Obsessive Pleasure - Chapter 4

It wasn’t until she was back in her own room, sitting at her vanity, that Liang Yun realized she hadn’t properly said goodbye to Chen Yang.

As a doctor, giving her the prescription was certainly an exception he had pulled strings for her.

She pulled out her phone, found the number he’d saved in it, and bit her lower lip. She drafted and revised a message for ages before finally sending just a few short words:

 “Thank you for today!”

A moment later, he replied: Only for today?

Liang Yun lightly tapped the screen with her finger. She had no choice but to reply with forced formality and distance: I’ll be relying on you for the next two weeks. Dr. Chen.

Chen Yang was still sitting in his car at that moment.

The engine was off, parked by the side of the road in her neighborhood. He could see the light from Liang Yun’s room directly through his car window.

He stared at the words Dr. Chen on his screen and smiled faintly.

Hm. Let her call me that for a few days.

It seemed she really didn’t remember him.

Chen Yang started his car, glanced up at Liang Yun’s window one last time, and slowly drove away.

Soon after, Liang Yun received a call from the hospital, notifying her that her new prescription was ready for pickup.

It wasn’t Chen Yang who called, and she felt a strange, inexplicable disappointment. Nevertheless, she remembered to send him a text message to thank him for his help.

Don’t mention it. But remember to take the reduced dosage I mentioned. Also, if possible, report your condition to me on a schedule.

Liang Yun stared at her phone screen. Why does he sound exactly like my father?

Liang Yun’s father was a government official before he retired. He was imposing and powerful in public, and even at home, he always maintained a rigid posture. He was an old-fashioned man who, aside from caring about her grades, never seemed to express any other form of father-daughter intimacy when she was growing up.

If her test scores were good, she might get a few brief words of affirmation; if they were poor, she would face the cold silence of verbal abuse.

One of her father’s favorite sayings was, Spare the rod and spoil the child, but the only reason I never laid a finger on you is that you’re a girl.

In truth, sometimes, Liang Yun wished her father would treat her like the uncle next door treated his son: make a mistake, take a beating, and get it over with. In her view, intense psychological pressure was far worse than physical punishment.

Liang Yun’s mother, since her youth, had been a blind worshipper of her father, and her position hadn’t changed even now.

In her memory, her mother’s assessment of her was always linked to her father’s image.

 Getting worse grades? 

Arguing with a classmate. 

Disgracing your father!

Disgracing your father!

Liang Yun had lived in a dorm since high school, went to university out of town, and later studied abroad. A large part of this was her desire to escape the omnipresent pressure.

At least away from home, her father’s only requirement was. Report your situation to me on time!” What she chose to report was entirely up to her.

Liang Yun had long been accustomed to sharing good news and hiding bad. That’s why her family still had no idea she was taking antidepressants.

If they found out, what would happen?

Liang Yun’s father would certainly say, “Young people haven’t gone through any hardship, they’re narrow-minded and think too much. What’s the big fuss!”

Liang Yun could even picture the look on his face as he said it.

So, don’t tell them.

She was used to pretending to live.

Liang Yun stared at Chen Yang’s message for a long time before replying with a single “Okay.”

Remembering his instruction to take half the dose, this time Liang Yun obediently followed the medical advice.

It’s not because I’m listening to him, she told herself, it’s just that I’m worried the medication won’t last until the end of the month.

Every other day, she dutifully sent him a progress report.

This is just standard follow-up for a doctor and patient, Liang Yun reminded herself.

She reported how many hours she slept at night, what her appetite was like during the day, and the status of her headaches.

Chen Yang replied to every single message, never missing one, though most of his responses were brief: Very good, Not bad.

Liang Yun herself didn’t seem to realize that over the next few days, her texts began to include other details about her life:

The new bubble tea shop near the office is delicious.

The training project she’s managing finally made some progress.

And so on.

Perhaps Chen Yang noticed, but he didn’t point it out.

Maybe it was because Chen Yang’s image was constantly distracting her for whatever reason, even with a smaller dosage, her headaches weren’t as pronounced as they used to be.

Before she knew it, more than a week had passed.