Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Make way for the devil

On my way here today, I stopped at the coffee shop on the corner of your street.The shop looks shabby and old from the outside, but the Javanese coffee inside is so good that it's worth the drive.I don't know what's in your glass, I guess it's whiskey, but I brought you a cup of tea anyway.You're going to be with me all day today, and there's always something to make up for it. By the way, I love the silver jewelry you've been wearing.It goes well with your hair color and makes you look like one of those trendy old ladies.The kind of old lady who probably still has sex and enjoys it.Don't worry, I didn't imply anything. I know that psychiatrists don't like to discuss their own lives. Besides, I'm not safe these days, and I'm not in the mood to listen to what you have to say.

Maybe I like your jewelry because it reminds me of my dad, who is quite a narcissist.Not that he likes to wear jewelry, but he has a Claddagh ring that his dad, my grandpa, gave him.My grandparents immigrated from Iceland and opened a jewelry store for a living.After my parents got married, my grandparents died in a fire and that ring was the only inheritance my dad got - everything else was repossessed by the bank.After the car accident, I asked my mother for the ring, but she said she lost it. I think, if my father is still alive, he will definitely try his best to save me.But I don't know what he's going to do either.He was a slob, and as far as I could remember, he was forty years old, in furry sweatshirts and khaki pants.The only time I remember when he was very excited was when he told me that a new shipment of books was about to arrive at the library where he worked.

When I was locked up on the mountain, I sometimes thought of him, and even wondered if he was watching me from the sky.Then, I will be very angry.I grew up telling myself he was my guardian angel, why didn't he stop this? The second night of my kidnapping, the pervert sat me in the tub and gently rubbed my back. "Let me know if you need more hot water." He twisted the towel, and the rose-scented water dripped on my shoulders and back. "You're quiet tonight." He tosses the wet hair on the back of my neck.Then he put a strand of hair in his mouth and sucked it up.I wanted to hit his face so hard with my shoulder and break his nose.But I didn't, I just stared at the wall next to the bathtub, silently counting how many seconds it would take for a drop of water to fall. "Did you know that every woman's hair smells different, and your hair smells like a mixture of nutmeg and cloves."

I shrugged. "I see, the water is not hot enough." He turned on the hot water faucet and let it run for a minute. “I just need to see a woman to know what she’s going to taste like. Some men are deceived by color. Like your mother, she has a young face and blonde hair, and it’s easy to think she tastes It should also smell refreshing and fresh. But I know that I have to dig a little deeper to see the truth." He walked up to me and began to gently scrub one of my legs.I continued to stare at the wall.He's just teasing me, I can't let him find out he's got it. "She's a beautiful woman, though. Makes me wonder how many of your boyfriends want to sleep with her. Maybe they're thinking about her when they're sleeping with you. "

I suddenly felt a throbbing pain in my stomach.Over the years, I've gotten used to my boyfriends giving my mom a sneak peek.They either devoured the meals she made, or stared at her with their mouths full.One boyfriend even told me that my mom looks like an adult version of Tinkerbell, but sexier than Tinkerbell.Even Luke sometimes stutters around her. Seventeen seconds, eighteen seconds... This drop of water is really slow. "I guess, they don't know, she tastes like a green apple, you think it's ripe, and you bite into it, but I know it. And that friend of yours, Christina, always puts her Her long blond hair is coiled up, and she looks like a white-collar worker. In fact, her heart is richer than her appearance." I forgot how long the drip had been running.

"Yes, I know Christina. She's a real estate agent too, isn't she? And very successful, as far as I know. I don't know why you're so jealous of everyone around you." I want to tell him that I'm not jealous and I'm proud of Christina - we've been best friends since high school.She taught me everything I know about real estate.She also taught me a lot, but I didn't say anything.Because no matter what I say, he will tease me with what I say. "Does she remind you of Daisy? Daisy's like marshmallows, Christina, uh...Christina. I bet you she tastes like imported pears." We looked at each other.He started soaping my feet.I hate being played.

"So what does your mother taste like?" I asked. His hands stopped and grabbed my feet. "My mom? You think it's all because of her?" he said, putting my foot in the water and pulling the razor out of the cabinet. This time, I started counting the tiles on the wall as he grabbed my leg.The cold blade slid across my calf. I forgot how many I had counted, so I had to start counting again.By the time he got me up so I could shave my whole body, I was sorting the tiles by the number of cracks in them.He hums and puts on my moisturizer while I count the candles in the bathroom.

I count everything I can see.The numbers are multiplied and divided again.If another thought or feeling pops into my head, I push them out and start counting again. The second time he tried to rape me, I didn't move, I didn't cry, I just stared at the bedroom wall.He can't get hard if I don't respond.Someone will definitely come to rescue me, as long as I persevere, I will definitely be able to wait for the rescue.So, no matter what he did to me, I just lay there, like a rag doll at the mercy of others, counting the planes silently.He grabbed my face, looked me in the eyes, and kept trying to push that limp cock into me.I started counting the bloodshot streaks in his eyes.His cock became softer.He yelled at me to call his name.When I didn't yell, he just hit the pillow next to my ear with his fist, and every time he hit it, he screamed, "You stupid bitch!"

