Day 09 21:00
When Song Ran woke up, it was completely dark.
The street lamps in the community are like the dark moss attached to the foot of the high-rise building, casting sporadic shimmers, which cannot illuminate the 12th floor in the air. The curtains in the bedroom were tightly closed, blocking any trace of light from passing through, and the whole room turned into a huge cage with no edge in sight.
After the nightmare, the body temperature suppressed by the drug went out of control again.
Song Ran sat up with difficulty, only to feel a fire spreading hotly in his chest, his stomach tumbling constantly, and the slightest movement caused a strong nausea. Pyjamas and hair were soaked in profuse sweat, skin was sticky, and breaths were hot flashes.
He touched along the edge of the bedside table, touched the water glass left by Zhan Yuwen, and took a sip. The temperature of the water was bone-chillingly cold, flowing through his burning throat, barely allowing the exhaled hot air to drop a few degrees before rising up again very quickly.
The bedroom was silent, and through a door, he heard laughter in the living room.
It was probably Zhan Yuwen and Lin Hui who were playing with Boob, a little game of you chasing me, making Boob jumping and having fun. Song Ran held a water glass in his hand, sat alone on his knees, and lowered his head in silence.
He felt jealous and panicked.
The room was really too dark, too much like the cell in which he had been imprisoned in a nightmare - the nightmare was repeating itself, once again he was isolated elsewhere, listening to the laughter outside, but couldn't join it due to illness. Fever makes emotions sensitive, and thinking tends to go to extremes. Song Ran smashed a glass heart and couldn't help but think, Zhan Yuwen and Lin Hui, one is a family doctor hired by Mr. He, and the other is a kindergarten teacher who graduated from a subject. Boob doesn't need him anymore
He still has so much love to give, and Boobu has been taken care of by someone else, so who can his love... be given to
He really, really wants a child.
Just then, the familiar Pikachu march sounded. Song Ran's hand trembled and spilled a small half glass of water.
It's nine o'clock.
Mr. He called.
He heard the hilarity in the living room soften, and Boo picked up the phone and called out softly "Puba". The two sides chatted little by little, about chickenpox, dinner and games. Bubu chatted happily, Lin Hui and Zhan Yuwen also interjected from time to time, the atmosphere was so relaxed, just from the tone of voice, one could imagine the scene in the living room at this time.
Light tones, clear and bright lights, with cats, flowers, and paintings. Colored picture books are scattered around, the coffee table is decorated with accessories made by him, and three pairs of cotton slippers are crooked beside the sofa. The cloth pillow is on the adult's lap, the eyebrows are curved, and everyone is smiling.
Song Ran put down the water glass, tucked her knees to hide in the darkness, and slowly hooked up her ten fingers, scratching the fabric of her pajama pants.
He knew what he was waiting for.
The heart beat fast, bang bang bang bang, chaotically resounding inside the chest cavity. My ears were occupied by the messy buzzing, and the more I wanted to hear the movement in the living room, the harder it was to hear. Time was passing, and Song Ran finally couldn't wait any longer. He lifted the quilt and got out of bed, walked to the door, and put his ear on it.
He heard the lively "Nutcracker Overture"—the call was over and Boob's favorite "Tom and Jerry" was playing.
Song Ran silently retracted into the bed, got into the turtle shell, covered his ears, and buried his face in the crevice of the pillow.
Mr. He didn't remember him, he hung up the phone after chatting with Boobu, he didn't even remember that Boobu had a small tail behind him.
It's fine to say a word, even... even if it's just a name.
Song Ran smashed the pillow, his waist softened, he turned over on his back, and lay flat on the bed weakly.
He thought that he and Mr. He were somewhat different from the relationship between the employer and the babysitter and the relationship between the neighbors. He likes to chat with Mr. He every day, so he saves others by himself. He naively thinks that Mr. He also likes to chat with him, and even feels that half of the love calls every night are for Boob and half are for him.
It turns out... Was that just a polite greeting from the employer to the babysitter
Don't want to admit it.
Song Ran is ashamed to admit that he cares so wishful thinking because he has poured superfluous feelings into it.
The next second, the phone under the pillow vibrated in time.
Song Ran opened his eyes like a shot of adrenaline, and took out his phone with lightning speed. The screen in the dark was dazzlingly bright, and he subconsciously frowned, resisting the urge to vomit, and looked at the contact's name.
He Zhiyuan.
These three words were like a rope tied to his waist, instantly pulling him out of the bottom of the abyss. The big stone in Song Ran's heart fell to the ground, and she closed her eyes relaxedly, and the phone fell back to the pillow. Sadness and joy fell together, and the grievances of being awakened were too late to dissipate, making the corners of his eyes slightly wet, his throat choked, and he did not dare to speak after the phone was connected.
In the silence, the sound of heavy breathing due to a cold was particularly evident.
"Song Ran?" He Zhiyuan asked in a low voice, "Are you okay?"
"… "
Song Ran was silent.
He Zhiyuan paused and asked again, "Did I wake you up?"
Song Ran then replied sullenly, "No."
"You don't sound very energized... Has the fever still subsided? It's hard?"
"Neither." Song Ran listened to his caring tone, and there was a burst of warmth flowing all over his body. He unconsciously raised the corners of his lips, hugged the quilt tighter, and said, "Mr. He, I'm fine."
After speaking, he still sighed and asked, "Why didn't you call me just now when you called Boob?"
His tone couldn't hide his thoughts. He Zhiyuan immediately understood where the frustration just now came from, and couldn't help laughing lowly: "Are you unhappy about this?"
Song Ran was ashamed and firmly denied it.
He Zhiyuan explained: "I asked Boob and he said that you are still sleeping and I don't want to disturb your rest."
Song Ran was stunned for a moment, and blinked his eyes dully.
