Love's Labyrinth

Asking for shared accommodation

The night grew deeper, and the alcohol cleared my mind. I zipped up my jacket, lit a cigarette, and walked aimlessly through the streets, bathed in the neon lights' glow. Despite the late hour, my mind was filled with endless trivial thoughts. Suddenly, I felt weary of my current life. I longed to do something meaningful for myself, yet I had no idea where to start, leaving me even more lost.

Passing by a hotel, I observed the scattered lights from numerous windows, as if witnessing the rhythmic movements of bodies in bed, causing the entire building to sway. This night, some were indulging in the soulful moments of warmth within their rooms, while others wandered the streets, enduring the loneliness of the night.

However, it's precisely due to these stark contrasts that the world appears so vivid and real. I should understand that life is inherently a complex contradiction; loneliness and despair are burdens some must bear. Therefore, there's no need to feel aggrieved or complain.

Yet, tonight's moonlight was exceptionally beautiful, exposing the loneliness that had nowhere to hide. So, I implore the celestial beings to turn off the moon's power, as I am willing to endure loneliness, but not to expose it in this harsh world!

Back at my place, I instinctively stood downstairs, looking around. Betsy's car wasn't there. I circled to the other side of the building and found her car parked there. Betsy seemed accustomed to leaving her car in this spot.

I crouched beside the car, lit another cigarette, and then returned upstairs. I stood at Betsy's door for a while before finally knocking.

"Betsy, are you asleep?" I asked softly.

"Is there something you need?" she replied.

"I want to talk to you."

Betsy responded as expected, "There's nothing for us to talk about."

"At least let me say thank you in person for tonight. I'm grateful," I insisted.

"No need," Betsy replied tersely.

"Yes, I do. It doesn't feel right if I don't say it," I said, using gratitude as an excuse to open her door without her agreement.

The lights were on inside, and Betsy sat at her desk, engrossed in reading or going through documents.

Betsy seemed accustomed to my impoliteness and didn't react much to me entering her room without permission.

Standing behind her, I glanced at what she was looking at and asked, "What are you reading?"

Ignoring me, Betsy kept her focus on the documents.

I stood there, contemplating how to convey my intention to continue living here.

"Is it appropriate to stand alone in a woman's room late at night?" Betsy asked coldly.

"I just wanted to thank you in person. Nothing more," I quickly explained.

"Then go ahead. Finish quickly and leave."

"Fine." I hesitated for a moment and then, as if seeking approval, asked, "Did you take medicine tonight? I heard you coughing earlier."

Betsy closed the documents, frowned at me, and said, "You have something to say, say it quickly. I'm ready to rest."

"You asked me to speak, and now you want me to hurry. Well, you asked for it." After a brief pause, I continued, "Honestly, I don't want to move out at all!"

Betsy calmly asserted, "You promised more than once to move out. Your promises are cheap in your eyes?"

I grew angrier. "Why are you so stubborn? What's wrong with me living here? If a pipe is clogged or a light is broken, I can fix it. If it rains, and you're not home, I can help bring in your laundry. For instance, tonight, when you were sick, I couldn't just stand by. I had to buy you medicine and make ginger soup. Why do you insist on making both of us unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy," Betsy retorted.

Her words left me speechless. An awkward silence lingered before I spoke again, "You don't understand. If I live here, I can help in many ways. I can resolve neighborhood disputes easily. Let me tell you, I'm the neighborhood 'tyrant.' Even though this place has no property management, having me around is better than any property management."

"Even if what you say is true, it's not a reason for you to continue living here. You must move out," Betsy insisted.

"Are you heartless? What's wrong with me living here? At least, I can help with things like fixing pipes and lights. If there's a neighborhood dispute, I can handle it easily. You won't find a better roommate. Why do you keep pushing me away? Besides, I think I owe you all the money you lent me. Repaying you is more important than moving out."

Unexpectedly, Betsy asked, "Tell me, why is repaying me more important than moving out?"

Without much thought, I replied, "I'll feel at ease once I've repaid you. Moving out makes me feel empty and helpless. If you were in my shoes, would you prioritize repaying the debt or moving out?"

"Even if you move out, you can find another place to live. Where does the emptiness and helplessness come from?" Betsy continued to question.

I surveyed the room, contemplating all the moments I had spent there. A wave of indescribable emotions surged within me. Betsy couldn't understand the sentimental attachment I had to this place, so every time she tried to evict me, she didn't consider my feelings. Yet, on second thought, she had no reason to consider them. Sentimental attachment is a personal matter.

I lit another cigarette to dispel the sense of loss and helplessness.

"Don't smoke in my room, please."

Betsy's tone was filled with disgust, but I was the one who had been too presumptuous, neglecting the fact that I was still in her room.

"Sorry, I'll smoke on the balcony," I said in a low voice.

After finishing a cigarette on the balcony, I returned to the living room. Surprisingly, Betsy wasn't in her room; she sat on the sofa in the living room.

For the first time, she took the initiative to speak to me. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Earlier, you asked why moving out makes me feel empty and helpless, right?"

Betsy nodded.

Sitting on the sofa across from Betsy, I closed my eyes. Countless days and nights spent here flashed before my eyes like fragments of memories.

After a prolonged silence, I finally spoke, "I moved in two years ago during the darkest period of my life. I suffered from insomnia almost every night. The reason was that I had many thoughts, but there was no one to share them with. So, I treated the floor lamp, the cabinet, the clock, and even a broom as my friends. I told them the thoughts I couldn't tell anyone else. Although they never responded, they listened patiently. So, after pouring out everything that bothered me, I felt less uncomfortable. I'm grateful to them and everything in this room. They've been my support and friends. That's why I don't want to leave. I love this place, even though it's simple. It's the safest and warmest place in my world!"

After I finished speaking, Betsy looked at me with a complex expression. I had no idea what that complexity meant; I just anxiously waited for her to decide whether I could continue living here.