Emergence - Chapter 21
Chapter 21: Extra
(I)
I've always considered myself a somewhat strange child. When I was ten, while my classmates were dreaming of becoming great scientists, astronauts, engineers, or musicians, I made a wish to one day become a fluttering butterfly. It was beautiful, elegant, and free. Most importantly, it could dance in pairs.
So at the tender age of ten, my favorite animal was the butterfly, and my favorite piece of music was "The Butterfly Lovers' Concerto."
I am a rather sentimental person, often swayed by my emotions and unable to control myself with cold reason. But I don't think there's anything wrong with that. If humans were to lose their sentimentality, they would sooner or later become machines. This world was built by reason, but it is propelled by emotion. The eleven or twelve-year-old me thought she understood the world. Looking back now, my later self was not as wise as that strange little girl.
Perhaps because I was too strange and wise as a child, I gradually became mediocre as I grew up. In just two or three years, the heavy burden of academics wore away the quirky edges of my mind, and I slowly became a slave to my studies, a learning machine. People say that growing up is a process where reason gradually suppresses sentiment. I think this statement fits me perfectly. People become mediocre as they grow up, blending into the crowd, no longer rebellious, but striving to be like everyone else. My best friend throughout middle and high school used to joke that my rebellious phase never came, that I was always the good girl with excellent grades. She didn't understand. My rebellious phase had passed long before puberty even began.
Thinking back to that time, I was indeed a bit "arrogant." Although people always called me a good girl, gentle in character, a typical well-bred young lady, they didn't know me. I had disguised myself with this image, but deep inside, I never let go of a wild idea. This idea had been fermenting since I made my wish to dance like a butterfly at ten, and by the time I was sixteen or seventeen, it had blossomed into a "flower of evil" in the depths of my heart.
I longed for a passionate love, to be with the most perfect boy of my dreams, starting from that very moment. I was not afraid of being consumed by flames, ready to throw myself in like a moth to a fire, to taste the indescribable wonder of love.
Therefore, I always felt a sense of disconnect with the boys and girls around me. Their inner worlds were not in sync with mine. There were plenty of teenagers in puppy love, but in my eyes, it was all just playing house. True love would never be like that; it had to be romantic and perfect. And the one I loved would not be one of these wet-behind-the-ears brats; he had to be mature and charming.
He had to be handsome and refined, gentle with me, thinking of me at every moment. He had to be able to cook for me, hold me as I slept, write romantic poems for me, elegantly brew coffee for me, play the piano and sing… Just thinking about it sent shivers down my spine.
However, even as a teenager, I understood that such a man was incredibly hard to find in this world.
Thus, despite my intense yearning for love, I remained a good girl who never got involved in puppy love. The adults couldn't see the frantic desire in my heart, and my classmates thought I was just a top student who wasn't interested in dating. But there was an exception. When I was fifteen, a girl entered my field of vision. She was strange. Every time our eyes met, I felt as if my true self was exposed. I always felt that she could see right through me.
At fifteen, I moved and changed schools due to my father's job transfer. That's what my parents said, but the root cause of this move was for my college entrance exams.
That girl lived in the building opposite mine, and we took the same route to and from school. I didn't notice her at first; she wasn't very conspicuous in a crowd. At that time, she was a bit rustic, with short hair, tanned skin, a baggy school uniform, and she always walked with her head down and shoulders slumped, slightly hunched over. After a while, I gradually began to notice her. She had the same route to school as me and always followed behind me like a little shadow.
So one evening during self-study, I decided to find out who she was. I ran through every classroom in the entire middle school section and finally found her in Class 3 of the second year. I grabbed a younger girl and asked who she was, and learned her name-Gu Fan.
A very simple name, but it surprisingly suited my taste.
I looked at her closely. She was a slightly introverted child, but not unsociable. She smiled when talking to her classmates, revealing the steel braces on her white teeth. At first glance, she wasn't remarkable, probably because of her tan. But on closer inspection, her features were quite delicate; she was actually very pretty. Especially her eyes and brows, which were very heroic, carrying a handsomeness usually found in boys. She was tall and thin. At fourteen, she was already as tall as me, and it looked like she would keep growing. If she didn't slouch, she would probably look even more upright and handsome.