Finally, he stopped.His breathing slowed.He walked to the bathroom and started humming. I covered my face with the pillow and yelled into it while he was in the shower.You pervert!You limp bastard!If you want to mess with me, you are looking for the wrong person.I cried loudly in my pillow.But as soon as I heard the sound of the shower head turning off the water, I immediately turned the pillow over, put the dry side up, put the pillow under my head again, and continued to face the wall. Failure didn't stop him.Every time, it was the same, starting with taking a bath—this time, when he talked the most—then shaving, applying moisturizer, and then getting dressed.I felt like an actor on a Broadway stage: same stage, same set, same lighting, same costumes, night after night.The only difference is that his frustration has grown deeper and his reactions have become more violent.

When he failed on the third attempt, he slapped me twice, so hard I bit my own tongue.This time, I didn't feel any fulfillment, pain or anything.I just held my pillow and cried, licking the blood off my tongue, afraid of what he would do to me after the shower. On the fourth night, he punched me twice in the stomach.Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, and the sudden pain made me feel helpless.Then he punched me in the jaw again.The pain was unbearable.The whole room seemed to go dark.I wish everything would be pitch black, but it didn't.I stopped crying in my pillow. On the fifth night, he rolled me over and put his knees on my hands and my face on the mattress so hard I couldn't breathe.His chest was on fire.He did this three times and didn't stop until I passed out.

Most of the time, the end result is that he stands up blankly, and then I hear the sound of the shower head turning on.When he got back to bed, he would put his arms around me and say some inexplicable little things.For example, how the Native American Indian smoked his meat, which constellations he saw when he went out at night, what fruit he liked and hated, and so on. He lay next to me one night and said, "I'm thinking, Christina doesn't know what it is. She's always so calm and in control, isn't she? Don't know what it takes for a woman like her to lose control." He took my stiff hands and rubbed my thumbs with his so lightly that I felt like I was suffocating. He fell asleep, snoring next to me, and the thought of his hands on Christina, and the possibility that Christina might feel the same fear that I was experiencing, made me feel ashamed, even for a second. The heart seemed to be torn apart.I can't let this happen.Unless my purpose is to let him kill me, and then kill Christina, then I can no longer carry out the current plan.After such a long time, no one has found me, and it is impossible for him to suddenly come to me one day and say: "This doesn't seem to work, now I will take you back." If it was only my life, then I might still be with you. He's betting on longer, but now Christina is involved too. I have to help him rape me successfully. It's important to understand how he behaves.I thought back to what I had read about rapists in newspapers and magazines, and the TV shows I had watched about them—Law & Order: Special Victims, Criminal Minds, Special Investigations , etc., they mostly focus on what rapists like and under what circumstances they will kill their victims. I also remember that some rapists must feel that the victim is enjoying what they do.Maybe, this pervert is deceiving himself, thinking that I have been "sexually interested" by him, and to some extent, there will be a weak, questioning voice in his heart, so he can't get hard .Right now, there's nothing he can do about the situation.But if that questioning voice was louder, I might not be able to live. The next night, when I was in the tub, I said to him, "You're very gentle." He stared at me hard, and I forced myself to look him in the eyes. "Really?" "You also know that many men are a bit brutal and rude, but I feel that you are very kind." he laughed. "Sorry, I've been having a bad temper, I'm just not sure yet, you know what, at first, I was thinking, maybe... maybe it's not too late, I can start a new life." How long should I hesitate ?If I act too aggressively, he will definitely get suspicious. "bad temper?" "I mean, it's going to take time for me to get used to it all, but I'm starting to see that maybe I'll enjoy life here. With you." "You really think so?" He asked each word with a pause. I forced myself to look him in the eyes again, trying to be genuine. "Yes, I think so. You understand things that many other men don't." "Oh, I do understand things that a lot of other men don't." He smiled as if he was accepting an award on the podium.Great. "I really like the smell," I added, as he applied the moisturizer, and his smile widened. When I got the dress on, I turned around to show him and said, "That's exactly what I wanted." On the bed, I pretended to moan, and kissed him back, very carefully, pretending to enjoy his touch.His underpants were obviously bulging, and I began to silently count one, two, three, four again.In fact, I was already ashamed. He was gasping for breath, his face flushed, and he pressed against me.I was worried it was going to go limp again and it would get out of control, so I reached out and stroked it, this had to be done before it got bad. I whispered to him, "I've been waiting for this moment." Deep down, I'd huddled away from myself. He grabbed me suddenly, and his face darkened with anger.He grabbed my neck tightly.It got tighter and tighter, I tried to break his hand, but it was in vain. "I could kill you anytime and you talk to me like a whore? You should be scared. You should beg for mercy. You should be fighting to live. Do you understand?" He finally let go of my neck, but before I could recover, he punched me in the stomach again.His fists hit my whole body, chest, face, genitals.I dodged, but his fists and feet came down together.Until the end, I couldn't feel anything.I fainted. It's weird, doc, when that pervert calls me a whore and beats me up, I can feel the pain without any anger because I want him to hurt me.While my body was dodging, my mind was rooting for him.I deserve this pain.How can I say something like that?How could I touch him like that? When I was locked up on the mountain, I did many, many things that I didn't want to do, and I didn't want to believe that I could do them.When was that?When I think about how I became the walking dead, how I became so lost, I always think back to that moment - that's when I sold my soul and made way for the devil.