Chapter 10 Ten

• I felt a heaviness on my arm, so I slowly opened my eyes. A white ceiling greeted me, leading to the wall. There was a long khaki sofa with a glass table in front of it, and a side table beside the bed I was lying on. From here, I could smell the fresh flowers.
• Where am I? Why does my body and head ache, and why are my eyes hot?
• I was about to get up when I felt someone beside me. I furrowed my brows and looked at the man next to me. Even without looking, I knew it was Sir because I recognized the scent of his shampoo from when I clean.
• Should I wake him up, or just let him be?
• I looked at my left hand and saw a needle with a half-full drip. I touched my forehead; it was still warm, but not as much as when I went to Sir’s office.
• I was about to go to the bathroom when Sir moved. I thought he was still going to sleep, but suddenly, he sat up and raised his head, and our eyes met.
• “Oh,” he first said, “You’re awake, how do you feel?”
• “I think I have a fever, Sir, hehe!” I just replied, pointing to myself while still looking at him.
• “Oh, you just realized now? I don’t know if you’re just innocent or plain dumb. Am I that strict and rigid for you to push yourself? Look what happened to you!”
• I sighed, lowered my head, and played with my fingers. I wasn’t used to being scolded for getting sick because I didn’t rest. I was more used to being scolded for getting sick because I couldn’t go to work, meaning no money.
• “Are you even listening to me, Samantha?”
• “No, Sir, sorry, my head still hurts a bit,” I used the ‘I’m sick’ card to escape his sermon that was longer than a priest’s.
• By evening, I was discharged. Sir took me home, and he strictly instructed me to rest. It seemed like he would eat me alive if I didn’t listen to him, so I agreed immediately. Who doesn’t want to rest anyway?
• I didn’t notice that I fell asleep, but I woke up to the smell of something burning. I quickly stood up, almost stumbling from dizziness. I leaned on the door frame for a moment before opening it to get out.
• I went straight to the kitchen, and my eyes widened when I saw the dark smoke and a man standing near it.
• “Sir!” I shouted and immediately pulled him away from the smoke, “Are you okay?” I quickly grabbed a towel, wet it in the sink, and placed it on his nose. Sir was weak against strong smells, especially smoke; he might die from it.
• “Stay here,” I hugged him, pulling him towards the living room, and he nodded, looking a bit red in the face, probably from inhaling the smoke.
• The stove was off, but there was still a lot of smoke. I opened the exhaust and quickly grabbed a pot holder. I quickly took the pot that was on fire and placed it in the sink, then opened the faucet. It became smokier, and the pot made a sound when the water hit it; that’s how hot it was.
• I spent almost ten minutes removing the smoke. I also wiped the area because there were a lot of things that got affected, like cooking rice.
• “Sir, were you cooking? You should have just woken me up; you’re hungry, sorry, I won’t get sick again,” I said, laughing loudly because he suddenly looked at me with a fierce expression, “Just kidding, I’ll teach you instead.”
• “How the hell am I going to last if I’m like this?” I laughed more, “Don’t laugh!” I suppressed my laughter even though I felt like farting.
• Like I said, I taught him how to cook porridge. I minced garlic and ginger, but I didn’t chop chicken because he said he had stripped chicken.
• “You’re rude, Sir, how can you buy stripped? Times have changed—”
• “Shut up, will you? I’m focusing here, just stir that,” he ordered grumpily. I just obeyed because I might get burned if I spoke again.
• We spent our time cooking; I also served the food. He didn’t say anything, just looked at the pans in his hands, getting splashed with porridge while he stirred because it was boiling.
• “Oh, eat now, Sir, it’s just right, and it’s cold. You should also eat porridge,” he just nodded, took the spoon, and started eating. We were quiet, and the only sound we heard was the clashing of spoons and bowls.
• We both stopped when his phone rang, which was on the center table. He stood up, grabbed it, and frowned as he answered the call. I bowed my head and continued eating; I couldn’t leave and leave the food here.
• “Hello?” he answered, “Yes… what? Who the hell told them to go… you what? Fuck off, tell the boards in the conference room, I’ll be there in thirty,” that’s all, and he hung up. He went to his room and came out wearing pants and a polo shirt. He walked while putting on his watch, “Samantha, I need to go, just clean that up,”
• I quickly nodded, “Okay, Sir! Take care!”
• He looked at me sternly, so I flashed a peace sign before he finally left the condo, “Okay, we’re alone again.”
• After eating, I washed the dishes and cleaned up, then took my medicine before lying down again. My phone vibrated, and I checked who texted me.
• ‘Why haven’t you sent money yet? There’s no money here, no food. We’re even poorer than rats now. Pilar and the others are laughing at me because I haven’t sat there for two days. Send money, you demon!’
• I turned off my phone and immediately lay back down, not realizing that tears were already falling on my cheeks. There was something that snapped in my senses, so I groaned.
• “What am I, a money-making machine? They didn’t even ask how I was, it’s always about money,” I couldn’t help feeling resentful and emotional, even though I wasn’t talking to anyone and looked stupid.
• Instead of sulking, I went out of the room and went to the library to look for a book. Maybe because I didn’t finish my studies, I’m too attached to books. Since I was a child, I’ve loved reading books, but my mom made them into rice paddies, so she chopped them all and burned them.
• There are ten rows of bookshelves here, and the built-in ones attached to the wall are separate. The hardbound books are also separate from the softbound ones. I wish everyone was like this, so I bought these kinds of books. Rich people are really different.
• I took one of the lined-up books, but along with it, a slightly stiff paper fell. I picked it up and looked at it, furrowing my brows. It was a photo of a woman holding a bouquet of tulips, probably in her mid-20s. I looked at the back because there seemed to be something written.
• ‘How would I live without you now? I hope you didn’t have to leave so soon. You’ll be forever in my heart, sweetheart. I love you.’