Chapter 9 Chapter 9 The Chosen One

On the drive back from our last conversation, I stopped for gas, and next to the counter in the gas station store, I saw the shelves lined with bags of candy.When I was locked up in the mountains, I never ate anything like this. For a long time, I missed these trivial and ordinary things in daily life, but as time passed, I stopped thinking about it because I don't remember exactly what I like anymore.That day, I stood there, looking at those candies, I suddenly remembered that I really liked eating candies, and a wave of anger gradually came to my heart. The girl behind the counter asked me, "Anything else?" I just heard myself say, "Yes," and I took bags of sweets off the shelves—sour candies, dates Candy, marshmallows, sticks of fudge... the people standing behind me, watching a crazy woman scramble for candy like it's Halloween, but I don't care.

I sat in the car, tore open the wrapping bag, and stuffed the candy into my mouth desperately.I cried - don't know why and I don't care why - I ate too much candy and threw it up as soon as I got home and got a lot of blisters on my tongue.But I was still eating, and eating a lot, and I was eating very fast, as if worried that someone might stop me at any moment.I want to turn back into that girl who likes sugar very much, I really want to, doctor. Sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by candy wrappers and empty wrappers, I couldn't stop myself from crying.I have a little headache from eating too much sugar.Feel like throwing up again.But the reason I cried was because those candies were no longer the taste I remembered.Nothing tastes like I remember it.

The freak never told me why he came back to Clayton Falls, or what he did while there besides spying on my friends and family, and the night after he got back, his Obviously in a good mood.His brisk steps seemed to tell me that no one cared about me anymore.While making dinner, he danced in the kitchen whistling like a cooking show. When I glared at him, he just smiled and bowed to me. If he could go to and from Clayton Falls in five days, then I wouldn't be too far away unless he parked somewhere and flew there.However, these seem to no longer matter.Whether I am five kilometers or five hundred kilometers away from home, it is an insurmountable distance.I thought of the house I had loved so much, my friends and family, and the search and rescue team that had stopped looking for me, and I felt a huge net wrap around me and pull me down.Better go to bed.In sleep, none of this exists.

I thought this nightmare would continue forever, but one day two weeks after the pervert came back, in mid-February, when I was five months pregnant, I suddenly felt the movement of the baby in my stomach.It was a strange feeling, like swallowing a butterfly, and at that moment the child was no longer an evil thing, no longer his.The child is mine and I don't have to share it with anyone. Since then, I have loved being pregnant.With each passing week, my belly was getting bigger and bigger, and it felt like a miracle that a new life was growing inside of me.I no longer feel ashamed, I feel energized.Even that freak's renewed interest in my body didn't change how I felt about my pregnancy.He made me stand in front of him and stroked my stomach and boobs.While he was doing these checks, I would stare at the ceiling and silently count the holes in the boards.At one point, he said, "Annie, you don't know how lucky you are to be able to conceive this child away from modern society. All people do nothing but destroy—they destroy nature with war, with government, with greed, destroy Love and family. But here I am creating a pure world, a safe world so that we can raise our children together."

As I listened to him, I thought about the drunk driver who killed my dad and sister, the doctor who prescribed my mom pill after pill, and the brokers I knew who would stop at nothing to close a deal , Thinking of the friends and family who have started a new life, and thinking of the idiot police who have not been able to find me until now. What I hate most is that I'm actually thinking about that perverted point of view.If someone tells you the sky is green, even though you know the sky is blue, if they tell you the sky is green in everything they say and do and repeat it day after day, it's as if they really believe it is Green, then, one day, you will also start thinking, maybe innocence is green, and only a madman would think it is blue.

I often think, why me?Why did he choose me, a real estate agent, a career woman, among so many girls who could strike?I'm not the mountain housewife type.I don't want others to suffer all of this, but why didn't he kidnap a very weak woman he knew?A woman he knew wouldn't take much effort to subdue?But it dawned on me that he actually knew everything.He has always known. I thought I'd let go of my childhood, my family, my pain, but when you've been rolling in dung for so long, you can't get rid of the smell.You can buy all kinds of scented soaps and wash yourself from head to toe to exfoliate.One day, when you're walking outside, a fly will still bite you.Then another one, another one, because they all know, they know, that beneath your well-washed exterior, you're a piece of shit.It's nothing but shit.You can wash it all you want, but the flies will always know your weakness.

