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墨書 Inktalez
"Well, this is quite a long story—" I propped one foot up, completely abandoning any semblance of ladylike behavior. In front of him, I felt no need to pretend or disguise myself anymore. After all, my time was limited, and before I left this world, there had to be at least one person who truly understood the trajectory of my life. Heaven had sent me such a person, and I was grateful for his kindness.
"We've already talked quite a bit," he said, swallowing some vegetables and smiling at me.
"When did the thought of suicide first arise? It's been so long that I can't really remember. I think it was around second or third grade? My mom would hit me in the yard, and I would just stand there like a nail, letting her hit me. While she was hitting me, I would provoke her, saying, 'Go ahead, kill me! Kill me!' At that time, I meant it; I really didn't want to live. Every time she and my dad hit me, the neighbors would shout, 'Silly girl, run away!' But I'd retort while taking slaps, 'I'm not running; let's see how long it takes for them to kill me. If they do, then it's over!' So I never ran away from being beaten."
"Why did they hit you? Was it habitual domestic violence?"
"There were many reasons. I didn't like to talk much; I learned from old people how to braid hair; I collected wheat straw to sell for money; at eleven or twelve years old, I still watched cartoons. Once, when I groggily asked my mom, 'Where did he go?' my dad came out of the bathroom and heard that question. His face darkened as he asked, 'Who is he?' then turned and left. My mom slapped me immediately and said, 'Who is he? Can't you call him Dad?' I got hit so hard that my backside bled and had to stand at school for a week without daring to sit down. When my mom slapped my face, she forgot to take off her ring and almost disfigured me. My dad and mom would team up with my grandma to beat me... But none of that was unusual; every kid in the countryside gets beaten. Other kids knew how to run away; I was just more stubborn."
"Wait a minute; I'm a bit confused but can't pinpoint what's wrong."
"Oh dear, my dad isn't my biological father, so he's particularly sensitive about the words I use. My grandma always stirs up trouble by saying I'm an outsider, which makes my dad extra wary of me. My mom sides with him because she's afraid she can't survive without him. So I've been a punching bag since childhood." I took a sip of soup and wiped my mouth with a tissue. "Alright, let's leave it at that for now. Where are you planning to go today? I'll accompany you for free! I've been in Qingdao for several years and have hardly gone out; I've never even visited any attractions."
"How about Li Village Park?"
The secret I'd buried for six years felt like a ticking time bomb ready to explode—boom—bursting forth in a dazzling display of colors. Perhaps that was the best ending for that chapter of my story.
Maybe fate had been somewhat kind to me.
Under the elongated sunset, I stood beside a sculpture, scanning the crowd on the steps below. My grandma pushed a stroller while chatting happily with an old friend; my mom held a child's small hand as they stumbled up the stairs; couples walked arm in arm; vendors sold candy-coated hawthorn sticks with the sweet aroma of caramel wafting through the air... Their lives seemed so peaceful, almost sacred.
A wave of profound sadness washed over me. My heart began to ache uncontrollably as air rapidly diminished in my lungs. My limbs trembled uncontrollably as I staggered down to sit by a flowerbed. My right hand pounded desperately against my chest, but the damn ribs protected my heart; there was nothing I could do about it. In the face of pain and suffering throughout this miserable life of mine, I felt utterly powerless!
I leaned forward over my knees, enduring each second while tasting this pain. I opened my mouth wide to breathe deeply, but still found myself gasping for air. The harmonious tranquility before me gradually morphed into the static of an old black-and-white television screen; reality twisted upside down as if the world were collapsing... I reached out my hand in a daze, trying to grasp something.
It was his hand that caught mine instinctively; his left hand still held onto the lens of his camera.
"What's wrong? Tell me how I can help you!"
His voice echoed around me like ripples in water filling my ears.
"Shh... I'm here; I'm here. Don't be afraid; you're not alone," he reassured me.
I felt him shift directions as he pulled me tightly into his embrace and softly sang to me.
"Stay rational; do you hear me? Stay rational and awake!"
My body began to convulse violently as my limbs curled up against his chest.
It felt like an eternity had passed or perhaps I'd traveled light-years away before my body gradually ceased its frantic movements. My breathing became steady again despite the lingering pain in my heart. Returning to reality meant becoming an independent person again; I stretched out my arms and sat up straight.
"Are you okay?"
I forced a smile. "I just suddenly feel like this world has nothing to do with me—I'm just an invisible observer here. The inversion of identity is unbearable for me, but it's fine; I've gotten used to this feeling." Raising an eyebrow playfully, I described it to him: "Have you ever looked down from a thirty-sixth-floor window? People look like ants scurrying along their paths below, and those cars are lined up like little boxes on roads marked by white lines with people sitting inside them. Just thinking about it feels magical!"
He stroked the back of my not-so-smooth head and said, "You're tired. Let's go back."
I was indeed exhausted, so much so that I needed his support to stand. This world wore me out, and living felt like a torment.
That night, we lay side by side on my bed, our hands resting on our stomachs like two devout Christian Believers in prayer.
"Don't you find my figure attractive?"
"I do. A 90+ bust, a waist around 60, and hips over 80. You have no idea how attractive you are to men," he said, turning to look into my eyes. "But I don't want to hurt you."
I scoffed, "I'm not a saint."
"You are a living person."
Those words brought tears to my eyes. I turned away, continuing to gaze at the ceiling light, as tears slipped into my hair at the temples and vanished without a trace.
I am a living person... Damn it, I couldn't help but curl up into a fetal position with my back to him, hugging my legs tightly, even my toes curling inward. I am a living person; I am a living person—
He wrapped his arms around me from behind and gently said, "I'm not pure either. I've had my wild years and faced many hardships without anyone to confide in. Thank you for trusting me, relying on me, and being honest with me. We may be far apart, but we are each other's closest companions."
This guy sure knew how to sweet-talk.
That night, we fell asleep in each other's embrace. I even snored—a rare occurrence for me after so many years of swallowing countless pills. For the first time in ages, I drifted off peacefully without a single dream.
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