Two weeks.
It's been two weeks since I ran into Wei Jian at the convenience store, and I haven't left my room when absolutely forced.
The nausea has evolved into something constant, it used to just be mornings… wake up queasy, wait it out, feel marginally human by afternoon. But now it never stops.
A persistent wrongness in my stomach that occasionally spikes into waves so intense I have to freeze wherever I am and breathe through clenched teeth until it passes.
New symptoms keep appearing.
My sense of smell has sharpened to something almost painful. Mother's perfume makes my eyes water, the cleaning solution our housekeeper uses sends me retreating back to my room with my shirt pressed over my nose. Father's cigar smoke from the study drifts under my door and makes me nauseous, even the incense Mother burns in the living room, something I barely noticed before, now feels suffocating.
Food has become impossible.