That winter, that pervert set up a reward system for me.If he's happy with me, he'll do me a favour—an extra slice of meat with dinner, or an extra bathroom break.If I folded my clothes neatly, he would allow me to put a little sugar in my tea.Once, when he came back from town, he said I was doing well and gave me an apple. I was deprived of so much, so anything he gave me, even an apple, became important.I closed my eyes and finished eating the apple.In my head, I pictured myself sitting under a tree in the summer sun—I could even feel the warmth of the sun on my legs. If I do something wrong, he punishes me, but he hasn't hit me in a long time, and sometimes, I wish he would.Being beaten can fill me with hatred for him.But what about the brainwashing things he said to me?Those words really had an impact on me, and as the months passed, the voices of those I loved faded away and their faces blurred in my head.Little by little, day by day, the sky really turned green.

After I got pregnant, he continued to force me to have sex with him, but things seemed different, he seemed to be playing a role.Occasionally, he would even become very tender, blushing, as if it was wrong to be nice to me. A few times, he stopped suddenly, lay down next to me, put his hand on my stomach, and asked me all kinds of questions: What's it like to be pregnant?Can I feel the baby moving in my stomach?If he wasn't interested in having sex, I'd still have to put the dress on and lie in bed with him with his head on my chest. One night, as he rested his head on my chest, I felt a surge of maternal love and imagined the baby in my womb.Without even thinking about it, I started singing, "Sleep, sleep, my darling."I suddenly understood what I was doing and stopped immediately.He adjusted his posture, put his head on my shoulder, and looked me in the eyes.

"My adoptive mother used to sing it to me. Did your mother ever sing it to you, Anne?" "No." I try to keep the conversation going.I want to know more about him, but I can't ask him directly how on earth did you become such a pervert. "Your adoptive mother must be a very interesting person," I said.I hope I didn't step on a land mine, he didn't say anything. "Do you want me to sing to you? I don't know many songs, but I can try. I had music lessons when I was little." "Not now. I still want to hear about your childhood."

hell.Talking about me, how do I know about his situation? "My mom wasn't the type to sing and lull kids to sleep," I said. "What about music lessons, then? Did you want to go?" "That was all Mom's idea." My whole childhood was about trying new things, music lessons, piano lessons, and of course, figure skating lessons.Daisy had been skating since she was very young, but my interest in skating didn't last long.I've been on the ground longer than I've been skating.Mom also put me in ballet, but that ended when I got so dizzy that I bumped into another little girl and broke her nose.

