The Day My Soul Clocked Out

Five years ago, after being diagnosed with severe depression, an alter ego named Osman appeared in my body.

On odd-numbered days, I'm awake, and on even-numbered days, he is.

He's vibrant and charismatic, while I'm quiet and reserved.

My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and my fiance, Alice, all prefer him, reserving all their affection for his days.

But as time went on, they grew greedier. Every time I was awake, they'd bring me a sedative.

If I kept taking them, my core personality would be completely erased.

To make them happy, I always took the sedatives.

Until today, my birthday, Alice once again handed me the medicine.

I looked at her, my eyes red, pleading, "Alice, this time, can I not take the medicine?"

She frowned slightly, her voice laced with reluctant cruelty:

"Don't be silly. Osman is going skiing tomorrow; you need more rest."

It turned out all her kindness to me was just her way of maintaining this body for Osman.

The bitter pill slid down my throat, swallowing my years of love along with it.

Alice, I wish you both happiness.

This body, I don't want it anymore.

Her brow relaxed.

"The doctor said this course of medication will help you sleep soundly, and Osman will wake up feeling better tomorrow."

"He needs an early start tomorrow, so you should rest early today."

"Is his ski trip more important than my birthday?"

Alice paused for half a second, her gaze hardening.

"Davis, don't compare things like this."

"I'm not comparing."

"You are. Every time you bring up Osman, you act like I owe you something."

I looked at her. "Don't you?"

Her expression stiffened, then her voice softened, "He's a part of you. Don't always get hung up on little things."

"I know it's hard for you to take the medicine, but once you've recovered in a few days, I'll take you to the beach to celebrate your birthday, okay?"

She promised a future, then stared at me for a few more seconds.

"You're unhappy about your birthday today, isn't it because of the cake?"

I said nothing. The cake was a Strawberry Napoleon, Osman's favorite, but I'm allergic to strawberries.

When Alice picked out the strawberry for me, she said, "See, I remember you like sweets."

She did remember, but she remembered the wrong person.

"I'll have my assistant order you a new one tomorrow."

"No need."

"Now you're just being dramatic." She raised a hand, intending to caress my face.

I flinched. Her hand missed, and her expression instantly turned cold. "Davis, you've taken the medicine. Don't throw another tantrum."

My mom's hushed voice came from outside the door: "Alice, did Davis take it?"

Alice glanced at me. "Yes, he did. Davis is asleep; you both should get some rest too."

"Thank you for your trouble." My mom's voice was gentle.

Alice closed the door, the click of her heels fading into the distance.

Once I was sure she was gone, my mom sighed in relief. "That's good."

My dad's voice was cold. "After tonight, the medication will completely suppress the core personality. Osman finally won't have to suffer anymore."

My mom quickly said, "Keep your voice down! What if Alice finds out the truth and gets soft, ruining everything?"

"If she knows we're drugging Davis, our alliance with the Andersons would be ruined!"

"What are you afraid of?" My dad snorted. "Dr. Peter said if we drag this out any longer, we'll lose both of them."

"Osman is outgoing, lively, and incredibly charming. Only he can take over our Williams family business and secure the Anderson alliance."

"Davis's gloomy nature would only drag down the entire family!"

Just outside the door. I listened to my own parents' secret judgment, the bitterness in my throat slowly rising.

Soon after, pain began in my chest.

It wasn't a sharp, cutting pain; it was like fine needles piercing my brain, meticulously pulling out my memories and consciousness one by one.

I bit down on the bedsheet, convulsing with pain, every breath tasting of blood.

In the middle of the night, Alice returned.

I closed my eyes, hearing her walk to the bedside.

"Davis, are you alright?"

I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, unable to respond.

She stood there for a long time, seemingly believing I was fast asleep.

A soft clink sounded on the bedside table.

"If the medicine is bitter, have a candy."

"Don't always frown; Osman will have a headache when he wakes up tomorrow."

I opened my eyes; she had already turned away.

"Alice." I called out to her.

She stopped.

"Is the candy for me, or for this body?"

She didn't turn back, her silhouette distant. "What's the difference?"

I forced a smile. "None."

The door closed again.

The candy lay on the bedside.

She had bought me this candy five years ago, when her startup was at its toughest.

The wrapper was still blue and white.

I reached out and swept it into the trash can.

In the drawer were a few things that only belonged to me on my days.

A spare phone with a shattered screen, a notebook filled with intricate details of Alice's company's financial vulnerabilities.

And the tie clip she had bought me before.

I put them all into a trash bag.

When the pain grew intense, I paused to retch for a while.

Before dawn, I finally finished packing my things.

