Disclaimer – ½ Prince and all of the characters—aside from my OC's—belong to Yu Wo
Note – Zhong Yu is included quite a bit more in this version. xP Oh nooo. But he won't actually get involved in the story for a while yet.
"…did I…finish telling…a week ago‽ Dammit!…never listen, you moron!"
"That does not…me…it was…fault. You should be…that I have…killed him."
"…you dare kill him! I don't…whose fault it is! If you keep…he's going to come here!"
My eyes blearily cracked open and they wandered to the left, searching for the source of the argumentative voices that had woken me up. My father and my doctor were standing near my sofa, glaring at one another with utmost loathing.
"I will never allow that."
The doctor waved a hand in my direction. "Then move him. I told you already that Zhong Yu's gotten more than tired of how you treat Zian as your own personal punching bag. If you don't want him to come for a not-so-brotherly visit, you'll cooperate with us!"
A look of cold hate I was completely familiar with settled over my father's face. "If Zhong Yu dares to come here after what he has done to…to Hui Ying and Gui Wen…to my family…" His voice faded out and his anger was slowly replaced with despair—something I'd never seen him show before, but he soon regained control and turned back into his usual self. "If he comes here, I assure you that he will not live long enough to regret it."
Intimidating looks and icy threats didn't seem to phase the doctor at all, and he calmly continued, "He won't come if you move Zian," nearly sounding like he was trying to barter. How fearless he was bewildered me.
With a deep breath and a tiny, resigned head shake, my father turned toward the door and began walking away while softly saying something I couldn't hear over the sounds of the people and beeping equipment surrounding me. There seemed to be a lot of doctors in my bedroom at that moment. Why were they there? I'd just had a check-up recently. Well, a month ago.
Once my father was gone, the doctor's irritated gaze fell onto me, but it vanished at once into a look of surprise and relief while he rushed forward, nearly knocking a young man in a lab coat off his feet. "Zian! You're finally awake!" That ridiculously fluffy head of white hair floated into my line of vision. It was like a giant, talking dandelion puff had grown at my bedside.
I would have replied, but my chest hurt too much to make any noise just yet, so I didn't. I felt as though several of my ribs had stabbed through my lungs, rendering me incapable of breathing, much less talking.
Tears pooled on my eyelids and dripped off when I attempted to turn my head to look around my unusually sunny bedroom; the curtains that I liked to keep shut must have been opened. The light only added to the pain in my head. It hurt so much. My arm hurt. My chest hurt. All of the rest of me hurt. Stupid pain. Why was I in so much pain?
"Zian?"
I let my head revert back to its original position, giving a gasp when my neck protested against the movement. Staring questioningly up at the doctor, I waited for him to say whatever it was and hoped that it was going to be brief. I wanted to go back to sleep. I felt so tired and heavy like I was sinking into my bed.
He used a tissue to wipe the wetness off my face. The touches were careful and gentle, but the feeling of the soft cloth rubbing over my skin only made it sting. "Try not to move too much, okay? We've done some scans already, and it seems the only things that are broken is four ribs and your left arm—in three spots, and one bit was a really nasty compound fracture, but at least you've got your other arm to use 'til it heals, huh? You've also sustained damage to your skull, which worries me, so I want to ask you a few questions. They'll all be simple, so don't bother saying anything. Just blink once for yes, twice for no, three if you don't know."
Again, I made no attempt to reply. All of that explained the pain.
"You already responded to your name, but let's try this anyway. Is your name Min Zian?" he asked, and I blinked once—what else would my name be?—then gave him a series of single blinks when he listed off my age, location, his own identity, and the year. He then gave a cheery nod and continued, "Great. The day, is it the twenty-fifth?"
After a moment of thought, I blinked three times. I couldn't remember what day it was. That number was way off, though.
"Okay…The month, is it October?"
That time, I blinked twice at the weird question. It was early July, not late October.
"You don't think it's October, eh? Sorry to break it to you, but it's Sunday, October twenty-fifth." He held up a newspaper for proof, tapping a finger over the printed date. My eyes widened at his correction and I stared at him in confusion. His face fell slightly while he looked down at his clipboard. "Ah-h-h…I was afraid of this. That moron…just told him a week ago to stop losing his temper so much, then he goes and nearly kills you. Was afraid Zhong Yu was gonna murder me through the phone when I told him about what'd happened. His temper is worse than Kuo Li's…" the doctor mumbled to himself with a slight shudder. Sighing, he stared down at me again. "You better be grateful he's so protective of you. You would have been dead a long time ago if he wasn't."
