I wake early on Thursday to an email from my supervisor telling me he's got no more feedback for me on my thesis. Congratulations, he writes.
I close the email, put my phone down and pick up my laptop off the desk. Opening it, I log into my university's student portal and navigate to my assessments page. There, I upload my thesis, watching a loading bar fill with blue. When it's ready, I click submit. Just like that, it's done.
I close the laptop, then return to bed.
And I wait. I wait for something to lift, for something to release. But this heaviness stays. Oppressive and cold, it's as if my bones are filled with lead. The pain of it is dark purple.
I roll over and face the wall. There's a watermark above my head. Like blotched skin. I close my eyes and eventually fall back asleep.
***
A few days later, I meet Adam at Central Station. We hug and he kisses me on the cheek. There's a distance between us that neither of us acknowledges. 'I thought we could go for a walk,' I say.
He shrugs. 'Sure.'
Up the road a little, we pass an Asian supermarket. The smell of dried sour plums, seaweed and five spice reminds me of being fifteen and walking through one of Hong Kong's wet markets with Charlotte, following Mavic and Elvie through the throng of people. We'd hold the shopping bags while they bartered for our groceries.
Mavic was Charlotte's second mum. She was five foot, with wide hips, a thick neck and arms that enveloped. And though she worked for their family the whole time I knew Charlotte, she never called the kids by their real names. For as long as Charlotte and I were best friends, Charlotte was 'Number One' and her brothers 'Number Two' and 'Number Three'.
Elvie, who worked for my family, had a sharp tongue and eyes that prodded you in the back. She wore oversized button-up shirts that hung on her like she was a wire coathanger. She meant business and, at first, I found her seriousness unnerving. But then, in the wake of my father shattering a glass coffee table, she took my hand in the kitchen and smiled in a way that made home bearable. Safer, somehow.
When I first arrived in Hong Kong, I couldn't stand the smells. The driver would take me past a wet market on the drive to school every morning and, even with the window closed, I'd hold my nose to block out the stink of raw meat and freshly gutted fish. But then I met Charlotte, and somehow that made the smells of Hong Kong seem exciting. Charlotte's parents loved that Mavic took us downtown to the market; I think they even suggested it. But when my mum found out Elvie was taking me with them, she told my dad and he fired her. In her place he hired Mae Grace, who would cook snake soup in our kitchen and eat it for lunch. Secretly, I loved that the thought of eating snake freaked out my dad.
I turn now to Adam. 'I'm just going to step in here for a sec, okay?'
Adam hesitates. 'Um, yeah,' he says. 'Sure.' And he follows me in. I walk down the aisles, scanning the shelves. There are Hello Panda biscuits, cuttlefish crackers, dried squid and mochi. Adam hovers behind me nervously, as if he's not sure where to stand or what to look at.
'Yes, they have them!' I say, pouncing on some haw flakes. I buy a packet, and a handful of lychee cups.
'What are those?' Adam asks as I tear open the packet out on the street.
'Haw flakes,' I explain. 'They're made from Chinese hawthorn.'
'Chinese what?'
'Hawthorn. It's a fruit.'
I think of winter mornings, when the air was less dense, buying candied hawthorn from hawkers on street corners. Charlotte and I, lips scarlet and high on sugar, running circles around Mavic.
'Do you want to try one?' I ask Adam.
He gives me an incredulous look. 'No thanks,' he says.
I lean back against the shop's window.
'So, you said on the phone you wanted to talk,' Adam prompts. 'What about?'
Before I can reply he says, 'You're mad about the other night, aren't you?'
For a moment I don't know what he's talking about; I'd completely forgotten about our fight.
'I looked everywhere for you,' he says, sounding defensive.
'Wait, what?'
'You just got up from the table and left.'
'I was in the bathroom.'
'For twenty minutes?' he snaps.
And suddenly I realise he didn't know where I was at all. I imagine myself passed out, wrapped around the toilet bowl. A mess. Pathetic. My cheeks flush red. 'Sorry for leaving so abruptly,' I mumble.
'Yeah,' he says.
'But I didn't like what you said,' I continue. 'It was really unfair.'
He looks away from me, takes a deep breath. 'You're right. I'm sorry … I'm just stressed. Like, I don't know what I'm going to do now. I didn't get anything I applied for.'
I take hold of his hand, lace my fingers through his.
He says, 'And it's incredible, you know, that internship. I'd just hate to see you wasting it.' He squeezes my hand. 'I say it because I care.'
'I know.'
And then he adds, 'I love you, okay?'
And I feel my body soften. 'Okay.'
'Are we all good then?'
'There's actually something else I wanted to tell you.'
'What's that?'
'My grandpa died.'
'What?' he says, startled. 'When?'
'Monday.'
'I'm so sorry to hear that,' he says. 'You should've called me.' He lets go of my hand and turns to face me, arms outstretched. 'Come here.' He pulls me towards him.
'Thanks,' I mutter into his shoulder.
Adam's fingers are in my hair, stroking the nape of my neck.
When he lets go, I tell him, 'The funeral is on Wednesday. My parents are landing tomorrow morning.'
'Do you want me to come?'
I shrug.
'Might be kind of weird, though. Like, I haven't met your parents before.'
We were on a break the last time my parents visited.
'Yeah,' I say. 'I guess.'
'I mean, I can,' he says quickly. 'If you want me to.'