These surprises didn't stop Mom.Maybe, she lost a perfect daughter, so she needs me more, at least in some respects.But what I'm best at is sabotage.It's incredible how many ways I've come up with to break instruments and tear up costumes. "Then what class do you want to take?" "I like art, drawing and things like that, but my mother doesn't." "So, if she doesn't like it, you can't do it?" He raised his eyebrows. "From what you've said, I think she's unfair and uninteresting." "Daisy was a lot of fun when we were kids before she died. Every Christmas we would make little houses out of gingerbread cookies and she would dress up in fancy dresses and play games with us. Sometimes, She would build a little castle with Daisy and me in the living room and watch scary movies at night." "So do you like watching horror movies?" "I love being with her, with Daisy... it's just that they don't have the same sense of humor as I do. Mum was a big prankster, and one Halloween she poured ketchup on the floor next to my bed, and when I got up, I Stepped on ketchup, I thought it was blood. She and Daisy had fun for days." I still hate ketchup. "But you don't think it's funny, do you?" I shrugged.The pervert looked like he was starting to get bored, and he turned around, ready to get up.not good.If I want him to feel what I feel, I have to let him know how I really feel. "I cried that time. Mum still likes to tell people how she played tricks on me. She always likes to do this kind of thing - tease people. She used to even go to people's houses with us on Halloween. Want candy." "Interesting. Why do you think your mother likes to 'trick people', as you say?" "Who knows, but she's really good at playing tricks on people. She gets most of her makeup and clothes that way, and she plays tricks on the sales girls in the town and nearby malls." After my mother had used up a few knock-off bottles of knock-off perfume, she started thinking about the cosmetics counter in the department store.Not only were the sales girls happy to give the grieving pretty widow free make-up, but she was given free samples that Mom would recommend to any customer who passed by. Her ability is not only that.Maybe her hands are not big, but she definitely has quick eyesight and quick hands.The top of her closet was piled high with unused perfumes, lotions, and face creams she'd snatched from the counter as soon as the sales lady turned her back, and she'd gotten tired of them in no time.Sometimes, she also spends money to buy things, but often returns the things at other branches.In the end, I couldn't bear it anymore and said a few words to her. She told me that she helped the sales lady to improve her performance, and it is also necessary to take a few bottles of cosmetics occasionally. After Mom discovered how easy it was to steal cosmetics, she started stealing clothes and underwear.They are also high-end goods in boutiques.As I grew up, I didn't want to go shopping with her anymore.I'm sure she's still doing it, and I didn't ask her directly, but I could tell she wore more expensive clothes than a lot of fashion models. "Sometimes, I think, she likes me better when I was a child." I said.The pervert stared into my eyes.I touched a nerve in him. We looked at each other and I said, "Maybe she thought I was more interesting as a kid, maybe I challenged her by starting to have my own point of view. Whatever the reason, I'm sure it was a big plus for me growing up." , she was very disappointed." The pervert cleared his throat, paused for a moment, then shook his head.He wanted to say something, but needed a little nudge.I asked in my softest voice, "Did you ever feel like this when you were young?" He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his head still resting on my arm. "My adoptive mother doesn't want me to grow up." "Maybe, all mothers feel sad when they see their children grow up." "Neither, no...not like that either." I thought about his hairless skin and his obsession with shaving his body.I force myself to wrap my arms around his head and lean on his forehead.He flinched in surprise, then looked at me without looking away. I said, "Her first child died..." I could feel his whole body tighten.I raised my hand and stroked his hair to make him relax, I didn't know how he would react, so I slowly put my hand back on the curly hair on top of his head, my leg was pressed against him legs so that he could feel my body heat. "Do you think it has something to do with that? Do you feel that you have to meet her requirements? As if you are just a substitute?" He slowly turned his face away, his eyes dimmed. I must let him go on. "You asked me about Daisy before, and I didn't want to because I found it hard to talk. She's nice, I mean, she's my sister, and she gets on me sometimes, but I thought she was perfect. So did my mother. After the car accident, I found that my mother would often stare at me or come over and touch my hair. I knew she was thinking of Daisy." He turned to look at me again: "Did she say anything?" "No. At least I can't say it. But the feeling doesn't need to be said. She will never admit it verbally, but I am very sure that the person she hopes to fly out of the car window is me. .I don't blame her - for a long time, I hoped so. Daisy is better than me. When I was a child, I always thought that God took her because she was so good. " I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, maybe it's those damn hormones, anyway I burst into tears.This is the first time I have shared these feelings with someone.He opened his mouth and took a breath, as if he wanted to say something.But without saying, he closed his mouth again, patted my leg lightly, and stared at the ceiling again. What is he afraid of?How can I get him to trust me and keep the conversation going?The only thing I've done so far is open up my old scars and put myself through another emotional