KINA
I curled tighter into myself, one leg hooked over the other, my arms wrapped around my stomach like that would somehow soothe it.
If it was a 2 out of 10 earlier… it was an 8 now.
No, 9.
Maybe 10.
I felt like my uterus had picked up a knife and declared war on the rest of me. I couldn't even move properly. Every small shift sent a cramp shooting up my spine or down my thighs. My body felt heavy, cold in places and hot in others, and I was lying there on the floor next to my bed like a half-dead animal. A breathing corpse. A sad, sniveling mess.
I couldn't take the painkillers. Not yet. Not without food. And there was no way I could get to the kitchen to grab anything.
I wanted to cry, but even that hurt.
So I just let the tears fall without sound. My eyes wet, throat tight, limbs stiff. I stared at the wall and cursed everything that brought me into this world.
Why did my mother even give birth to me?
She could've just… not.
Saved me the whole miserable ride.
I wanted to disappear. Cease. Unbecome.
Not just because of the pain. But because I was me.
A loser. A nobody. Always someone's second thought. Or third. Or not thought of at all.
I sobbed harder, quietly. My body too exhausted to do it the dramatic way. My heart just… hurt. Not in the poetic sense. But in that dull, gnawing ache that makes you feel like you're nothing. Like you'll always be nothing.
I remembered last night with Aaron, throwing up all my feelings like a drunk little idiot. I told him how broken I felt. And I still was. Maybe even more so.
And Kieran… Kieran went out of his way to fix up my apartment. Spent who knows how much. And what did I do? Greet him with an attitude and then lock myself up like a brat. I didn't even say thank you.
I'm a piece of shit.
A terrible person.
I don't deserve good things. I'm meant to be lonely. That's what I get. For being a slop. For not trying hard enough to be better. For thinking I could be anything.
I hated myself. Every part of me.
And yet...
God, I wished I could change everything.
I wanted to be cool. Beautiful. Liked. That girl people waved to in the hallway. That girl who got invited to things. Not… this.
Not a ghost.
Not the forgotten daughter.
Not the older sister they pitied.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep again. Tried to vanish inside myself.
But then something tugged at my senses. Something warm. Familiar.
Soup?
The scent drifted in slowly, like a memory. Steaming broth, garlic, soft pork, something fermented but soothing. Kimchi stew maybe. Or something like it.
It reminded me of when I was younger, those rare times my mother would take care of me. When I had a fever and she'd bring porridge to my bed and press the back of her hand to my forehead. Her voice would be soft then. Gentle.
I sobbed again. Pathetic, childish sobs. My stomach spasmed.
"Why does everything have to hurt so much?" I whispered into the quiet, not even knowing who I was asking. God? Myself? My mother? My uterus?
No one answered.
Just the smell of soup hanging in the air like a cruel trick. A hallucination, probably.
Because no one makes me soup. No one comes when I'm in pain.
Not really.
I wasn't sure when sleep took me. The pain had dulled to a low, throbbing beat somewhere in my stomach, like my body had finally decided to knock me out for mercy's sake. I had curled up like some half-dead thing, one arm clutched over my midsection and my face sticky from dried tears.
I must've passed out.
But something pulled me back.
A smell.
Warm.
Familiar.
Kind.
My eyes peeled open, slow and crusted, and I blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, confused by the golden light bleeding in through the curtains. I wasn't dead. And yet, something was… different. Something was there.
I turned my head and I froze.
Sitting on the floor next to my bed, right by where I'd passed out, was a tray.
A real tray. One of the new ones I hadn't even unboxed yet.
On it was a bowl, still steaming and a small plate of what looked like rolled eggs, and a drink beside it. Neat. Organized. Thoughtful.
For a second, I didn't move. I didn't breathe.
I didn't understand.
I hadn't heard a knock. I hadn't heard anything. Just my crying, my broken little sobs, and yet somehow… someone had been here. Someone saw me.
He saw me.
Kieran.
It couldn't have been anyone else.
My chest squeezed so tightly, I almost doubled over again. My throat closed up as I stared at the tray like it might vanish if I blinked. My fingers trembled as I reached forward, touching the edge of the bowl.
Still warm.
Still real.
And I... I cracked.
Something about it, the quiet gesture, the timing, the unasked for-ness of it all, broke open the dam again. I didn't cry like before, not loudly, not angrily. Just slow, leaking tears down my face as I pulled the tray closer and picked up the spoon.
I didn't even ask what it was. I didn't need to. I just tasted it.
Soft rice porridge. With hints of garlic and ginger and, was that shredded pork?
It didn't matter.
It tasted like safety. Like something I hadn't had since childhood. It tasted like someone gave a damn. And maybe I didn't deserve it. Maybe I was pathetic, and a failure, and all those ugly things I told myself when the pain kicked in...
But for the first time in so long, I felt like I wasn't completely alone in this world.
I sobbed quietly, chewing, feeling like a piece of me I didn't know was starving had just been fed.
And I didn't know what scared me more…
That someone cared enough to do this for me.
Or that the person who did was Kieran.