This child always followed me but never came up to talk to me, which naturally made it even harder for me to initiate a conversation with her. And so this game of cat and mouse continued for two years, finally ending when I entered my second year of high school, because that was when we officially met.
To be honest, when I first discovered her following me, I was quite interested in her. But later, due to my busy schedule, I gradually forgot about her. By the time she suddenly appeared before me, I hadn't noticed her for over a year.
By then, she no longer wore braces. And for some reason, she had stopped slouching. She stood straight in front of me, tall and slender like a young pine tree. Her hair had grown a little longer, but not much, tied in a small ponytail at the back of her head. Her skin had also lightened considerably. It was as if she had suddenly blossomed, instantly becoming eye-catching.
I remember marveling at how drastically children change during puberty.
In my mind, her academic performance had been average, and she didn't seem particularly capable, nor did she hold any student leadership positions. But this time, she was introduced to me as a new member of the student council. A friend of mine also whispered to me that she was the latest rising star in the liberal arts, with grades ranking among the top in the first year. Apparently, she was also a martial arts expert.
After that, I naturally started interacting with her more. Since we lived close by, we gradually began to walk to and from school together. This child was quite shy. Whenever I spoke to her, she would always have a bashful expression and was extremely earnest-so earnest that sometimes I didn't have the heart to joke with her.
That winter, the year we officially met, I received a Christmas gift from her. She knew I liked butterflies and had given me a pair of very beautiful butterfly hair clips. I was happy, but after receiving the gift, I felt that something was off. I've always been sensitive, especially to the emotions between people, often overly so. From that moment on, I gradually sensed this child's special feelings for me. I truly confirmed that she liked me on Valentine's Day the following year. It was a school holiday, and I was at home working on practice papers. Later, when I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, I happened to look out the window and saw her standing downstairs, looking up at our apartment. I was startled and watched her carefully from behind the window. She paced back and forth downstairs for a long time. It was a cold day, and her hands were stuffed in her pockets, which were bulging as if they held something. My sharp eyes noticed her repeatedly taking out a gift box-like object, hesitating, but never coming up. In the end, she left and went home.
I still remember how I felt then-very complicated, strange. Part of me couldn't accept it, yet another part felt something I couldn't quite name, something like joy. It wasn't entirely repulsive. But I still felt I should keep my distance from this child in the future. She might not be clear about her own feelings, but I couldn't let things get ambiguous. How could two girls like each other? That was too abnormal.
I've always been a person of action. Soon enough, this emotionally intelligent child sensed my coldness and distance. She smartly kept a certain distance from me and stopped getting close. But she didn't sever ties with me completely. Watching her restrained demeanor, I felt a sense of relief, but deep down, a faint sense of disappointment arose. I thought it was probably because I had been longing for love for too long. It seemed that after I got into university, my top priority would be to find my ideal boyfriend, otherwise I might become abnormal myself and start liking girls.
And so, the days passed. I got into my dream university and went to study in another city. Nothing much worth mentioning happened during that time, except for making a few very close friends, spending time in the library, going shopping when I felt like it, collectively skipping classes we didn't like, and sharing embarrassing stories about our respective boyfriends. I had a boyfriend in university. Despite my belief in ideal love, I still couldn't find that perfect man. But this boyfriend was not bad, at least he passed. He was introduced to me by my roommate. He was a science and engineering student, but he had a scholarly air about him. He wore glasses and was quite refined. He was adorably silly at times and always nervous around me. I could feel that he liked me a lot and doted on me, but unfortunately, I didn't like him that much.
Later, I was going to study abroad, and I wanted to break up with him. He was in great pain and came to my dorm every night to see me. After a while, he stopped coming and started preparing for the IELTS exam, saying he wanted to go abroad with me. I gradually grew tired of this relationship. I didn't like clingy boys. I wished he would be more decisive, or maybe I should have been cruel and just dumped him. After all, after several years together, I really couldn't bring myself to love him deeply. I thought it would be better to let him go.
