Mila rubbed her aching head in pain. She had only just opened her eyes, and her vision was still doubled.
"You're awake." Yang Xiaoyun, who was busy decorating her nails beside her, turned her head. "There's water on the table. Get it yourself—I can't free up my hands. Oh, you really made a mess of things yesterday. You were even throwing up in the second half of the night."
Mila let out a weak groan, forced herself to lean against the headboard, and took big gulps of water. Then she went silent again.
"No, say something, Mila. What's wrong? Don't tell me drinking messed you up? We need to get to the hospital, then."
"I feel awful." Mila's voice was weak and powerless, like a candle guttering in the wind.
"Where do you feel awful? Physically, or mentally?"
"Both."
"Then you brought this on yourself, insisting on drinking so much." Yang Xiaoyun let out a long sigh. "Looks like alcohol can't heal a broken heart either. It just deals double damage afterward. Why do people always say alcohol is good medicine?"
"When you're drinking—when you've had too much—you don't think about anything, do you? If I hadn't gotten drunk yesterday, I definitely wouldn't have been able to sleep last night."
"It's just avoidance. Looks like Brother Yan was right. If you can't face it, then you can only be heartless and carefree until time smooths over the wounds. Only then can you truly be at peace."
Mila snorted. "I'll never be at peace for the rest of my life."
"Then you'll definitely be able to sleep, which is better than now."
As Mila drank the hot water, she asked, "I blacked out completely. How did we get back yesterday?"
"Brother Yan brought us back, of course. I was still conscious