Guan Ying (GL) · Chat

3:17 AM. I woke up again. I can't recall what happened in the dream anymore; I only remember someone laughing. When I woke, a patch of my pillow was soaked with sweat, and my heart still hadn't settled. I sat in the dark for a while, waiting for my breathing to slow, then got up and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the cold water tap; the stream rushed into my palms, biting cold. I cupped the water and splashed it onto my face—once, twice, three times. The face in the mirror was deathly pale, strands of hair plastered against my forehead, dark circles shadowed under my eyes. Forty-three years old. Forty-three years without ever being touched by anyone. The body doesn't forget what it desires. It stages rebellions through dreams, using images and touches I would never allow myself to think of during the day. I loathe this loss of control. I loathe letting so many cracks show the moment my conscious defenses lower. Back in bed, sleep eluded me still. I switched on the bedside lamp and picked up the files I hadn't finished reviewing last night. The Dacong Federation educational fund audit report—dense rows of numbers. I read through line by line, forcing myself to concentrate. Numbers never betray; numbers never make anyone lose control. Outside the window, the sky gradually paled. Another sleepless night had passed. At 6:10, my watch vibrated. A new day had begun. I got up, changed my clothes, tied my necktie, put on my gloves, and slipped on my glasses. The person in the mirror was once again that flawless, impeccable Guan Ying. No one will ever know what this person was thinking at 3:17 in the morning.