In the end, he couldn't fight reality. His family was not well-off, and he had never planned to go abroad. So, we broke up, and I went overseas.
(II)
During those years abroad, I gradually came to understand the hardships of life and the cruelty of society. My family wasn't wealthy either. Studying abroad had been my dream since childhood, and to realize it, my family had practically sold everything they owned. To lessen their burden, besides my studies, I had to work two jobs every day-stocking shelves at a supermarket and waiting tables and washing dishes at a restaurant. I endured the discrimination of white people against yellow people and gradually discovered that studying abroad was not as wonderful as I had imagined; it was far more arduous than I thought. I exhausted myself every day just to make ends meet and had no time or energy to find a partner and fall in love.
I gritted my teeth and got through the two and a half years of studying abroad. After returning to China, I successfully started my career. I was so busy with work that I had almost completely forgotten about my ideal of a beautiful love, to the point that my parents grew anxious and started looking for potential partners for me.
And then, I met Zhang Yucheng. He was the son of my father's old comrade-in-arms, a typical young and successful man, a high-earning professional with an annual income of over a million. He had a house, a car, and a great sense of style-the tall, rich, and handsome type that countless girls adored. His appearance completely met my standards for an ideal man: tall, handsome, with a refined temperament that was not effeminate but rather very masculine. He was extremely polite, not at all vulgar, spoke elegantly, and could even play the piano. I felt like it was love at first sight, and my heart was completely captured by the second meeting. I thought my ideal love was finally about to arrive.
He had great insights into economics, and we often chatted, getting along very well. I thought I was in love with him. I was grateful to my parents for finding me my soulmate. Meeting him was the greatest fortune of my life.
Looking back now, I was probably so blinded by emotion during that time that I ignored all the obvious details, the details I should have been wary of. And in the end, I personally sent myself to hell.
I truly don't want to recall the time after I married him. Those three years of excruciating pain, I was cast into hell and tormented. Loneliness, illness, deception, violence-the most terrifying and ugly things in the world entangled me, making me forget what I was even like before.
Someone told me I was sick. Of course, I knew I was sick. I was riddled with diseases, and I even felt I didn't have many years left to live. I felt like I was living in a world full of lies, where everyone around me had hideous faces. They toyed with me, deceived me, and inflicted violence upon me. I was powerless to resist and could only sink deeper. Sometimes, I was so angry I wanted to kill someone, to frantically destroy everything in front of me. At other times, I was so sad I would curl up into a ball, isolating myself from the world. I could no longer control my emotions. Hallucinations visited me frequently. I would always see those ugly people I didn't want to see, their voices surrounding me, suffocating me. I could only repeat certain actions to distract myself, otherwise I would go insane.
I began to suffer from insomnia, lying in bed night after night with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes the ceiling would feel like it was twisting, contorting into a strange, indescribable face. It terrified me. I felt someone was watching me in the darkness, letting out an eerie little laugh, plotting how to torture me next. I would shrink under the covers, trembling, but I couldn't drive these terrible thoughts from my mind. After giving birth, the nightmares intensified. The baby's cries were like a demonic sound, infinitely amplified in my mind, playing on a loop. I always had an uncontrollable urge to strangle the child. Sometimes I even had the vicious thought that the child was the biggest failure of my life, that her existence was a tumor attached to my life's path, a testament to my fall into hell. She was the product of lies and violence.
What could I do? What could I do to be free? I could only die. Besides this path, there was no other way out. I didn't have the courage to kill anyone; I could only end my own life, to liberate my soul, to help myself escape this sea of suffering and no longer be tormented.
So I tried to slit my wrists. The first time, should I say I was inexperienced? In any case, I didn't succeed. When I woke up in the hospital, I only felt my soul was a little lighter. Not bad, the effect was good. It seemed I had to try a second time.
But before that, I had to shake off the worldly things that entangled me. Like work, like family. They were too much of a burden. I didn't want to carry them with me to heaven. Oh, would I go to heaven? But I thought, even if I went to hell after I died, it couldn't be worse than this.
