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墨書 Inktalez
I was even prepared to be pinned down by him for a "talk."
But he just smiled.
Not in anger, not in mockery, but with a joyful satisfaction.
"Finally willing to resist? I thought you were really that obedient," he said softly.
I felt as if I had been struck by lightning.
"What do you mean?" My voice trembled.
He placed the Glass Shard back on the table, his tone calm: "You've always been too well-behaved. Too understanding, too compliant. Look, I made you the Queen, and you went along with it, didn't you?"
I took a step back. "So you tortured me to make me 'come alive'?"
"I didn't torture you." He stood up, his voice still gentle. "I just wanted you to see that you can control me."
His breath brushed against my ear. "You see, you can control my emotions, my desires at any time..."
"I can't!" I exclaimed sharply. "I'm just your puppet, something you've carefully cultivated..."
"I'm the one who loves you," he interrupted me.
Those four words hit me like nails.
I looked at him, and tears suddenly fell.
How could "love" be like this?
I sat on a park bench, licking the ice cream I had just bought.
Not far away, a little girl fell down, scraping her knee and stifling her cries.
Her mother pulled her up, patted her face, and scolded softly, "If you cry again, you won't come home."
The little girl sniffled, holding back tears as she whispered, "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have fallen."
I froze, and the ice cream in my hand slipped onto my shoe, melting into a messy puddle of white.
That voice sounded so familiar; it was just like me back then.
"You need to be more understanding."
"Mom is doing this for your own good."
"You cried, and Dad will be even angrier."
When I was a child, I was most afraid of adults getting angry, so much so that I didn't even dare to cry.
I feared they would leave, feared that I was a burden.
So later, when he said the same thing, I believed him.
"Don't make friends randomly; they won't really care about you."
I cut off all contact with my friends and told myself that being lonely wasn't a big deal, as long as he was there.
"It's not that I don't trust you; I don't trust others."
I deleted my social media accounts, shrinking my world to the narrow alley defined by him alone.
"I check your phone to confirm whether you're lying to me."
I smiled and said, "I understand; you just care too much about me."
I knew this was wrong, but I had gotten used to interpreting wrong things as "they love me,"
"he loves me."
Cheng Jingyi didn't allow me to cry either.
Or rather, he only permitted me to "shed tears" in scenarios he designed— it had to be beautiful, had to fit the plot, had to be the image he wanted to see.
I thought I was accommodating love; in reality, I had turned myself into a prisoner.
And once, I was proud of this version of myself.
I took a lick of the misshapen ice cream. It was too sweet, cloying.
My stomach churned violently; I suddenly stood up and ran into the nearby public restroom, splashing cold water on my face.
The person in the mirror had messy hair and chocolate syrup smeared at the corners of her mouth, looking absurdly funny.
"Have you gone mad?" I asked her.
No answer.
The person in the mirror smiled awkwardly, like she was crying.
I stared at her for a long time until that smile faded from the mirror: "... No, I've always been too clear-headed."
I rummaged through the drawers and found the white skirt that he hated the most.
"This skirt is unsafe; it looks too flimsy."
"White makes you look bigger; it won't look good on you."
"When you wear this, everyone will be staring at you, and I don't like that."
He spoke with a gentle expression, as if he were reasoning with me, and I listened like a student, never daring to argue back.
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