In the morning, my mom pushed the door open, carrying a set of skis.

"Osman, hurry up and try on the new board..."

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at her calmly.

Her voice abruptly stopped, and the skis clattered to the floor.

My dad squeezed in behind her. Seeing my face, he blurted out, "How are you still awake?!"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

My mom's face drained of color, her hands trembling violently. "How can this be? It's an even-numbered day; Osman should be awake!"

My dad lowered his voice. "Did you not finish the medicine?"

"Alice made sure I drank it."

My dad immediately pulled out his phone and dialed a number, walking onto the balcony and speaking in a hushed tone. "Dr. Peter, what's going on? Why is he still awake?"

"That experimental drug... yes, the project Alice invested in, the data for that project can't have any errors!"

Whatever was said on the other end, my dad's face changed. After hanging up, he looked at my mom.

"We can't let Alice know." My mom pressed his arm. "If she knows we added something to the medicine, our business will be completely ruined."

She turned to me, a momentary look of embarrassment in her eyes. "Davis, Mom knows you resent us."

"Yeah."

She froze, clearly surprised I'd admit it. I used to always say I didn't resent them.

The year I was diagnosed, Osman woke up for the first time.

He smiled and hugged my mom, sweet-talking her for half an hour.

My mom froze, then her eyes welled up. "This is my son."

I stood by, seeing the disappointment in her eyes.

She didn't speak, but I understood.

Davis, you're too gloomy; you suffocate people.

You can't offer any emotional support; all you do is stay up late looking at reports.

From then on, I endured for five years.

They made me shift my birthday to one of his days so we could celebrate together. They cleared out my bedroom balcony so Osman could store his skis and gaming chair there.

Whenever there was a business dinner, she'd make me take sleeping pills, forcing me into a trance so Osman could take over, socialize for her, and take all the drinks.

Once, on one of his days, Osman even used my account to text Alice, claiming I didn't want to celebrate my birthday, so she wouldn't feel awkward.

Alice believed it. That year, on my birthday, she didn't even call.

I thought, in the end, I'd earn my family's and lover's sympathy, but they just resented that I hadn't disappeared completely enough.

"Give me your phone." My dad walked over, reaching out.

"Why?"

"You're emotionally unstable right now. Don't go contacting Alice."

I handed over my phone.

The quiet click of the lock echoed in the room.

I sat back on the bed, looking at the empty balcony.

There used to be an old film camera there, one I'd saved up for ages to buy.

On my days, I'd clean the lens.

On his days, Osman, complaining it took up too much space, threw it and its film cartridges into the recycling bin.

He always claimed he didn't know anything.

But every time I liked something, it would disappear on his days.

At noon, the lock clicked open.

Alice pushed the door in, carrying a few paper bags, her voice holding its usual indulgent tone:

"Osman, why are you still lounging in bed?"

My dad followed behind, his face stiff, trying to stop her but failing. "Alice, listen to me..."

Alice ignored him, walking directly to the bedside.

But the moment her eyes met mine, the smile on her face froze abruptly.

"Davis? It's an even-numbered day. Why are you here? Where's Osman?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, he didn't wake up."

She stood there, stunned.

The bags were half-open, revealing a ski suit and a bottle of fir-scented men's cologne.

She had bought them for Osman.

Osman complained white tea was too bland and only wore this intensely bold cologne.

Realizing she had mistaken me, Alice subconsciously pulled the paper bags back, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her expression.

My dad quickly explained from behind, "Davis has a bit of a fever; it might have affected the medicine's absorption and the rotation."

Alice frowned. "If he has a fever, call a doctor. Davis, did you deliberately not take your medicine on time, just to keep Osman from coming out?"

I looked at her. "You think I'm stealing his time?"

"What else?" Her voice turned cold. "Today was his long-anticipated ski day, and a crucial deal for Anderson Group to acquire a key land parcel. You clearly knew..."

"I didn't know." I cut her off. "All I know is that from last night until now, I was in agony, practically dying."

She gripped the paper bag handles so tightly her knuckles were white. "Davis, don't try to scare me like that."

"Would you be scared?"

She reached out and grabbed my wrist, not allowing me to pull away. "I know you're upset about your birthday yesterday, but Osman has genuinely helped the company a lot these past few years. He's simply more charming than you."

"Just listen, don't throw a tantrum. Hurry and give up the body. In a few days, on one of your days, I'll take you to the beach to celebrate your birthday."

I lowered my eyes to her hand. "Which day will you take me? On my day, or on his day?"

Her throat tightened. "Davis, don't be like this."

"See, you can't answer."