So I went to my company and resigned. Then I found the building manager I knew and, under the pretext that the company wanted to hold an event on the rooftop, I tricked him into giving me the key. That night, I stood on the edge of the building. One more step was the drop between life and death. I thought I had made up my mind. There was nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, I felt a sense of relief, of impending freedom.
But, perhaps it was fate. God would not let me go just like that. When I was pulled down by a pair of strong arms, I felt an overwhelming rage. Why? Why stop me from being free? Did they have to force me to stay in this world to suffer? Why not think for my sake? Why not let me die?
I fought with that person like a madwoman, using all my strength. That person seemed unwilling to hurt me and kept holding back, but I still couldn't beat her. In the end, I could only sit on the ground, exhausted. Then I felt a warmth on my shoulders. That person had draped her coat over me.
I finally decided to pay attention to who had stopped me from my release. And then I saw a handsome woman, tall and slender, her long black hair tied in a ponytail, now somewhat disheveled from our struggle. A familiar face flickered in the light of the distant neon signs. She sat in front of me, panting, staring at me without a word, looking disheveled and utterly shocked. My mind, however, was trying to remember where I had seen this person before.
I couldn't remember her name, but I was sure I had known her before. But what did it matter? She had hindered my liberation. I hated her. As I was thinking this, she suddenly moved closer to me. I instinctively flinched and felt her stiffen for a moment. She didn't do anything to me, just reached into the coat draped over me and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
She began to smoke in front of me, her movements quite suave. She held the cigarette between her fingers and paced before me on her long legs. I felt annoyed. I hated the smell of smoke. But then she asked if I wanted one. In a fit of pique, I took her cigarette and took a sharp drag, only to be choked into a coughing fit. In the end, she took the cigarette back.
She asked me, "Lin Yi, do you still remember me?"
Because of that question, I finally remembered who she was. The younger schoolmate who had followed me around ten years ago, the girl who had a crush on me. She was Gu Fan.
Ha, another homosexual. How ironic.
(III)
She said she would take me home. I didn't resist. I had nowhere to go anyway, so it didn't matter where I went. With a mindset of serious research, I wanted to see how these homosexuals lived their lives, how they could be so psychologically perverted. I had nothing left to lose anyway, so let's see what she would do to me.
At her place, she did indeed develop perverted feelings for me. She wanted to take off my clothes, probably lusting after me. I could feel it. So I deliberately kissed her, observed her reaction, and spoke to her with vicious words to get a sense of psychological pleasure from revenge. But when I saw her hurt expression, it was as if something was stuck in my throat. The anticipated pleasure did not arrive as expected.
She left, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I started to shower, wanting to wash away all the grime. I felt so dirty, especially after just kissing her, which gave me goosebumps. I scrubbed my lips fiercely, as if trying to erase that soft, fresh feeling, but the sensation only grew stronger and clearer in my mind.
I spent a long time washing myself, until the steam in the bathroom was about to suffocate me, then I finally stepped out. She heard the noise and came over to lead me to the bedroom. I followed behind her. She hadn't even changed out of her torn and disheveled shirt, and she was covered in dust. I felt a tightness in my chest and lowered my eyes, not wanting to look at her anymore. She settled me into bed, left in silence, and left me in the bedroom. My mind began to replay everything from today, but I couldn't forget the hurt expression on her face in the bathroom. The emotions in those dark eyes once again plunged me into a state of insomnia.
I lay in bed for I don't know how long. My body was a bit stiff, and I wanted to get up and walk around. I opened the bedroom door and went out into the living room, only to see a figure sitting on the balcony outside. I was startled, then belatedly realized it was her. She was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the balcony, a cigarette between her fingers. In the darkness, the red tip of the cigarette glowed. She was as quiet as a painting, a painting that seemed to use colors that were too heavy, looking condensed with many burdensome emotions. I was drawn to this image and stood in the shadows of the living room, silently watching her back.