I gave no response, having no idea who Zhong Yu was, what he had to do with the shortening or lengthening my life span, and why he was protective of me.
"Wouldn't have been born in the first place, if it wasn't for him," the doctor added, smirking. "Though I'm not sure if that's really something to be grateful for, given the life Kuo Li has been putting you through all these years." Tucking his clipboard and newspaper under his arm, the doctor gave me one last look of distress. "We've given you stuff for the pain, so go back to sleep if you want. Probably don't have much time to get rested up, but go ahead."
With one drowsy blink, I watched while he walked out of sight, leaving the room. My eyes immediately drifted shut and the sounds of the people and equipment quickly faded out when I slipped into a dull, hazy sleep.
What felt like a second later, a slamming noise jarred me awake and my eyes flew open. Someone walked by, but didn't stop. Quiet voices were speaking somewhere across the room, but I was more interested with inspecting the ceiling. That wasn't my ceiling. It was too low, the wrong color, and there was an overhead fan light instead of my decorative, bronze chandelier.
Feeling confused, I carefully turned my head to see who was talking. A man and two women were sitting on a spacious, cushioned and curtained window seat built into the wall across the room. None of the people seemed to notice I was awake, so I slowly began to sit up. Sharp pain shot through my chest, but, not wanting to give up, I gritted my teeth and used my right arm to push myself upright. Light footsteps hurried across the pale wood floor and a hand was put on my right shoulder. "Why are you trying to sit up?"
Glancing up, I met the gaze of a pretty, curly-haired woman. She looked rather angry for some reason, as did the other two when they came up behind her. "Where am I?" I asked as clearly as I could, though my voice was rather raspy and weak. The effort tore at my dry throat and aching chest.
"Our house," the man answered simply. "You live here now. This was one of our guest rooms, but it's yours now."
In surprise at his unexpected explanation, I gave a sweeping look about the airy guest room. It was only half the size of my bedroom, but the creamy walls, long shape and vacant, not-lived-in look made it seem spacious. The desk and chair that had been in my office were placed against the wall opposite the king-size bed I was laying in. Several stacks of cardboard boxes were next to it, and a long set of empty bookshelves were on the other side. Leafy plants were here and there around the room, and a cold breeze was blowing in through the open window, making me shiver now that I wasn't encased in the heavy, white blankets.
"And, um…" I whispered, no less confused than before, "why am I here?"
"Your father sent you here," the woman said quietly.
"Why?" I repeated, eyes going wide.
"We don't know," the second woman admitted. "He won't tell us what happened. Your doctor won't say anything, either." When my face fell at the lack of information, she hastily added, "But I'm sure we'll find something out later! Don't worry!"
I wasn't assured at all by her cheerily spoken words and bright smile. How could I not worry when I'd been sent for some unknown reason to some unknown place to live with a bunch of strangers?
"It's not like we need to hear an explanation. It's obvious what happened. Just look at him," the man snarled, then shook his head and frowned down at me. "Really, I told you two that meeting was a bad idea, but you guys stupidly didn't listen to me. Now you've been beaten black and blue.
"Dib seemed fine last night, by the way, other than being worried about where you were. But who knows if anything's happened to him since then." He turned to the bob-haired woman at his side. "He told me his cellphone number. Think I should invite him over?"
"I don't think he should come." The two glanced at the woman with her hand still on my shoulder. "Let Zian rest for a few days. Dib would probably keep him up. Unless you want him to be here?"
After a pause, I realized that had been directed at me and I stared up at her in confusion. "Who?"
"Dib," she answered slowly. "Do you want him to come over, or would you rather rest?"
"Who is Dib?" What a weird name…
Blank stares met my question and no one answered me for nearly a minute. The man suddenly swore under his breath and gave a huge sigh. "Are you serious‽ Oh, this is just great. Do you even know who we are‽" he asked me and I carefully shook my head, feeling glad that he'd brought it up. With a frustrated noise, he finally told me, "I'm Lin Delun. Your brother-in-law. This is my wife, Chen. And this is my sister—your fiancée, Jiao-mèi."