I shake my head. 'Nah, don't worry about it,' I say, thinking the only thing worse than my father disliking Adam would be seeing them actually get along.
I peel open a lychee cup and slurp it up, sloshing the jelly around my mouth.
'Do you feel okay?' he asks at last.
'Yeah. Kind of numb, actually.'
'Mm, at least you and your grandfather weren't that close.'
'What?'
'I thought you didn't like living with him.'
I walk over to a bin and spit out the jelly. It's making me feel sick. 'He was still my grandpa, Adam.'
He sighs. 'Sorry, that came out wrong.' I look away from him.
'I just don't really know what to say …'
He's never had someone close to him die, I realise, so I offer him a smile that says, It's okay, I forgive you.
'How about we go to mine?' he suggests. 'I'll run you a bath.'
'That'd be really nice,' I say. 'Thank you.'
***
Even though Adam lives with his parents, and even though we've been dating for four years, we still walk down the side path to get to his room. If we walk through the house, his mum will sit me down at the kitchen bench and insist on tea and biscuits. Occasionally she'll comment that I'm looking very thin, though never when Adam is within earshot.
I told Adam once, 'Your mum said she's worried I don't eat enough.'
He gave me a quizzical look, and then said, 'You're not that thin.'
And I knew he was right. I could be thinner.
We enter Adam's room and he flicks on the light. I say room, but really he has a floor, an entire floor, all to himself. It's all polished tiles and plush leather couches, with fine art on the walls and huge windows that overlook the harbour. He has a kitchenette. And an ensuite with the biggest bath I've ever seen. A projector instead of a TV.
I slide the glass door shut behind me and take off my shoes. My feet are cold on the tiles as I shuffle across to the couch. Sinking into it, I draw my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs, shivering a little. Adam kisses my forehead and goes to run the bath.
When it's ready, he picks me up off the couch and carries me into the bathroom. He's lit a candle, and now the bathroom smells of vanilla daisies. Adam lowers me to my feet, touches his hands to my hips, and slowly lifts up my jumper and shirt together. I raise my arms, letting him pull them over my head. He undoes the buttons on my jeans, and I pull them down, stepping out of them. As I stand before him in my bra and underwear, he gently presses his thumb against my hipbone. Rubbing it softly, back and forth.
I turn in his arms to face the mirror and catch my reflection. I look sick. Like a seashell that's had its flesh scooped out. I consider that aside from a few haw flakes this morning, I've barely eaten since Pa died. Every time I've tried, I've been overcome by nausea. Candlelight flickers against my cheeks, filling in the hollows with gold.
Adam turns his head so that we're both looking at ourselves. He grins and tells me we're a hot couple. And then he looks down at my body and whispers in my ear, 'You're so sexy.'
A wave of relief washes over me. I hold on to that. For better, or for worse.
***
I get out of the bath when my fingers begin to prune. Adam is watching a replay of a rugby league game in the other room, shouting at the TV intermittently, even though he knows who won. I dry off and put on underwear and the silk nightie he bought me for Valentine's Day. I keep it here because we so rarely sleep at my grandfather's apartment, Adam refusing to share a single bed with me. And also because the lace straps aren't actually that comfortable, so I wouldn't choose to wear it without him.
The bath drains in the ensuite and makes a loud gurgling sound. I hear Adam flick off the TV and walk down the hall into the bedroom. I turn on the lamp beside his bed and he turns off the ceiling light. Soft yellow surrounds us.
I put my wet hair up in a towel and recline on the bed. He undresses, leaving his clothes on the floor beside his washing basket.
Adam looks at me and smiles. Goosebumps prick my skin. He says, 'You look so perfect on my bed.'
I'm grinning. It's hurting my face.
He climbs onto the bed in his underwear and lies down beside me, stretching out an arm so that I can nestle into his side. I close my eyes, my cheek warm on his chest. I feel like I'm sinking. My bones are heavy and sore.
Adam brushes my cheek, traces the line of my jaw, my neck. He sweeps his fingertips across my breast, down the side of my ribcage, down to the hem of my nightdress. He slips a finger underneath, lifting the fabric over my hip so that it gathers around my waist. The sound of his breath deepening is pink turning into red. Bright red. Intense and full.
'Babe,' I say, my eyes still closed, 'I'm too tired.'
He smooths his hand across my backside. I feel him swelling against my thigh.
'I want you so bad,' he whispers.
I half smile. Because it feels good. This wanting. Being wanted like this. And then he's kissing me, gently pulling down my underwear. Taking off his own. Spreading my legs.
He's on his knees now, his body looming over mine. A purple shadow stretches across the wall. He moves between my thighs, touches me, but I'm not that wet yet. In fact, I'm not wet at all. He pushes in and I gasp. It's like falling backwards in a dream. The way you wake suddenly. In a burst. Air rushing in.
'Does that feel good?' he asks, and I don't say anything, because it will feel good, eventually. If I let it. If I just relax.
And so I do. I surrender. And the good feelings start to creep in, intermingling with the bad, until I feel pleasure as much as pain. A blue equilibrium.
***
Afterwards, Adam curves his body around mine and tells me he loves me. The moon outside is swollen, blood orange. The city sparkles underneath.
I excuse myself for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, turning the tap on so he can't hear me pee.
When I wipe, there is a little blood on the toilet paper.
I don't have my period, though. This just happens sometimes.