My Roommate is a Non-Human | Chapter 8 | Shadows on the Heart | Novela.app

I was a total wreck, clutching my roommate’s hand like a madman, on the verge of crying from terror again. My roommate just let me bury my face in his chest, telling me not to worry about anything else. The paramedics boarded the vehicle about five minutes later. They checked the shut-in; his body showed no signs of injury whatsoever. "Probably sleepwalking," they muttered. As the ambulance turned the corner, I saw the shut-in shiftily pressing the doorbell, begging the dorm matron to let him in. Upon arriving at the hospital, I found the place ablaze with lights despite it being the middle of the night. Doctors and nurses hurried through the corridors, and many of our fellow students were there, sitting on hallway chairs with wooden, vacant expressions. It was quite a scene. Our school had just sent over seventy or eighty people. The doctor laughed when he saw me, saying he’d been startled when he got my roommate’s call, thinking another batch had arrived. He seemed relieved it was just me. If it hadn't been so crowded, I would have been terrified again. As he led us through the corridor toward the internal medicine department, a fierce, hysterical barking echoed from the rooms on both sides. I could vaguely hear doctors and nurses inside trying to soothe them with soft voices. "Are you keeping purebred wolves in there?" I asked. The doctor gave a bitter smile. "Those are your classmates. Preliminary diagnosis is collective mania." The hair on the back of my neck stood up. To me, it looked more like rabies—people turning into dogs. We reached the examination room, and the doctor asked what was wrong. I knew he wouldn't believe the truth, so I just said my chest hurt—that it hurt terribly—and asked if I could get a CT scan or something. He chuckled and said they avoided CTs whenever possible, offering to listen to my heart first. He pressed the stethoscope to my chest a few times and asked about my family medical history. This wasn't an illness; it was an injury. How was I supposed to explain that? Seeing me hesitate, he had me lie down and attached electrodes to my chest to monitor my heart rate. Every indicator that flashed on the screen was so perfect it could have been in a textbook. He told me that, based on his experience, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my heart. Even so, I insisted on the scan. He had no idea what I had been through tonight. I pestered him for a long time, but he remained dismissive. That was when my roommate, who had been silent until then, finally spoke. "Do the scan." The doctor locked eyes with him for two seconds. Without a word, he lowered his head, wrote out the order, and processed my case on the computer. Once he was finished, my roommate helped me up, took off my heavy coat, and draped it over his arm. Later, after the X-ray was taken, I couldn't make heads or tails of the film. But the moment the doctor saw it, I heard him blurt out: "WTF!" On the surface of my heart, four distinct shadows had appeared, looking as though they had been seared on by something. And those shadows were claw marks. The doctor was horrified, to say nothing of me. I wasn't crazy, but I almost wished I were. If my roommate hadn't caught my hand just in time, I would have fainted on the spot. Words couldn't describe my terror. The doctor was a good man. After his initial shock and confusion, he suggested it might be an equipment malfunction and wanted me to do a CT scan as well. Since we had arrived in the middle of the night and dawn was now approaching, and because my chest still felt tight, he managed to secure a bed for me in the same ward as my "collectively manic" classmates. It was the best he could do for me, and I was grateful. It would be hard for him to accept my story; after all, he hadn't spent years in formal education just to be defeated by the occult. So, I didn't tell him what had actually happened. I simply lied and said I’d dreamed of a monster clutching my heart. He concluded that such an absurd dream was merely the result of physical pain stimulating the mind. After the scans, my roommate helped me back to the ward to sleep while we waited for the results. My bed was right next to the students who had been brought in earlier, separated only by a blue cloth curtain that created a semi-private space. The manic patients around us had quieted down now. Doctors and nurses moved in and out, their expressions less grim than they had been at midnight. I guessed the situation was stable for now. The only sound was the steady, rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Having my roommate by my side gave me a profound sense of security—the kind of safety one feels when surrounded by many protectors. My roommate helped me into a hospital gown and urged me into bed. Then, he found one of those small folding cots used by family members and sat down beside me with a creak. Only then did I realize he hadn't slept all night either. I felt a twinge of guilt. "You should head back first." My roommate shook his head. He looked quiet and refined, but I had a feeling he was the stubborn type. I didn't push him further. Instead, I asked if he wanted to squeeze onto the bed with me so he could rest his eyes. It was a bit forward of me to say; I didn't actually know him that well. We had only suddenly grown close last night after experiencing so many bizarre things. My closeness to him didn't stem from how "good" a person he was—though he was quite good—it was just that meeting him in such a helpless, pathetic state had magnified his virtues infinitely. Now that I had calmed down, those feelings hadn't faded, but I realized that in his eyes, I might just be a heavy burden—a troublemaker who had kept him up all night. To my