My mouth dropped open slightly when he listed off their names. "Oh…" So that was who they were. Where I was suddenly made a lot more sense than it had initially. They weren't strangers at all. Well, they were sort of—I'd never met them before—but they weren't completely unrelated to me, at least.
A sudden sinking feeling filled me. I was injured, so I wasn't able to go to work, so my father sent me here. He was getting rid of me. Now that I'd served my purpose for getting close to the Lin family, I wasn't useful to him anymore. Was I really so worthless?
"Whoa! Why are you crying‽" Delun suddenly exclaimed when hot tears began to pour down my face.
Ignoring him, I shrugged off Jiao's hand and struggled to climb out of bed, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain stabbing through my body. I didn't want to leave home. I couldn't leave. Why was he so cold? Why did he hate me so much? There must have been something I could do to make him take back his choice. How could I prove myself to him?
How could I make him love me?
I nearly fell out of bed, but Delun caught me with a surprised yell. "Let go of me!" I ordered, weakly attempting to push him away. "I have to go home!"
"Stop hitting me!" Delun snapped. "You're living here now!"
"I am not!" I frantically denied, struggling harder in an effort to escape. "Let me go back! I have go to back!"
With an angry roar, Delun pushed me back into bed and held me down, glaring. "Stop flailing around, you idiot! You live here now whether you like it or not! It was your father's choice, not ours, so deal with it! It's safer here for you, anyway, so I don't know why you're complaining in the first place! Just calm down!" I gave him a miserable stare, then gave up trying to make them let me go home. I could just leave once they weren't in the room anymore. Even if I was injured, my father's house wasn't too far. I still had two legs and an arm to work with, so I could drive. Or I could just get a taxi.
Apparently convinced that I wasn't going to try anything again, Delun straightened with an irritated frown. Much to my dismay—it was like he had read my mind—he walked over to my desk and scooped up my car keys and wallet that had been sitting on top. "I'm confiscating these for the time being. No trying to escape while we're not looking," he ordered, then huffily left the room. Anger and despair flooded over in my mind, and I rolled over onto my side and curled up, flipping the blankets over my head both to make those women go away and so I didn't have to see my surroundings. The bedsheets quickly became soaked with the tears that continued to drip down, but I barely noticed.
Two weeks passed.
My injuries eventually healed enough that I could move around normally—all except my left arm, obviously. Having nothing better to do every day, I often took to wandering around the house and grounds, exploring. There always seemed to be new rooms or portions of the garden that I'd never been in. It was a very pretty place. Very warm and welcoming and full of friendly people. But I wanted to go home. I felt slightly confused at myself for so strongly desiring to return. I'd hated that cold, unfeeling house. However, I kept seeing flashes of my father's apathetic face and the want to gain his approval grew again and again. But there was little I could do when I wasn't allowed to leave the grounds unless someone else was with me, and even then they never let me go home.
Feeling bored, I wandered across the guest room, then crouched down on the smooth, pale oak hardwood floor by the pile of cardboard boxes that had been placed in the corner by the door. I'd been wanting to unpack my things on my own rather than having the house staff do it for me. Since I'd done basically nothing those past two weeks, aside from sitting about the house, healing, I thought perhaps now was a good time.
After ripping off the packing tape on a box labeled CLOTHES, I quickly opened it up. Neatly folded stacks of my sweaters, denim jeans, a lone scarf, and my numerous coats stared up at me. One box of clothes—opened so I would have clean things to wear, of course—and also all of my suits and my casual slacks had already been put away in the closet to avoid wrinkling any of it, but this box had been left.
I pulled the box to the floor, carefully so it didn't tip over in my clumsy, one-handed grip, then I used my feet to move it to the closet, opened the door and shoved the box inside. Twenty minutes later, I had all of that hung up, and had also rearranged everything by color and type, just like I'd had them in my closet at home.
Carrying the box back with me, I dropped it to one side and opened the second. Inside was random things I'd had in my closet, desk, and the wood chest that had always sat at the foot of my bed—an old camera and its equipment, a shoe box containing a battered-looking sketch book and also little folded-up bits of paper covered in drawings I'd made, a small, metallic tin with pencils inside, a thin wooden box containing my numerous neckties, several pairs of shoes, old textbooks and notebooks from school, and also a white gift bag containing several bottles, a sponge, an envelope, and a few other things, besides.