She suddenly tightened her grip. "What exactly are you upset about?"

Pain shot up from my wrist bone. I pulled my hand away expressionlessly.

Alice's hand hung in mid-air. "You're pulling away from me?"

"It hurts."

Her expression softened. "I didn't use much force."

"Hmm."

"Davis, you're getting more and more perfunctory with your words."

I looked at her, my patience snapped. "Don't you love it when I'm sensible? What, you're not happy now?"

My mom quickly intervened. "Alice, you should go back to the company. Osman's... ski trip, you should cancel it first."

Alice didn't move.

My dad also said, "Alice, we'll watch Davis."

Alice didn't answer. Instead, she turned to me, her voice tinged with condescension. "Do you want me to stay and keep you company?"

In the past, I would have immediately nodded.

I would have swallowed all my grievances, just to have her sit by the bed with me for a while.

But now I just said, "No need. It would only bother you."

Her hand, clutching the paper bags, stiffened, as if she hadn't expected me to refuse.

A flicker of shock crossed her usually poised face.

But she quickly masked it, letting out a cold laugh.

"Fine, whatever."

The door slammed shut.

As I moved a storage box from the bottom of the closet, my fingertips brushed against a worn jewelry box.

I opened it; it was empty.

That was a mechanical watch Alice bought for me with her first profits, the year she first started her company.

She said she couldn't afford a good one then, but would get me a Patek Philippe someday.

At the time, I wore it on my wrist, reluctant to take it off even when I slept.

Later, when Osman woke up and saw the watch, he complained it was uncomfortable and looked cheap, and he tossed it carelessly into the river.

Alice rushed over that day, and Osman hugged her waist, whining playfully:

"Alice, I didn't mean to. I just thought that cheap watch didn't suit your current status. If you take me to business meetings, people will laugh at you."

She stroked his head. "If the old one's gone, it's gone."

When I woke up, I questioned her, "That was a gift from you."

Alice frowned, her voice impatient. "Davis, it was just a few hundred dollars. Don't embarrass Osman. Tomorrow, I'll have my secretary send you a Patek Philippe."

She did send it.

On his days, Osman would wear that Patek Philippe, post pictures on Ins, captioning them: "Feels good to be favored."

I didn't like the post.

On my days, the expensive watch lay on the dressing table.

Alice said, "See, the new one suits your current status better."

I asked her, "Do you remember what was engraved on the old watch?"

She was silent for a long time. "Davis, people can't always live in the past."

I threw the empty jewelry box into the trash.

My tablet lit up, a memo popping up with a schedule reminder.

Next Monday: Watch the sunrise with Alice at the beach.

The note beneath read: Dr. Peter said after tonight, the integration will be complete. Finally no more waiting for his days! That was Osman's smiley face.

I looked at the words, my fingertips tingling.

He knew everything. He was even looking forward to my death.

As night fell, I started coughing up blood.

Not just a little, but great gushes.

"Davis, open the door!" Alice hammered on the door from outside.

My mom frantically stopped her. "Alice, he's asleep."

"I hear something! Move!"

"He's throwing a tantrum and broke something, don't go in..."

"Keys!"

As the lock clicked open, I was leaning against the bed, vomiting blood.

The carpet, the sheets, all stained dark red.

Alice stood at the doorway, her pupils constricted sharply. "Davis, what happened to you?"

I looked up at her, my vision somewhat blurred. "Why are you here?"

She rushed forward, pulling me up from the floor, her voice tight. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

My mom followed in, clinging to her arm. "Alice, you can't take him!"

"He's spitting blood, and you're telling me not to care?!"

Alice's eyes were bloodshot. She pushed my mom away, about to rush out.

My dad abruptly blocked the doorway, shouting loudly:

"Alice! If you take him to the hospital today, if they use a stomach pump, Dr. Peter's medication will be completely disrupted!"

"Osman's personality would be damaged, and he might never return!"

Alice froze, her feet rooted to the spot.

My mom cried, kneeling on the floor and clinging to her leg. "Alice, just this one night, please!"

"Davis is only bleeding because of a rejection reaction to the medicine. He just needs to pull through this night."

"But if Osman misses tonight, we'll lose him completely!"

The muscles in her face twitched imperceptibly, and her arm around me instantly stiffened.

I reached out my blood-stained hand and gently tugged her shirt.

"Alice, I'm in so much pain." This was the first time in five years I had cried out to her.

Her voice caught in her throat. She looked down at me.

I said, "Save me."

She only needed to take one step forward, just one step.

I watched her fingers tremble.

Just a little more, and she could touch my face.

But she stopped.