Last Night's Romance Is Gone by Morning

At eleven o'clock at night, the acute gastroenteritis hit fast and hard. I gritted my teeth and went to the hospital, and when the nurse pushed the needle into the back of my hand, I shut my eyes on instinct. For a hazy moment I was back in the campus infirmary at seventeen, a hand covering my eyelids. "If you don't look, it won't hurt." I opened my eyes and actually saw Piers. He stood a little way off, his face tight. His name came out before I could stop it: "Piers." The next second, my voice was drowned out. "Piers, I'm fine, I'm just a little cold." Chloe sat in a chair, her voice soft and sweet. Piers took off his jacket at once and wrapped it around her. "Put this on first." He bent his head and tucked her collar closed, the motion easy and practiced. It struck me all at once that the man standing there was long gone from the seventeen-year-old Piers who once shielded my eyes so I wouldn't be afraid of the pain. Something bitter rose in my throat, too thick to swallow, impossible to spit out. "Why are you here?" Piers's gaze drifted over to me, and he frowned. I didn't answer. He glanced at the IV bag, then at my bloodless face. "You're sick? Or are you putting on some kind of act again?" I found it funny. "People come to the hospital because they're sick, obviously." I was no longer the Joyce Swanson who took cold showers in the dead of winter to run herself a fever just so he'd come and sit with her. "Piers." Chloe called to him softly from behind. "I'm a little cold." His eyes rested on my face for one second, then he turned around. That second was so short it felt imagined. When he passed me, a faint woody scent trailed after him. Two years ago, it was my favorite smell. Now it only felt like a stranger's. Piers stayed with Chloe until her needle was out, then walked over. "Lend me your umbrella." "Why should I?" He looked up at me, impatient. "Chloe has a cold, she can't get rained on again. She needs this umbrella more than you do." Piers stared at me for a few seconds, then simply took the umbrella out of my hand. Hard enough that a small bead of blood welled up at the needle mark. He opened it and sheltered Chloe as they walked out into the rain. I watched his back grow smaller and smaller. The same as always. He was always so final about it. He'd been like this the last time we fought too. That day, the lab research project team held its vote. The final vote was cast by Piers. He gave it to Chloe. I waited until everyone else was gone before I asked him, "Why?" "You know exactly how long I prepared, and you know I'm better than her!" Piers laughed. "Joyce, you really are ridiculous. The decision was mine, not yours." I held back the tears. "Either we go public now, or we break up. Pick one." Piers looked at me like I was a stranger throwing a tantrum. "If you insist on trapping yourself in this relationship, that's your problem." "Don't make yourself out to be so wronged." That night, Chloe boarded a flight to the UK. And I got the call that my mother was dying. I called Piers over and over. All fifty calls went dead. When one finally connected, the voice on the other end was Chloe's. She asked softly, "Joyce, is something wrong?" I gripped the phone, cold all over. There was a faint rustle of fabric on the other end, then Piers's low, rough voice. "Who is it?" "Joyce." "Hang up." The line went dead. That week, I lost my mother, and I lost Piers completely. The sound of the rain pulled me out of the memory. The moment I stepped out of the hospital, I saw Piers holding a newly bought umbrella. "Get in the car." "You just finished your IV, you look this awful, and you still want to tough it out?" I didn't move. "Are you still upset over that placement? I gave it to her because she needed the chance more than you did." "She lost her parents young, she even had to work to scrape together her tuition. You at least still had your mother, and you had me." I looked at him and asked quietly, "So I just wanted my boyfriend to stand on my side when it didn't break any principle. Is that wrong?" Piers scoffed. "You always take feelings too seriously." "And you always treat my feelings like they're worth nothing." "Joyce, there's no point." Those same words again. Suddenly I didn't want to argue anymore. "Give me back the prayer beads my mom gave you." My mother had gone to the temple herself and had them blessed after she found out we were together. All these years, Piers had worn them. I'd thought it was proof that he accepted me, that he accepted us. Piers's face darkened. "What? You really want to cut all ties with me?" I said nothing. Piers raised his hand and yanked the beads off his wrist. The next second, he hurled them hard at me. "Joyce, are you ever going to stop?!" The beads struck my collarbone, and the pain caught my breath. Piers turned and walked away. I crouched in the rain, picking up the scattered beads one by one. The rain washed over the mud. As if the last bit of tenderness my mother left me was being washed away too.

The next day, I went back to the lab. Before I left the country I'd left a logbook in my locker, filled with experiment data and records of every failure, along with the formulas Piers had corrected for me. When I pushed the door open, Piers was bent over, studying the test tube in Chloe's hand. "Temperature's too low. Try again." "How can you still be getting this wrong, Chloe." Patient. Gentle. I walked to my locker and pulled the door open. It was empty. "Looking for this?" Chloe picked up the logbook from the desk. "Give it back." She flipped through a couple of pages, her tone all innocence. "I started late, there was a lot I couldn't keep up with, so Piers gave this to me to use." The data inside had been circled all over in red pen, and several pages had been torn in half. "What gives you the right to touch my data?" I reached for it. Chloe stepped back and bumped into Piers's chest. He steadied her by the shoulders and frowned. "You're scaring her. You're not even going to need it once you're abroad. Don't be so petty." I looked at him. "You hand my things off to someone else, and you don't need my say-so?" "Piers, do you think that as long as it's something Chloe wants, I'm supposed to give it up for her?" I watched him, and my chest went tight. He said nothing. The silence was already the answer. I took the logbook back and tore it out, page by page. In my first six months in the lab I didn't know anything, and every day I'd chase after him with this book, asking questions. He'd call me slow, but every time he'd take it and rework the whole thing from start to finish. But now, there was no point keeping it. Piers's face changed. "What are you doing?" "It's mine. I get to decide whether it stays or goes." I tore the last page in two and dropped it in the trash. Chloe's eyes went red at once. "Piers, did I do something wrong?" "It has nothing to do with you." He looked at me, his voice turning cold all the way through. "You were taking morning-after pills four times a week and never said a word. So what's the act now?" I froze where I stood, forced the tears back down, and turned and walked out. That night a post drifted up to the forum's front page. 《The Story of the Girl at Our School Who Threw Herself at a Guy for Five Years and Still Couldn't Get Promoted from Side-Piece》 The post named no one, but it spelled out my major and my year clear as day. The poster held nothing back: 【This girl's been throwing herself at him since high school, applied to the same school just to follow him, and she still thinks she's the real girlfriend.】 The comments were nothing but mockery. 【Five years and still can't get official. Suggest finding someone new to grovel to.】 【The guy's got it rough too, being stalked by someone like that.】 Soon Piers's buddy replied underneath with a smirking-dog emoji. 【If you know, you know.】 Piers didn't reply. But he liked that comment. I stared at the screen, my fingers ice cold. Then I traced the account that posted it. It was Chloe. I put the screenshot up, and the next second, the post was deleted. I posted again. Deleted again. I took my phone and found Piers. "Did you delete my post? What gives you the right?" "She's about to prep for grad school exams. Your post would hurt her reputation and her interviews." "Besides, I've already deleted the post she put up. In a few days no one will remember." "And my reputation? People talking about me, cornering me in the bathroom, sticking notes on my dorm door, none of that matters?" Something flickered across Piers's face, but he went cold again fast. "No one actually hurt you. Don't blow this up into something ugly." Piers turned and left with Chloe, murmuring to soothe her: "Don't be scared. I'm here." He had never once said that to me. Not when everyone was pointing and cursing at me. Not when I lost my mother, my home, him. He never said it. I stood there, and all at once I understood something. It wasn't that I'd never won. It was that every single time, Piers had never been on my side.

The day before the graduation gala, Piers and I were assigned as co-hosts. Before the gala started, Piers came backstage to find me. "I need to talk to you." I didn't look up. "There's nothing to talk about." Piers grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the empty classroom next door. "Piers, what are you doing!" The lock clicked shut behind us. I twisted the handle hard. The door didn't budge. "I'll let you out when the gala's over." "Chloe's wanted to stand on that stage since she was a kid. I promised her I'd help make it happen." "You're the best at hosting anyway. Missing one chance won't hurt you." Something in my chest went tight. "To you, everything's a small thing!" I slammed my palm against the door. "The research placement was a small thing, going public was a small thing, me getting cursed at, getting water thrown on me, all a small thing too!" He didn't answer. Before he left, he only said, low: "Stop making a scene." The footsteps faded away. I stood alone in the dark classroom, listening to the music start up outside. A few minutes later Chloe's sweet, clear voice came over the speakers, followed by Piers's low, warm reply. Applause rolled through the crowd. I slid down against the door and sat there, and the tears came without warning. I'd been waiting all this time. Waiting for Piers to take my hand and walk me out in front of everyone. Waiting for him to say, "This is my girlfriend, Joyce Swanson." But what came instead was Chloe. From start to finish, everyone knew they were closer than any couple. After the gala ended, the lock finally turned. Piers stood in the doorway with flowers in his hand. His eyes paused on my red, swollen eyes. "Don't cry." I stepped around him and headed out. Piers caught my arm, like he had something to say, but his phone rang and cut him off. The screen read: Chloe. He barely hesitated before he let go of my hand. "Hello?" His expression changed at once. "Don't cry, I'm coming right over." After he hung up, he looked at me. "She's not in a good place right now." "I've already put in for leave. Your mom's birthday is in a few days. I'll go back with you, we'll celebrate her birthday together, and then we'll go public." "Stop sulking, okay?" My fingertips trembled. I'd waited four whole years for those words. They came only after I'd stopped wanting anything at all. And now that I heard them, they only struck me as ridiculous. "You still think I went abroad on exchange just to sulk?" Piers stared at me, a flicker of irritation surfacing in his eyes. "What else?" I said quietly: "Forget it. My mom doesn't need you to celebrate her birthday anymore." That finally set him off, his voice shooting up. "You're the one who went abroad, you're the one who disappeared, you're the one who pushed me away! And now you're putting on this victim act for who?" "Joyce Swanson, do you even have a heart?!" The phone rang again. This time he didn't even glance at me. He turned and walked away. "Chloe, I'll be right there." That easy, familiar name slid quietly into my heart. But it didn't hurt anymore. After my thesis defense, I packed my bags and decided to head out west. Waiting at the gate, I opened the campus forum and uploaded the photos of Piers and me, one by one. From seventeen to twenty-two. From school uniforms to graduation gowns. The title was just one line: 【About Piers and Me.】 Then I sent the security footage of Piers locking me in the classroom, along with the proof that he'd let the online harassment slide, to the department advisor. Piers texted me: 【Where did you go? I'm outside your place.】 I pressed the phone dark and boarded the plane.