She smoked one cigarette after another. What was making her stay up in the middle of the night, sitting on the balcony, enduring the cold winter wind to smoke? What was making her so deep in thought, so full of sorrow, unable to find relief? I didn't need to think to know the answer. The tightness in my chest grew more intense. I wanted to turn and leave, but my feet felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. I don't know how long I stood there, until the sky began to lighten, until she picked up her phone and started making a call. Only then did I stiffly return to that bedroom.
Not long after, I heard noises outside: the sound of boiling water, of washing up, of leaving the house, of coming home, of dishes. Finally, there was a knock on my door. That morning, my mind was a bit muddled. I only remember doing whatever she told me to do. She arranged everything so perfectly that I didn't have to lift a finger. It had been a long, long time since I had felt this feeling of being taken care of. I don't know how to describe the feeling in my heart. Perhaps it was more like a parched soul receiving a few drops of warm water. I subconsciously began to crave more, but I forcibly stopped this thought and covered it up with a subsequent surge of disgust.
She was only doing this because of her filthy, perverted feelings. How could I be swayed by that?
She contacted my mother, and my mother came to pick me up. She stuck to us like glue, followed us home, and shamelessly entered my house, even went to see the baby. I felt disgusted, but I didn't show it. I don't know what was wrong with me. Perhaps I was just thanking her, at least she had taken me in for a night.
That afternoon, my mother went out for a while. When she came back, she actually told me that I should move into Gu Fan's place for a while, as a change of scenery, a change of mood. I was noncommittal. I felt resistance, but also a faint sense of anticipation. I felt I shouldn't have such emotions and subconsciously wanted to refuse. But seeing the expectant look in my mother's eyes, I couldn't bring myself to say no. Because of me, at her age, she couldn't enjoy a peaceful life. She had to rush to the hospital to look after my father, take care of my child for me, and even take care of me. She was exhausted, and in just over half a year, her hair had turned completely white. I thought, obeying her was my last act of filial piety.
(IV)
I began my life living with her.
It wasn't as difficult as I had imagined. She didn't interfere with me too much. Apart from the initial friction, we lived in peace. The first day I entered her house, I felt very uneasy because of the unfamiliar environment. I no longer had the fearless attitude I had that night at her place; instead, I could feel hallucinations and malice everywhere. I was very anxious. I turned on the TV and changed channels to distract myself, but she deliberately interrupted me. Seeing her sitting in front of the TV, giving me a strange smile, anger and fear made my head explode. I couldn't control it. I hated her, feared her. It was all her fault. I wanted to kill her, kill her!
I wanted to go to the kitchen to get a knife, but she wrapped her arms around my waist and lifted me up. No matter how much I struggled, I couldn't shake her off. Her strength was terrifying; she completely restrained me. I thought I had truly fallen into the tiger's den this time. But she called my name so earnestly, "Lin Yi, Lin Yi…" repeating it over and over. No one had ever called my name with such earnestness, almost reverence. I gradually calmed down. The anger and fear faded, leaving a faint sense of sorrow and timidity. I could only force myself to be strong, to provoke her again with words and to eagerly draw a line between us. She just obediently agreed. I didn't look at her expression, but from her simple words, I heard disappointment and hurt. I pretended not to know and forcibly ignored her feelings.
That night, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, when I heard a noise outside the door. Soon, music began to play. Although the music was beautiful, in my ears, it had an inorganic coldness that made me shiver for no reason. I opened the door, turned off the music, knocked on her bedroom door, and threw the player back to her. She asked why I didn't like the music. To prevent her from pestering me further, I told her the truth and refused her. But unexpectedly, she said she would sing for me. I didn't believe her and shut her out. I lay in bed, and she really did start singing through the door. Her voice was beautiful, a slightly low but very pleasant female voice, and she sang very movingly. She was singing that famous lullaby. I knew she was trying to coax me to sleep. My heart was a complex mix of feelings I couldn't describe. But her singing was so captivating. In the quiet night, it was like a beacon guiding me. I drifted along with her voice and actually fell asleep. I don't know how long it had been, but I finally had a good night's sleep.
Living with her was actually a very enjoyable experience. I was right about her back then; she has high emotional intelligence and knows how to get along with me. She can always find the right way to rescue me from my painful emotions. Sometimes I was grateful to her, sometimes I hated her guts. Sometimes I couldn't help but want to get close to her, but then I would remember her special feelings for me and shrink back. I was caught in a contradiction about her, and I no longer had the mood to mourn my own misfortune.
One day, she accidentally cut her hand while cooking. I happened to see it. The blood reminded me of the terrifying memory of slitting my wrists. I started to have trouble breathing, and fear engulfed me. I saw the look on her face; it was full of worry. I felt I couldn't show my fear, lest she try to approach me again. So I forced myself to remain calm and endured it until evening. But endurance has its limits. Finally, the fear became unbearable. I had to find something to distract myself. I felt my hands were covered in blood, so I turned on the tap and started washing them desperately, but I couldn't get them clean. Blood kept flowing from my wrists, and the sink was full of blood that wouldn't wash away. I felt hopeless. When I walked out of the bathroom, I heard the sound of water suddenly stop. She was standing behind me. I was stunned for a moment, pulled out of the hallucination of blood. But I was still very scared. I squatted down and curled into a ball, planning to use this method to isolate myself from the world again. But I fell into a warm embrace. She comforted me so gently, telling me it was okay, that she was there for everything. But I couldn't break free from the fear.
That night, I was awakened by a nightmare. Terrifying hallucinations enveloped me. I struggled madly, and the noise brought her over. She restrained me again with that terrifying strength. I gradually calmed down, but my heart was in turmoil. I couldn't help but pour out my heart to her. I told her I hated myself, that I didn't dare to kill anyone, and I couldn't even kill myself-I was too cowardly. I didn't expect that she would open up to me.
She didn't talk about anything else, just my father and mother. She understood me far better than I had imagined; she knew so much about my past. Her voice was melodious, her speech very elegant, her choice of words beautiful, carrying a scholarly air, yet it easily tugged at my heartstrings. I grew sadder and sadder as her words made me realize my parents' hardships and my own lack of filial piety. She was right. I shouldn't torture myself and the people who love me like this. Her voice even broke into a sob, making me even more heartbroken and unable to stop crying.
After I finally calmed down, she settled me into bed and was about to leave. A sudden feeling of reluctance rose in my heart. I didn't want her to go, so I subconsciously grabbed her hand. I felt her freeze. Steeling myself, I asked her not to go. As expected, she didn't leave; she stayed. I looked at her silhouette in the darkness, her slender and tall figure, the soft lines of her profile. A strange emotion rose in my heart. Remembering her gentle voice, I couldn't help but ask her to sing to me. I don't know what came over me, to be so clingy to her that night. She granted my every wish. After a pause, she began to sing for me. It was "journey," my favorite English song, one I often hummed in my youth. Now, sung by her, it was so beautiful, more beautiful than any version I had ever heard, incredibly moving. I drifted along with her voice, as if on a flying leaf, carried by a gentle breeze to a distant place, embarking on a beautiful yet sad journey. I fell asleep without realizing it. I remember that night's dream. It was a beautiful dream. I dreamt of my parents, of my childhood, of my younger self standing with the her of today. She was holding my hand, and we were strolling on the school playground. She walked so fast, never looking back. I jogged to keep up with her, my heart full of confusion. Although it wasn't exactly a good dream, it was very beautiful. When I woke up again, my pillow was wet with tears.
I lay in bed, dazed for a while, before I felt my hand was tightly gripping something. Then, I noticed her sitting by the bed. She had fallen asleep leaning against the bed in an awkward position. And my hand had been holding hers, never letting go. I let go as if I had been electrocuted, but then I gradually realized that something was wrong with her. She had a fever and was unconscious.
This person… why was she so good to me? Knowing full well that I hated her, that I knew about her special feelings for me, that I rejected all of it, she still approached me without a second thought, warming me. Was she a moth? Didn't she know the story of the moth drawn to a flame? I was sad, conflicted, but I understood that she genuinely wanted what was best for me.
