Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Mallard Duck

I feel very strange today, doctor.Very strange, I searched everywhere, looking for the answer, looking for the reason, looking for something solid and real to rely on, just when I thought I had found the answer and sorted out my mood, I realized that I still It was a mess.You probably already figured it out, right? I feel like your office is real.Real wooden bookshelves, real wooden tables, and real Aboriginal masks on the walls.I'm being real here, too, because I know you can't tell anyone else about me, and I also wonder if you ever wondered when you sat down with your therapist friend and talked about everything. The desire to spit out... No, you better forget what I just said, you look like the kind of person who really wants to help people in this business.

You probably can't help me.I'm sad, and I'm not sad for myself.I am sad for you.For a psychiatrist, it must be very frustrating to encounter a patient who cannot be cured.The first psychiatrist I saw when I got home told me no one was incurable, but I thought he was talking bullshit.I think some people just can't be cured, they are whole on the outside, but broken inside. I don't know what happened to that pervert.When was a certain decisive moment that changed him, but at that moment, someone wore a big leather shoe, stepped on it, and crushed both of our lives.Was it when his biological mother left him?If his adoptive parents were good people, would he still be saved?If his adoptive mother wasn't such a pervert, wouldn't he never have killed or kidnapped me?Or was it all decided when he was still in his mother's womb?Does he have a chance to change?what about me?

This is the twisted side of him, the man who kidnapped me, beat me, raped me, abused me, and terrorized me.But sometimes, when he's thoughtful or in a good mood, when he's beaming, I see the man he could be again.That person will also have a family of his own, will teach his children how to ride a bicycle, and will make balloons into animal shapes for the children to play with, you know?Maybe he will even become a doctor, curing diseases and saving lives. After I gave birth to my daughter, there were times when I felt a kind of maternal affection for him, those brief moments when I saw another side of him, and I wanted to guide him, I wanted to help him, I wanted to heal him.But I will suddenly remember that he is like a little boy standing in front of a pile of straw, holding a match in his hand, and can throw the match without any reason.

Just had the baby and the freak threw me some cloth diapers, 2 pillows, some blankets and he didn't talk to me much for almost a week except when it was time for me to do things - he just let me rest on my bed for a day.When I woke up the next day to do the dishes, I was dizzy and he made me sit for a few minutes and then told me to rewash all the dishes because the washing water was cold.The second time I did the dishes, I leaned against the cabinets and closed my eyes to let that dizzy feeling go away. He never touches the baby, he will stand by while I am changing the diaper or bathing the baby and picks that time for me to do something else for him.If I was folding my kid's laundry, he asked me to fold his laundry first.Once, while our dinner was still simmering on the stove, and I was about to nurse the baby, he told me to put the baby down and serve him first.The only time he doesn't bother us is when I'm breastfeeding the baby.I don't know exactly what makes him angry, even if the baby makes the slightest sound, I will quickly pick her up and quiet her, but his eyes are getting more and more gloomy, and his lower lip is biting more and more tightly .He reminded me of a boa constrictor waiting to pounce, and I was so tense while reassuring the child.

He hadn't mentioned naming the baby when the baby was a few days old, so I asked him if I could name the baby. He glanced at the child in my arms and said, "No." Later, I whispered into the child's little ear a name I had quietly given her.This is the only thing I can give her. I always wondered how he dealt with the feelings of jealousy and hatred for his adoptive father.So, when he was in the house, I always acted indifferent to the child and just met her basic needs.Fortunately, she was a contented and happy baby who never got into trouble.As soon as he was out to run errands, I would take the baby out of the blanket and look at every part of her.Such a little guy actually came out of my body, even I thought it was amazing.

Think about how I got pregnant with her and love her so much now.When I touched the blood vessels on her body and marveled that it was my blood flowing inside her body, she wouldn't even move.Her little ears are so perfect that they can sing lullabies to her. Sometimes, I just bury my nose into her neck and breathe in her scent, so fresh and sweet—the purest I have ever smelled. breath.Behind her chubby left knee, there was a tiny, tiny birthmark, coffee-colored, half-moon-shaped, and I always liked to kiss it.Every inch of her delicate skin almost melted my heart, and I felt a surge of courage to protect her.I was terrified by the intensity of my emotions, and my fears, like my love for her, grew day by day.