That whole box went into the closet as well, and after I had organized all of my ties onto the little pegs on the wall and I'd lined up my shoes on the floor, I opened the third box. My computer equipment was inside, and I quickly scooped out my laptop. Ten minutes later, I had all the rest of the computer equipment scattered across the top of my desk—at least, everything I could easily pick up with one hand, since I didn't want to drop and break anything—and I leaned back in my office chair, staring up at the white ceiling while I absently turned myself back and forth, listening to the heavy rain pattering against the windows mixing with the soft, pretty music by Korsakov playing out of my computer speakers.
With a little sigh, I picked up my cellphone—it had also been in the box of electronics—off the desk and pressed the power button. The screen turned on, then immediately turned off. Whoever had packed my things had apparently not bothered to turn it off, so I hooked it up to the power cord and left it to charge.
Standing, I went to the remaining five boxes—each labeled with BOOKS on their sides—and relocated all of Gui Wen's hundreds upon hundreds of books onto the long maple shelves beside my desk. It took me quite a bit longer to put them away than the clothes did, but I eventually got all of them arranged—I probably wasn't going to actually read them, but I still wanted them to be tidy—by language, genre, topic, author, and publication date, and then gave a somewhat morose look at the packed shelves afterward, the usual hope that Gui Wen was okay inserting itself into my thoughts.
Everything unpacked, I unplugged my phone—it had only been charging for an hour, but the battery seemed to already have plenty of life back in it—then left the room, staring down at the loading screen. Once the it was powered up, I was startled to see that I had over fifty new text messages and about half as many voice mails. All of them were from the same number, but no name had been entered into my phone book.
Feeling a bit curious as to who it was, I dialed the number and pressed the phone to my ear. I let out a squeal of surprise and nearly dropped the phone when the person on the other end picked up and screamed something at me. Holding the phone at arm's length, I wondered if I should hang up.
"A-A-A-AL, YOFINAYCALDME! OHI'MSOHAPPYYOU'REALIVE! YOU CALLED! YOU CALLED! ANSWER ME! ARE YOU STILL THERE? AL‽ A-A-AL‼" There was a loud thudding noise and a yell of "OUCH! STUPID TABLE!" but the frantic babbling was only interrupted for a second before it started up again at full force, this time joined in with fainter shouts of "Dàgē, shut up!"
…I'd called a maniac.
"Who is this?" I hesitantly asked, not daring to put the phone up to my ear again in case the person was going to continue in his attempts at deafening me.
"IT'S DIB! Or, um, Shi Heng! If you remember either of me!"
I quirked an eyebrow at the weird addition he'd stuck on the end of his reply, and then answered, "Shi Heng…from work? Why is your number in my phone?"
"BECAUSE YOU PUT IT THERE, STUPID!"
Glaring angrily at the childish insult, I slowly replied, "Since you seem to have nothing worthwhile to say to me, even after sending so many messages, I am hanging up. Please, call me when you have calmed down," and ended the call, then continued on my way. Before I got far, my phone started ringing. With an irritated sigh, I looked at the number on the screen and unwillingly answered it. "What do you want?"
"YOU JERK! DON'T HANG UP ON ME‼"
"Then get to the point of your calls," I snapped. His loud voice was giving me a headache. I hadn't known Heng could be so obnoxious. He was very polite and quiet at the office.
"Sorry, I'm just so happy you finally called me back!" he cheered. Apparently he called people names and screamed at them when he was happy.
"My phone was in a box," I explained, turning down a random hallway.
"Oh. Well, it's been two weeks since I heard about what happened, and I kept asking Wei Bo and the others if I could come over, but they kept saying you refused! I want to come visit you! Is it okay‽"
"Why would you do that?" I flatly asked. "And who is Wei Bo?"
"Wei Bo is Delun, and I'll explain why when I get there! What's the address?"
"…I do not know." As I admitted that, I spotted Delun coming out of a room a ways down the hallway. I hurried toward him, feeling relieved.
He looked at me in surprise when I came to a stop. "Need something, Zian?"
"A very loud person on the phone wants to know the address here," I said, holding it out to him.
With a look of understanding, he took the phone from me and held it up to his ear. "Dib, is that you?" He paused, and then said, "Yeah…Well, sorry. It's not like there's been any changes…No…Yeah, I'll ask." He glanced at me. "He wants to visit. Is that okay with you?"
