LITMIR.BIZ

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looks away and drapes the bra over the back of the chair.

      I’m lying there naked except for my panties. I’m shaking. The room seems to vibrate.

      John’s back is to me. He’s rummaging through the little dresser next to my closet. ‘Ah,’ he says, satisfied. ‘This is good.’

      He has in his hands a large T-shirt. ‘I think maybe this will be comfortable for you.’

      He puts it over my head, lifts me up a little, and I can feel the dry heat radiating from his hand pressed flat between my shoulder-blades.

      After he gets the T-shirt on me, he finds the light blanket I use most warm spring nights and covers me with it.

      ‘Just a minute,’ he says, and leaves.

      I lie there. The room is still vibrating, but not so quickly.

      When John returns, he carries a glass of water and something wrapped in a dishcloth. He sits cross-legged by my head. ‘Here, Yili,’ he says. ‘Have some water.’

      ‘I don’t … You put something in it.’

      ‘Don’t be silly. You are sick. You need some water.’

      He tilts up my head so I won’t choke and pours a little water between my lips. I swallow. He pours some more. It tastes good. Like nectar. Like something I need.

      ‘There. You see?’

      When I finish, he smoothes the hair from my forehead. ‘I have some ice,’ he says, holding up the dishcloth. ‘Your face, it’s bruised. I think maybe when I help you in the car, I’m too careless.’ He puts the dishcloth against my cheek. ‘I’m sorry about this, Yili.’

      I feel the cold seep through the cloth to my cheek, soaking into my skull and spreading through my head. Everything slows down.

      ‘That’s okay,’ I say.

      John sits there quietly, holding the ice against my cheek.

      ‘Why you come to China, Yili?’ he finally asks.

      I chuckle. ‘Trey. He got a job. I came with him.’

      ‘What kind of work does he do?’

      ‘Security consultant. For a big corporation.’ I laugh again. ‘Kind of like a really well-paid bodyguard.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Kind of.’ Of course, it’s more than that, really. Trey assesses threats. Looks for holes. Keeps people safe.

      ‘I see.’

      I must have spoken out loud again, without meaning to.

      ‘And this pays well?’

      ‘It pays okay.’

      John brushes a stray hunk of my hair off my face.

      ‘So, Trey, he does not work for American government.’

      ‘Big corporation.’ I laugh. ‘What’s the difference?’

      John nods sagely. ‘You know, here in China, PLA, Peoples’ Liberation Army, owns many businesses. They hide this better now than before, but still it is this way. So maybe this is somewhat the same as America.’

      This irritates me, and I’m not sure why. ‘It’s the other way around in America,’ I tell him. ‘Companies own the Army. They send us where they want us to go. To do their shit for them. So they can get rich.’

      ‘Ah. I see. So you are in the Army, Yili?’

      ‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’

      ‘Why not? It can be good to talk, I think.’

      ‘No. It’s not.’

      But I can see it. That’s the thing. I can fucking see it. I don’t want to. I don’t want to see this shit any more. ‘Oh god,’ I say. ‘Oh, Jesus. Where the fuck were you? You fucking liar.’

      John strokes my face, my hair. ‘Yili, I am sorry. I don’t want to upset you.’

      I’m crying again. ‘Fuck you,’ I say. ‘You’re just another liar.’

      He says nothing.

      After a while, he gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

      I lie there. I’m floating. I’m swaddled in clouds. I can’t move.

      ‘John?’ I call out. ‘John?’

      He doesn’t come. I’m alone.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to. I hate myself. I want to die.’

      ‘Yili, why do you talk like that?’

      ‘John?’

      Where did he come from? He crouches down next to me. Takes my hand. ‘Have some water.’

      I drink. I drink like it’s somehow going to save my life. Like it will replenish everything I’ve lost.

      I’m pretty fucked up right now.

      John sighs. ‘This boyfriend of yours. I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he take better care of you?’

      ‘He’s busy.’

      ‘But this is not right,’ John states. ‘If you are together with him, he should take care of you. This is only proper.’

      I stare up at the ceiling. Kaleidoscope patterns fold and unfold on the peeling beige paint. Like flowers in one of those sped-up nature movies.

      ‘I guess he’s not really my boyfriend,’ I say after a while. ‘I guess we’re just friends, that’s all.’

      ‘But friends take care of each other too,’ John says gravely. ‘Maybe this fellow, maybe he isn’t really your friend.’

      ‘He is,’ I insist. ‘He is.’

      ‘But he left you.’

      ‘He had to.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because …’ I squeeze my eyes shut. Then I open them, because little armies keep marching across my eyelids, and I don’t want them there. ‘Because he had to.’

      John sighs. ‘Yili, why are you so sure that this man is good guy? What do you really know about him?’

      For a moment, I can’t think of anything at all. I stare at the ceiling. The peeling paint curls and uncurls.

      ‘Maybe he is okay guy like you say,’ John continues. ‘But maybe now he is mixed up in something that is bad.’

      I turn my head to look at him. John stares at me intently, his eyes shining.

      And it doesn’t matter how fucked up I am, how much bad shit I’m seeing in my head, and how scared I was before. I know exactly what this is about. He can’t hide it from me any more.

      ‘This is about the Uighur guy, right? You know what, John? You’re an asshole. You could’ve just asked me. You didn’t have to do all this. You didn’t have to …’

      I can’t finish. I’m feeling this sob coming up from my gut, choking me. I want to scream; I want to hit something; I want to run and run and never stop. But I still can’t move. I lie there crying like a fucking five-year-old, and I hate myself for it.

      John’s eyes widen, look away then look back, like he isn’t sure what to do now. ‘Yili, I –’

      ‘Shut the fuck up. I don’t care any more. I really don’t.’

      I manage to lift my hand up to wipe my face. ‘You could have just asked me,’ I repeat. ‘And I would have told you. I don’t know anything. Nothing.’

      Silently, John takes the damp dishcloth that held the ice

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