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墨書 Inktalez
"This dress is unsafe; it looks too flimsy."
"The white makes you look bigger; it doesn't suit you."
...
One time, I got drunk and stood in front of that dress, feeling a vague impulse inside me.
I tried to set it on fire, the flickering flames reflecting my unwillingness.
I stared at the fire, my vision blurred and my heart in disarray.
But in the end, I extinguished it.
What I couldn't bear to burn was not just the dress, but the carefree self who wore it and laughed without a care in the world.
Without him, without any constraints, there was only freedom and youth.
She was too precious.
I had to bring her back.
I changed into the dress and stepped outside, walking in the evening breeze, the hem swirling like rolling waves.
As I passed by his company building, I paused for a moment, gazing at the grid of windows.
I raised my phone to take a selfie and posted it on that long-abandoned social media account, with only four words as a caption:
"I'm back."
There was no anger, no accusations.
I finally understood that I wasn't crazy; I just didn't want to pretend to be what he liked anymore.
True madness is knowing you're trapped yet still thanking the one who confines you.
I'm not crazy anymore. Really.
The moment I pressed "send," a new message popped up almost simultaneously on the screen:
Cheng Jingyi: "You look even more beautiful in that White Skirt than I remember."
I froze, my fingertips turning cold.
He saw me.
He had been watching me.
Indeed, he had been monitoring me all along.
It had always been this way.
I suddenly felt a bit amused.
"Welcome back," in his eyes, was merely a puppet in a White Skirt, positioned at an angle he found pleasing.
But unfortunately, I was no puppet.
If I couldn't escape, then I would perform for him.
You like me obedient? Then I'll show you my madness.
The mad are the most obedient of all.
I began to do some "abnormal" things at home.
I wiped the windows repeatedly, talked to myself in front of the mirror, and sat on the balcony late at night, staring at the sky for hours on end.
Zhi Zhi watched me like this, her expression growing increasingly anxious.
"Madam, are you feeling unwell?"
She held a plate of fruit, but her eyes kept darting to the camera behind me.
She was relaying a message. I knew that.
I smiled as I took the plate: "Did you hear that? She's talking again."
Zhi Zhi didn't say anything more.
The next day, I received his text message.
[Stop acting.]
[Be good; I'll come home to keep you company soon.]
I stared at the phone screen, sweat forming in my palms.
He knew.
He had been watching all along.
I tossed my phone aside and returned to the bathroom, preparing myself.
In the dead of night, I heard the lock click.
With my eyes closed, I listened as footsteps entered, then halted abruptly at the bathroom door.
Water had long overflowed from the bathtub, leaving blood-colored stains on the floor, resembling a poorly executed oil painting.
I sat motionless in the tub, wearing that white skirt.
The wounds on my wrists were deep and shallow, as if there had been hesitation before a final decision was made.
When the door was pushed open, I kept my eyes shut.
He stood at the doorway for what felt like an eternity, seemingly frozen, as if assessing whether this was real or not.
I could feel him drawing closer, his breathing growing heavier.
I opened my eyes to look at him.
"You’re back," I said softly.
He rushed forward to embrace me, frantically pressing on my wounds while shouting towards the door, "Call an ambulance! Hurry!!"
The corner of my mouth twitched as I whispered, barely audible, "I’m good."
By the time the ambulance lights flashed into the room, I had already closed my eyes.
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