13
I always thought that death would be an easy thing.
But when it came to actually doing it, it was quite difficult.
The fruit knife wasn’t very sharp, and I was discovered in time, so I was once again
rescued.
My repeated suicide attempts finally made Jack realize that I wasn’t just trying to get
attention.
He imprisoned me.
I couldn’t open the door, the windows were completely sealed shut, and even the sharp
corners of tables and chairs had been sanded down to flat surfaces.
I slumped on the bed, starting to regret why I had used a fruit knife.
If I had asked Tommy to buy a kitchen knife at that time, I would have died with one cut for sure.
I muddled through until night, still unable to sleep.
Lying on my side, looking towards the window, I estimated the probability of success if I tried to break the window and escape.
Just then, the door was pushed open.
The creaking sound was particularly jarring in the quiet night.
Footsteps approached, stopping by the bed. Then, the covers were lifted, and the bed. sank deeply on one side.
A pair of arms embraced me from behind.
He seemed to be in a bad mood, resting his head on my back, his voice full of brokenness.
17:56 Wed, Feb 12 BB.
“Mia.”
He called my name softly.
“You used to smile so much. Why did you get depression?”
There was a hint of confusion in his tone. He took a deep breath and continued.
“You’re in cahoots with the doctor to trick me, right? You still love me… Yes, you must still love me.”
His hesitant tone became firm, and the arms embracing me tightened.
I was almost amused by his self–brainwashing.
In fact, I did laugh out loud.