surprise, he actually froze for a moment, looking dazed. Clearly, my sudden invitation had caught him off guard. I quickly lifted the blanket, eagerly gesturing for him to get in. He slowly bent over to take off his shoes, watching me the whole time, and then lay down beside me in his trousers. The hospital bed was tiny. Even with me hugging the edge, he was practically teetering off. He tried a few positions, but neither of us was comfortable. Finally, he told me to sit up, propped all the pillows I’d been using against the headboard, and reached out his arms, signaling for me to lie back down. I didn't know how I was supposed to lie there. He was essentially right beneath me, his lithe frame sprawled out, long legs dangling off the bed, while his upper body was propped against the headboard. How was I supposed to lie on that? This time, it was my turn to be dazed. Seeing that I wasn't moving, he shifted his waist slightly and grabbed me. Without a word, he quietly pulled me down to lie with him, letting me use him as a pillow, nesting me against his chest. I hadn't realized that was his plan. It was only when he pressed my head against his shoulder that I understood. Naturally, I couldn't accept that—it was so gay, making me look like some little girl. Blushing, I tried to pull away, but I moved too fast and nearly fell off the edge of the bed. My roommate caught me with a quick arm, letting out a soft "ah" before clicking his tongue. I suddenly felt like I was being teased, especially with his hand still resting on my waist. I felt like something was off with my roommate. Even though he always looked so innocent, he definitely had an agenda! But I didn't know how to tell him I wasn't gay, so I could only tell him—not very subtly—"I... I don't want to. Don't do this..." My roommate didn't listen to me at all. He cupped my face, lazily brushing back my hair which was damp with cold sweat. He gave a serious "shhh," then closed his eyes and said, "Sleep." He settled back into the pillows. As if that wasn't enough, he wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and tucked my head into his chest. This time, I had nowhere to retreat. I felt like if I just fell asleep like this, something wouldn't be right... So, I recounted everything that had happened last night to him again. This time, I finally managed to finish the whole story about the shut-in being possessed. I explained it clearly, and as I spoke, I wasn't as afraid; it even felt a bit novel. I even lifted my shirt to show him. I felt like there were four faint scars under my ribs, right where the shut-in had jabbed me with the plastic fork. My roommate had been resting with his eyes closed, but now he sat up and pressed me down, carefully examining the spot I pointed out. Then he pulled my shirt back down to cover my stomach. "The AC is on. You'll catch a cold." Then he turned on his side and pulled me into a full embrace. I still wasn't used to it, and I was afraid someone might see, but I was exhausted. The bed was so small, and as soon as I felt the warmth of my roommate's body, I started to doze off. I felt a strange sense of relief. I had worried that because I was so dependent on him, he would think I was crazy, but now it seemed he didn't find me annoying at all. If this was purely because he was a good person and not because he was gay, that would be even better. Enveloped in the scent of his cheap shampoo, a feeling began to grow that even I found hard to believe: after this one night, a very deep emotion seemed to have formed between us. Regardless of how you categorized it, the bond was profound. I didn't know how it had happened. Maybe it was because he hadn't even frowned when he carried me downstairs. Maybe it was because he’d let me sit all night while he ran around, paying for everything and getting my forms and scans. Maybe it was because, even now, he hadn't grown tired of my trouble or my cowardice. A normal person would have been fed up with me after hearing such a story. In short, I felt incredibly safe by his side. Just last night, I had been suspicious of him, doubting his connection to that disgusting monster and asking the shut-in to investigate him. Thinking of that made me feel uneasy again. Why hadn't he been in the dorm last night? This time, I asked him directly. I never thought I’d be so blunt, but then again, I never thought we’d be squeezed onto a tiny bed with him holding me. Who knows... "Where did you go in the middle of the night? When I came up after seeing off Lu Daoshi, you weren't there." As I said the words "last night," my nose began to sting and my chest throbbed, as if someone had suddenly squeezed my heart again. My roommate didn't tell me. I only heard a sigh from above, and then felt him nuzzle my hair with his face. "Do you want me to stay in the dorm every night?" I thought about it and nodded. My roommate sounded a bit hurt as he said he’d thought I didn't like living with him. "The day I moved in, you moved next door. I thought you didn't like me." I shook my head. The reason I didn't like it was nothing like what he thought. My roommate then gave me a promise. "Every day, after the sun sets, I will be by your side." For the first time, I felt that "after the sun sets" was a particularly romantic expression. It was different from the vague "at night," and different from specific hours. Those six words carried an ancient, immovable calm—something that would remain until the end of time, even after all clocks had crumbled with civilization. The way my roommate said it so calmly made it feel as if one could see the red sun dipping below the horizon and the darkness rolling in, only for all of it to come to a halt before him. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt like I was about to turn gay. *** Glossary: