Winter

Despite my efforts to moisten, the skin on the back of my hands cracks and bleeds, a victim of the harsh cold and dry Beijing winters.

She awakes to a text message and stumbles out of bed to check it. The floor is cold and whatever warmth she felt while bundled alone under the covers is now gone. How she wishes she had placed the charger near the bed and could avoid this trip all together. She checks the message, it's from her boss asking where she is. It's 11am. She text messages back that she's developed a cold and is spending the morning recovery. She's been developing a lot of colds lately.

Despite the shower the night before she can still smell the night on her so she runs a bath. In the mirror she thinks she looks better than she feels. The correlation between the two does not occur to her. In the bath she notices a fresh scar on the inside of her upper arm. She vaguely remembers discussing that famous english pop singer known for self mutilation. It is her first cut. She's have a lot of firsts lately. She's had a lot of colds lately.

She reaches the office and hides from her boss. He finds her anyway and seems to sincerely care for her healthl. There is something in his eyes she doesn't trust. At first she thought he knew the truth about her colds and might even understand what she was going through. The maybe he too had dark moments in his past and maybe he too knew that one way to escape these dark moments was run to the lights. Run to the lights until it overwhelms you and you can see no more. Dark to light, light to dark. But then she realized that the look was of bemused amusement. That of someone who doesn't give a shit. She expected to be fired anytime but months passed and nothing happened. Then she thought her boss was getting off on her struggles. Gave him something to talk about with his normal friends in his normal life. The fool. The asshole.

The day passes and she works for about an hour between consuming diet coke and coffee. By 6pm she is feeling human again and heads out into the night.

The boss arrived home at 6:30pm. He arrives home every night at 6:30pm. You could count on it. And the members of his household did. He ate dinner with his wife in silence. This is not to say they didn't speak, they did, him about the girl at work, her about her work politics. When they made love that night, he thought of her and when the moment was right he slightly pinched his wife's inner arm.

Despite my efforts to moisten, the skin on the back of my hands cracks and bleeds, a victim of the harsh cold and dry Beijing winters.