Is it such a logical reason? Then he burned his brain before and was thinking about some kind of mess!
"No, that's not right!" He tried to extract a trace of contradiction from the dizzy heat, "If that's the case, why are you calling me now?"
He Zhiyuan smiled: "I'm afraid you didn't sleep."
Song Ran: "... ah?"
"I mean, I'm afraid you're waiting for my call. Of course, you're not the only one waiting." He Zhiyuan said warmly, "Songran, we haven't spoken for a day, haven't we?"
His voice contained a smile, with a different kind of intimacy, which almost lifted the ambiguity of the last layer of veil. Song Ran's defense was so low at this time that he inadvertently gave him a hand, her bones were crisp, her cheeks were hot, and she made a soft "um" sound like a mosquito's cry, like a little daughter-in-law.
Too... shameful.
He Zhiyuan asked him if he was recovering well. He felt a little dizzy with happiness. , to ensure that you can run a kilometer down the ground tomorrow.
He Zhiyuan twitched the corners of his mouth: "Don't be brave for me, Zhan Yuwen has to see you for at least two days."
"Oh." Song Ran covered her face and took back her arrogance, "Then I'll run again in two days."
He Zhiyuan: "… "
While talking about the excitement, Song Ran suddenly remembered something, and his comfortable stretching posture froze halfway: "Mr. He, Zhan Yuwen said, you... You checked my medical records?"
"right."
Song Ran raised a heart in his throat and asked with a guilty conscience, "Then have you seen anything other than chickenpox?"
He Zhiyuan lowered his eyes and thought about it, and answered truthfully, "Yes."
He knew what Song Ran was referring to.
The electronic medical records of the T City Welfare Institute are quite old-fashioned. He Zhiyuan got Song Ran's medical records. He wanted to check the chickenpox records, but he didn't expect to see a line of eye-catching words on the first page.
Severe obsessive-compulsive neurosis.
Age at diagnosis: six years old.
He was really stunned for the first few seconds, unable to connect these eight words with Song Ran, and turned back to confirm the cover. The name of the child on the cover is clear, it is Songran.
The description of the condition is very perfunctory and scribbled a few words, which can be regarded as irresponsible. The general idea is that this child is extremely sensitive to continuous numbers. No matter whether he hears or sees it, he is prone to stress reactions. He will not eat, drink, or sleep. No one could persuade him until he was exhausted and fell into a coma. If the count is wrong in the middle, it is easy to cause severe anxiety, emotional breakdown, and often cry alone and twitch.
He Zhiyuan paid special attention to it. The date of diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder was only a few days away from the date when Songran entered the orphanage, which meant that when Songran was admitted to the hospital, his mental state was already very unstable.
He remembered the big boy's smile, his teeth were white, his dimples were deep, and his eyes were always shining with the brilliance of the morning sun at six o'clock, and there was no sign of haze.
Unlike the medical records.
He Zhiyuan understood that what was recorded in the medical records was Songran's 17 years ago, which seemed to be completely separated from the present, but Songran's sensitivity, irritability and unreasonable inferiority were precisely the causation of that childhood experience. .
He found the answer, and wanted to trace the path of Songran's growth.
"Songran, I saw the first page of the medical record. It said that you suffered from OCD when you were a child." He Zhiyuan changed his attitude slightly and comforted him, "OCD is not a serious disease, many people have it. Some of the friends I know, some like to clean up their room, some like to walk on the grid, and some have to eat French fries at intervals, everyone…”
"I'm different, I'm different from others." Song Ran interrupted him, smiled bitterly, and said very lightly, "Mr. He, you've never seen me sick, it's scary, really Yes, I won't lie to you."
He looked at the dark and boundless ceiling, his fingers were hanging in the air, his fingertips trembled slightly involuntarily, and he drew an Arabic numeral in the air, then quickly clenched his fists, clasped his five fingers tightly, pinched them into the flesh, and prevented it from moving.
Can't.
You can't count, you know you can't count.
Indistinctly, a large number of disordered numbers emerged, and they appeared in my mind, densely packed, like giant fish shoals with flickering scales that came out of the waves during the migration season. They were arrogantly lined up in a collective shrill cry, only vague phantoms at first, then becoming clear, trying to stir up his long-suffering longing.
Thinking of counting the past one by one, from the beginning to the end of infinity, as if the promise of childhood could still be fulfilled, the person he had waited for for seventeen years is still somewhere far away, ready to turn back at any time.
"Mr. He, if you're not busy, let me tell you a story. It's very short about me and my illness."
Song Ran stretched out his hand, groped for the rabbit doll he gave to Boob, and took it into his arms. The rabbit is plump, with soft and warm fur, light chestnut color. It can be mixed with raw brown and enough water to paint on a large area, or it can be refined one by one with a No. 0 pen.
Colors, shapes, temperatures, textures... He likes all sensual things, safe because they have nothing to do with numbers.
He hugged the rabbit doll tightly, until the numbers that invaded his mind were driven out by the patron saint, and then he murmured: "I've been trying to find someone to talk to, but I can't find it. I don't have anyone close to me, I think I have something, but I don't have it... It's been more than ten years, I can't forget it, and I can't cure it. If I don't say it again, I will be suffocated... "
He spoke slowly, his voice was soft, without tears, but it was like a layer of floating rain, which was heart-wrenchingly painful.
He Zhiyuan really wanted to hug him and give him some practical comfort other than words, but he was 10,000 kilometers apart, and there was nothing he could do. He could only rely on his voice.
"Tell me, I'll listen." He Zhiyuan said, "Just treat me like I'm by your side and hold you from behind."
"it is good."
Song Ran nodded, folded his arms in front of his chest, caressed his shoulders, and gradually tightened, as if being embraced from behind.