Fine, you want me to pull myself together? I'll show you. I'll start by taking care of you. I will get better. I will repay what I owe you. When I've paid it all back, I'll leave you, get away from you. I never want to see you again in my life!
Holding back my frustration, I struggled to drag her onto the bed and began to take care of her. While she was sick, I filled my mind with housework to distract myself. I didn't want to think about her. I wanted to get better, to get away from her quickly. I didn't want to live with her anymore. Even after she recovered, I didn't stop.
But all my spiteful actions vanished after she took me out. Heaven knows how torturous it was to go to a bustling place like a supermarket. I just felt the whole world was in an uproar, so noisy I wanted to cover my ears. Everyone's gaze terrified me. I felt I had nowhere to hide and could only rely on her. She was my only harbor. I couldn't leave her. She was my oxygen. When a child bumped into me and separated us, I could barely breathe. Panic overwhelmed me. I froze, unable to move, looking at her for help. But she just stood there, smiling at me, not coming over to pull me. How could I take the initiative? We were at a standstill, but how could I win against her? In the end, I was so angry I headbutted her, hitting her to vent my frustration, but she just kept smiling, looking so infuriating. When I was too tired to hit her anymore, she actually hugged me and whispered infuriating things in my ear. Although I was angry, when she hugged me, I felt an immense warmth and my heart fluttered. I realized… I think I had fallen in love with her.
How could I fall in love with her? How could I become the homosexual I despised? After realizing this, I started to panic. I started avoiding her, becoming even colder to her. But the feelings deep inside my heart began to ferment. A strange longing, a strange desire to be close, trying to restrain myself again and again, yet longing again and again. I felt like I was going crazy. I wanted to escape her gentleness, but a voice deep inside screamed that I couldn't leave her. I was trapped in a huge contradiction.
Later, the child came, and I gradually shifted my attention to her, which made things a little better. Strangely, the Youyou in my memory was an extremely noisy child, but during that time at her home, the child was so well-behaved and cute. From my initial rejection, I gradually grew closer to the child, all because of her influence. She doted on this child as if she were her own. I even forgot who the child's biological father was, feeling as if this was our child. The sight of her holding the baby and humming softly made me jealous. That song belonged to me; I didn't want to share it with the child. When this thought occurred to me, I felt a wave of helplessness. It seemed I couldn't escape her.
During the Spring Festival, she was going home for the New Year. I felt a surge of panic, feeling like I had to do something. I started knitting, using it to alleviate the panic in my heart. At first, I only intended to knit some warm clothes for my mother, but without realizing it, I also knitted a snow-white scarf for her. In the end, I even embroidered her name on it. To cover it up, I had to knit two more scarves for her parents. When I gave them to her face to face and saw her silly look, a feeling of joy rose in my heart for the first time. Joy, yet conflict. I could only flee, not daring to see her reaction afterward.
That winter, the few days she was gone, I was plunged into an endless emptiness and longing. I missed her, missed her so much. I thought about her every day. I never knew I was already in so deep. She would send me text messages, one after another, all about trivial things, but they brought me a lot of comfort. At least I knew what she was doing. But I couldn't reply. I pretended not to see them, but I held my phone every day to look. On New Year's Eve, my mother forced me to call her. I actually did it. When I heard her gentle, beautiful voice, I almost burst into tears. The deafening sound of firecrackers came from her end of the line, serving as our background noise. I don't know what I said, but the flutter in my heart at that moment is a memory I'll never forget.
But just a few days later, I was met with a new round of nightmares.
(V)
I don't remember the specifics of what happened on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year. I only know that I went crazy, grabbing those bastards, punching and kicking them. They were demons, trying to take away my most important possession, the last precious thing I had. How could I give it to them?
A beautiful woman appeared, claiming to be my psychologist. What psychologist did I have? I had no idea where she came from. But she had a familiar feeling, just like Gu Fan, making me trust her for no reason. I subconsciously relied on her. Then, at the police station, I saw a travel-worn Gu Fan rush back.