"I don't care," I replied, not understanding at all why Heng would want to see me. Maybe he had a question about work. Then again, I was sure my father had temporarily replaced me with someone. Heng wouldn't need me around to answer questions.
"Finally done moping, are you? Dib, he says okay," Delun interpreted, and then listed off the address, said goodbye, and hung up. "He'll be here in a few hours."
I took my phone back, turned it off—I didn't want more crazy people calling me—then pocketed it. "I'm going for a walk outside."
"But it's raining," Delun pointed out.
Pausing a moment, I stared at him. "And?" It wasn't like I was going to drown.
"Well," he added, looking somewhat confused, "you'll get wet."
In response to his silly reason, I gave a small smile and began in a conversational tone, "Did you know that there is an odd-looking contraption called an 'umbrella'? People of all sorts use them nowadays. They're like a portable pavilion you can carry in one hand, and they're very helpful for rainy days, snowy days, and even sunny days. An absolutely wonderful invention, in my opinion, and–"
"Alright, alright, I get it," he tiredly interrupted my purposefully annoying, long-winded explanation and dismissively waved a hand. "Don't freeze."
Turning around, I rolled my eyes and headed back to the guest room to collect a coat. Now that it was November, I was colder than ever. But the cold aside, it had been raining all day and I was getting bored being cooped up in the house, so I thought perhaps I would brave the elements and go for a walk.
Opening the guest room's door, I wandered over to the closet and took my thickest coat off its hanger. Draping it over my shoulders, I stuffed my right arm into its sleeve and, with some difficulty, zipped it up, buttoned up the large, round buttons, and then buckled up the belt. The black, snug-fitting coat had a comfortably tight, high collar, and the bottom reached all the way to my knees. The extra layer made me feel warmer straight away, but for good measure, I also securely wrapped my scarf around my neck before I left the closet.
When I went back into the guest room, rather than leaving, I paused and stared at the pile of empty cardboard boxes that were cluttering up the floor. Someone else would undoubtedly come and collect them later, but since I could do it myself just fine and clean it all up sooner…
Picking up the nearest one, I unfolded it and flattened it out, then leaned it against the door jamb so it was sticking out into the hallway a little, hoping someone on the house staff would come to take it away, since I didn't know where else to put it. Repeating that process with the rest of the boxes, I smiled contentedly as the shiny, golden floor looked much nicer now. But after dealing with those, I went back into the closet. There was a cardboard box in there as well, looking rather out of place. I wondered if I'd put it there just to get it out of the way.
Grabbing one of the box's top flaps, I dragged it out of the closet and sat down at my desk, picking through and arranging the things inside my desk drawers and on the shelves. When I pulled out one of the newer-looking sketch books, I curiously flipped it open. It had been a while since I'd last drawn anything.
Taking up a mechanical pencil, I awkwardly arranged it in my right hand and attempted to write my own name just to see how messy it would be when I used the wrong hand.
My first attempt was barely legible, so out of boredom I tried again, slower than before. That looked nicer, but, wanting to try something more challenging, I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and leaned it against one of the music-playing computer speakers. After staring at it a moment, I dragged the tip of the pencil down the page, failing miserably at simply drawing a straight line. Glaring in annoyance, I flipped the pencil over and thoroughly erased the squiggle, then tried again, very slowly and carefully.
It wasn't until I had a sad excuse for a cellphone on the page that someone quietly stepped through the open door. Jiao gave me a small smile and a wave. "Good morning."
"Good morning." I smiled back.
She held up a styrofoam cup, then placed it on the desk, as well as a small cup containing three pills. "I went out to breakfast with my sisters and Shuang-mèi, and I thought I would bring you back some tea. And that's your medication."
"Ah…" I curiously picked up a small, round and white pill with a groove down the middle. "What's this one for?"
"That's an antibiotic."
"And this?" I picked up a red one, also small and round.
"Pain killer. But you don't have to take it unless you need it."
"This?" I repeated, picking up a large, oblong capsule full of white powder. Unlike the other two, this one was unmarked with the letters and numbers that were usually pressed or printed on the pills' surfaces.
"That one I don't know about," Jiao quietly admitted. "Your doctor gave us a big, glass bottle of them and told us to give you one every day. He wouldn't tell us why, but according to him you've always been taking them."
