that impulsive, especially considering I was the only person she was with. It would be easy for law enforcement to incarcerate me, and that would be the end. I shook my head at the thought.
“Arthur! Where have you gone again?” Rose asked, pouting, her hands on her shoulders.
“I was thinking about where you could have possibly left your phone, sorry,” I responded, scanning her living room.
“Ah, okay. Where was I? Oh yeah, my low-paying job, that poorly maintained unit, and a boss who’s a complete pervert… I hate my life. If I were rich, Arthur, I’d get out of here. I’d quit my job and move to Hawaii. I’m so delusional right now. What should I do?” she said, pouting as she ran her fingers through her blonde hair.
Her incessant chatter throbbed in my ears, like a revolver firing beside my head. Rose never gave me a chance to interrupt her trivial complaints; her voice drilled into my skull. My hand twitched as I imagined her head bashed against the concrete.
When her back was turned, I wiped the cabinet where I had touched it before turning away.
“Come on, Arthur, let’s go,” she said, tugging at my arm. “I just need to return some stuff from work. By the way, can you call my phone? I just want to hear it ring so I can find it.”
Her words echoed in my head. I pulled at my collar and swallowed.
“Sure,” I said, taking my phone out. “Just a second. I’ll ring you now.”
Though I knew exactly where her phone was, I had prepared for this moment. I used a second device, a matte-black Android running GrapheneOS. I unlocked it, found her contact, and called, switching it to loudspeaker.
While it rang, Chopin’s Étude, “Winter Wind,” echoed in my mind. It wasn’t anxiety, but the truth rising from within me, something I could not stop from tightening in my chest. Être dans la merde! I did not expect to react like this.
A recorded operator’s voice came through: “The subscriber cannot be reached. Please try your call again later.”
Before Rose could react, I coughed violently as the call ended, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. I clutched my chest as sweat broke across my face, shattering the silence. Rose hesitated, then rushed to the kitchen for water.
When she returned, she handed me a glass of water and gently massaged my back. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t answer and only nodded weakly. My throat was tight, but the water helped slightly. My heart pounded, and my palms were damp with sweat.
“Do you want to sit for a while, Arthur? You seem shaken. What’s happening?” she asked, guiding me to the couch.
I cleared my throat again, wiping my face.
“I’m fine. It might be my dust allergy,” I said, scratching the back of my ear. “I’m sure your phone will turn up soon. Do you want me to help you look for it?”
“No, you don’t have to. I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t know. This place might have triggered your allergy,” she said, gathering her documents. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Monsieur Robert won’t be happy if I delay these files any longer.”
Leaving her disheveled apartment was a massive relief. Rose might have gotten the flu because of how unsterile it was. The flower shop just near her apartment was closed, and we walked a few blocks, reaching a stretch of old buildings and shops. Rose seemed unusually quiet when we reached a darker part of the road, her eyes gazing toward the far end of the highway. Her hair was tied in a tight bun, and she wore the same navy-blue coat, now paired with a red scarf. She carried her brown shoulder bag, and her nails were unpolished.
I took some of the things she was carrying. The walk felt unnervingly long because of the silence. Whatever was on her mind, I didn’t pry. I just watched her.
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