She said she was my lawyer. I knew she had studied law, so that wasn't a surprise. But what surprised me was that she called that psychologist "Senior." In that instant, I suddenly understood. Her taking care of me wasn't purely out of her feelings for me. She was actually commissioned by my mother. She was also a psychologist. It was all a scam. She was actually treating me. No wonder, no wonder she always liked to observe me. She was actually studying me. I felt deceived. She lied to me. She actually lied to me. My heart turned cold, a chill that pierced my bones. That feeling even overshadowed the anger of being harassed by Zhang Yucheng's family again.
I decided to move out of her house. I couldn't accept the fact that she had deceived me.
That night, I packed my luggage and found she wasn't there. I wanted to leave immediately, but as I passed the stairwell, I heard voices. She was talking to that psychologist woman. I heard every word of their conversation. I didn't know how to face her. Every word of her tearful plea was like a flame hitting my heart, burning me with such pain that I could hardly breathe. So, early the next morning, I fled her home with her senior.
For a long time after that, I lived in a daze, not knowing what I was doing. I tried my best to cooperate with that psychologist's treatment. I knew I was sick, and this illness had to be cured because I was going to court. But my desire to be cured wasn't just for that. Deep down, I knew it was more for her. It was her wish. She wanted to see a healthy, beautiful me. How could I not grant her wish? But I couldn't get close to her. I told myself I wasn't worthy of her. She was so good, but what was I? I no longer denied the fact that I loved her; I just still couldn't be with her. The thought of it made me feel inferior, shameless.
The lawsuit was over. Everything was over. That day, parting outside the courthouse, I thought it was a final farewell. But unexpectedly, she called, saying she had to come over one more time. With a heart full of apprehension, and perhaps a premonition, I persuaded my mother to spend the night at the hospital with my father. My mother agreed. I don't even know why I made such arrangements. The conflict in my heart had thrown my mind into chaos. I didn't know what I wanted to do; my mind and body were out of sync.
She came, just like before, pacing downstairs for a long time before coming up. I was extremely nervous, my palms sweating. I received her politely, as if we were strangers. I could feel her sadness, and it seemed she had something to say to me. I couldn't have been more nervous. A mix of anticipation and avoidance made it hard for me to breathe.
She went into my mother's room and held the baby, talking for a while. She cried, cried so sadly. I felt so bad, covering my mouth to keep from making a sound. When she came out, I quickly hid at the end of the hallway. She didn't notice me and instead went into the bathroom to wash her face. I stood at the end of the hallway waiting for her to come out, the struggle and conflict in my heart beyond words.
When she came out, we looked at each other across the hallway for a long time before I could compose myself and call her for dinner. The atmosphere at the dinner table was indescribable; I was almost suffocating. Finally, she put down her bowl and chopsticks. I panicked and started trying to interrupt her with all sorts of words. But in the end, I failed. We started arguing, then struggling. She restrained me again with her powerful strength, pinning me against the wall, determined to confess to me. I could hardly breathe, my heart pounding wildly. She said, "I love you, walk this path with me!" In that instant, my tears burst forth. For so long, I felt like I had just been waiting for those words. As long as she said them, I could be with her, regardless of anything. But I also didn't want her to say them. I was just that conflicted and tangled.
I was lost in contemplating my own state of mind, but she misunderstood my meaning, thinking I had rejected her. She turned and fled. My whole body felt weak. I managed to stumble downstairs to chase after her. Seeing her leaning against a lamppost in pain, I couldn't hold back any longer. I ran towards her, hugged her. I didn't want her to go, not ever. I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life, never to be separated.
Later… I don't know how to describe the feeling. I just felt I had found salvation. The feeling of being in love with her was so wonderful. I opened my heart, and from then on, I was free of all shackles. She was so beautiful, and she carried me to fly high.
My childhood dream of dancing like a butterfly in a pair was finally realized at this moment.
The night we got married, while she was showering, I couldn't help but pick up a pen and write a lyrical poem. I hid it away, not letting her see it. Every day, I would secretly take it out and look at it. I had originally intended to write a diary, but after finishing this poem as the opening, I didn't want to write anything else.
Just as the last line of the poem says: But so what? This is life.
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