torment.I have heard that some children remain loyal to those who abuse them.Is this why he doesn't want to talk about himself? "I shouldn't be telling you that," I said, "my mom has done so much for me over the years, and I feel like I'd be betraying her if I continued to speak ill of her." He turned his head with me. "I think parents are human and make mistakes." I tried to recall all the theories I had read about how to forgive my parents and help myself. "I kept saying to myself, I can talk about these things, and even though I don't like everything my mom does, I still love her." "My adoptive mother was a wonderful woman." He paused again, and I waited for him to continue. "We also play make-up sometimes." Now, it's kind of interesting. "I was only five years old at the time, but I remember, she came to see me at my biological parents' house that day. Her stupid husband also came, and he basically didn't look at me very much. She was wearing a white sundress, and she hugged me When I was there, I smelled a very fresh smell on her body, which was completely different from the smell of the fat pig on my biological mother. She asked me to be obedient, and she would come to pick me up, and later, she did come to pick me up Yes. Her husband went on a business trip again, so it was only the two of us at home, and when we got home, she gave me a bath. Her house is really clean, I have never seen such a clean house." "It must feel good..." I began, trying not to show any emotion. "I've never had a shower like that, there were so many candles in the bathroom and it smelled so good. She washed my hair, washed my back and her hands were so soft. She let the dirty water go and added more water , also sat in the bathtub, washed with me, and helped me wash more cleanly. She kissed my bruises, her lips were so soft, like velvet. She said, she was washing my bruises Take the pain away and let her take it for me." He gave me a look, and I didn't know what to do, but I nodded anyway, like what he just told me was the most natural thing in the world. "She said I could sleep in her bed and she didn't want me to be scared. I've never been this close to anyone - not even hugged me before - and I could feel her heartbeat .” He patted his chest. "She likes to touch my hair like your mother touches yours, she said, and it reminds her of her own son." My hand on his hair was a little itchy, but I restrained myself, no Take your hands away. "She couldn't have another baby, she said, she waited a long time, just to find a boy like me. That night, she cried...I promised her that I would be a good boy." He There was silence again. "You say you play make-up together...is it like playing cowboys and Indians?" he took a long time to answer.And when I hear his answer, I wish he didn't answer me. "After we take a shower every morning..." Oh my god. "I'll sleep on her bed, which makes her feel safer, and if her husband comes back from a business trip, we'll shower early, and then I'll help her get dressed." His tone was flat. "It's all for that man." "That must have made you feel abandoned. Before, she belonged to you, but when her husband came back, you were thrown aside." "She has to do it, that's her husband." He turned to look at me again, and said in a firm tone, "I'm special to her. She said I was her little man. " Understood. "Of course she thinks you're special—she picked you, didn't she?" He smiled: "It's like I chose you." Later, when he crawled into bed beside me, with his head on my chest, I found myself feeling a little sorry for him.Yes.This is the first time I have feelings other than nausea, fear, and hatred towards him, which makes me panic. This man kidnapped me.Doctor, he raped me and beat me, I should be indifferent to his pain, but when he told me about his adoptive mother, I felt sorry for him, he has such a perverted adoptive mother.I know, there are more things he didn't say.I feel sorry for him because his former biological parents abused him and his new dad doesn't care about him at all.Is this because I also have a twisted family?Because I have a similar experience, so I can feel his pain?I hate myself for being like this, doctor, I hate myself for being able to have a little bit of sympathy for that pervert.I hate myself for telling you all this again. Many people thought that he must have been threatening me with a gun, but I did not refute.How do I explain it?How can I tell them that when he told me about the customs and customs of different parts of the world, such as Mount Gibraltar and the monkeys on the mountain, I used to think he was so interesting and eloquent?And what can I say, he massaged my feet when they were terribly swollen and I loved that feeling too?When we were studying together, he was so enthusiastic and quick-witted; when he was cooking, he would do some silly dance moves if he managed to flip a fried egg over; and he would speak in a different accent.I seem to see him again when he first appeared.How do I tell someone that he made me laugh too? I have always been very proud, proud of my strength.I've always been the kind of girl who would never let any man change her, but he changed me.Yes, he changed me.I feel like there's a little flame inside of me, and that's who I am.Like the pilot light on a gas range, it flickers brightly in the dark.It's just that I worry that it will go out one day.I am now dreading the day it goes out. So many books tell us that we should create our own destiny, that our actions become our beliefs.We should think happy thoughts all the time, like a big bubble above our head that will never burst, so that everything will be sunshine and flowers.Sorry, I don't think so.You can be as upbeat and cheerful as you can, but what should happen will happen anyway. However, it doesn't just happen.It will catch you off guard and knock you over because you're so stupid to believe in sunshine and flowers.