Frowning in confusion, I shook my head. "No, I haven't." I'd never been on any continuous medication, just the sort of stuff for normal, common illnesses. Why would the doctor lie?
Jiao momentarily fell silent, but then patted me on the back and shrugged. "Well, better take it just in case. He was very firm about it, so I guess it's something important. It'd be nice if he would let us in on what's going on, though. He and your father have been really secretive about everything." She let out a small sigh while I obediently downed all three pills.
With a glance to the flattened boxes sitting in the doorway, she gave me another smile. "I see you've been unpacking finally."
I gave a nod. "I was bored…" Glancing down at the half-emptied box at my feet, I suddenly remembered. Hooking a finger under the strap on the white gift bag that was sitting in it, I held it out to her. "This…Um, your name is on an envelope inside, so…I guess it's for you."
Her eyes widened in surprise while she took the bag from me, laughing lightly. "Oh." After she set it down on the desk, she pulled the tissue paper out of the top and peered inside. "Oh, wow." Reaching a hand inside, she pulled out several of the bottles and read their labels. "Bubble bath, body wash, shampoo…and there's more in the bag." Another hand went in and she pulled out a candle, then held it up to her nose. "Everything's lilac scented…my favorite flower."
After everything was replaced in the bag, she extracted the envelope I'd glanced at. Popping it open, she pulled out a thick card and stared for a long time at the cover, then she ran a finger down it. "Did you make this?" she curiously asked, flipping it over so I could see. There was a watercolor painting of light pink lilac blossoms sprawled across the white paper.
Raising my eyebrows, I also raised a hand and felt the card. The surface texture was rough in places and the paper was slightly warped like it had been wet, so I gave a small shrug-nod. "I probably did. That looks like my style of drawing." I couldn't recall making it, however.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, giving it another admiring look before opening the card and reading the inside. I was surprised to see her laugh. "Wow, you're such a romantic."
"What did I write?" I hastily asked, leaning forward.
She cleared her throat and read off in an extremely amused tone, "You wrote, 'Jiao—this is a return gift for the hair band you gave me in Second Life, and it's the first present I've ever bought for anyone, so I'm very anxious to hear whether or not you like it. I had to fight through suffocating, perfume-filled air, seductive shop clerks, your brother's snappy impatience, and enough product options to make my brain explode, so I do hope you get some sort of use out of it. (And I hope you make use of it in some other way than giving the garbage man something to do.)—Zian.'"
My face burned with increasing embarrassment and self-loathing the whole while she'd been speaking. It all certainly sounded like something I would say…to a friend I was close enough to joke around with, not to my fiancée. That wasn't "romantic" at all, so no wonder she'd laughed.
"Sounds like you put a lot of effort into buying it. To relieve the fears you had at the time—yes, I like it very much, and I will get quite a bit of use out of all of it. It's lovely, thank you." She gave me a hug, careful not to jostle my left arm, and then smiled warmly. I felt a bit less silly, since it seemed her reaction to my weird note hadn't been negative, and gave her a sheepish grin in return, happy that she liked the present.
After patting a hand on my cheek, she picked up the bag and gave a long sigh, reluctantly saying, "I suppose I should go study now."
"The curse of being a student," I replied in amusement and she smirked, nodding. With a goodbye wave she turned and left the room, catching a passing maid and asking her to take the stack of boxes away. I gave a "Thank you," to the maid and shut the door once the boxes weren't blocking the way, then sat back down at my desk and sighed, returning to the emptying of the box.
After everything was put away, I unfolded that box and quickly set it out in the hallway, shutting the door again before I flopped onto the bed and and stared at the unfamiliar-looking ceiling for a moment. It was just a ceiling, but it looked so different from the one in my bedroom. When was I going to get used to being here rather than at home? Everyone was doing their best to make me feel welcome and I really didn't dislike living there, but a part of me felt like I was out of place.
Also there was often an itchy feeling in the back of my mind, like something was missing. Something important. But I couldn't remember what. Then again, I couldn't remember quite a lot. Who people were, where I was, how I got there, what was going on…My forgetfulness was getting better, or so several people had told me, but I wished it would hurry and stop. Having everything abruptly go blank was annoying as well as frightening, though I never really noticed the little things I'd forgotten until someone pointed them out.
Eyes drifting shut, I slowly fell asleep, listening to the calm music still pouring out of my laptop.