We still have to take a bath together every night, but the pervert won't allow her to take a bath with us, and she will never touch my boobs.After the bath, I would nurse the baby in bed and he would clean the bathroom.When she's done feeding, I'll put her in a cot at the foot of the bed where he puts it--just a little bamboo basket with some blankets in it, like a kennel, but The kid doesn't mind at all. I also remember a few of my friends who had babies complaining that they couldn't sleep at night right after they had their babies, and I can't sleep now either.Not because of the baby—she only wakes up once a night—but because I was worried that the baby would wake him up and do something to him, so I lay there and listened to each breath of hers. A faint sigh or hiccup.She showed the slightest sign of waking up, so I quickly slipped to the end of the bed, and before he could notice me, I put my breasts on the edge of the bed and lifted her head slightly like a bitch feeding a puppy. Get up and let her breastfeed. I have become more and more proficient in this process.If he rolled over or made any noise, I would lie still with my heart pounding and wonder if the child could feel it.I'll sneak back again when he's breathing steadily.

Every night, after the kids go to sleep, he checks me in, gently creams my private parts, and if I wince in pain, he stops to comfort me, his face full of sympathy.We had to wait six weeks before we could "make love" again, he said.When he raped me, it was painful but not as disturbing as it is now.Sometimes, when he was applying the cream, even though I was in pain, I forced myself to stay still and let him continue.Pain is normal. After the baby was a week old, I was cooking and I needed both hands, and I was going to put her in the basket, but he stood in front of me and said, "I'll hold her." My eyes went back and forth He and the child's crib, the distance between them is only a little bit, I dare not refuse him.I gently put the baby in his hands, and he carried her away, my heart jumped into my throat.He sat at the end of the bed.

She started crying and I dropped everything and walked up to him. "I'm sorry, she disturbed you, I'll put her on the bed." "We're fine." He shook her up and down, looked down at her and said, "She knows I'm her father, and she will obediently be my good daughter, right?" She calmed down, and he smiled up. When I went back to the kitchen, my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn't cook at all—every while, I would turn around to get some condiments, and take a look at the situation by the bed. At first, he just looked down at her, and later, he took off the blanket covering her, and she was lying on his lap in only a diaper.I was afraid she would burst into tears, but she just shook her little arms and legs in the freezing air.He looked at her from head to toe, grabbed her arm, and slowly moved it back and forth.Although his movements were not violent, my whole body was tense. I waited for her to burst into tears, but she remained very quiet.He broke off her other arm and two legs as well—as if he had never seen a baby before.

His expression was calm and curious, and when he wiped the drool on her chin, he was very gentle and even smiled, but I couldn't wait to walk over and snatch her from him.It's just the fear of the consequences of doing so that keeps me from acting rashly.Finally, when dinner was ready, I walked over with trembling legs, held out my hand, and waited for him to hand me the baby. I said to him, "Your dinner is ready." He froze for a second before handing the child to me, and as he handed it to me, an expression I had never seen crossed his face.He let go suddenly.In that instant, she fell.I rushed forward and caught her just before she hit the ground.My heart was beating so hard I felt my chest ache and I held her tight.He stood up with a smile and went to eat dinner, humming a song in his mouth.

While eating, he stopped suddenly: "Just call her Juliette." I nodded, but I definitely don't allow my daughter to have the same name as his mad adoptive mother.In my head, I secretly called her the name I had given her.Doctor, I never told anyone but you that he named her. Since then, he's picked her up a lot, usually while I'm doing something else, like folding laundry or cleaning.He hugged her and sat on the bed, breaking her little arms and legs.She never cried or fussed so I knew he wasn't hurting her, but I still wanted to rush over and get her - only the thought of him possibly punishing me by hurting her stopped me in my tracks.Eventually, he'd put the baby back in the basket, and once, he'd put her next to the bed, like a tired toy.Every time he came near her, I started to break out in a cold sweat. When I was working in the vegetable garden, he asked me to bring the baby out, and I tied a small blanket around my neck and put her in it.I love being outside with her, watching my vegetables grow, smelling the earth warm in the sun, or running my hands through the soft strands of her hair.But to say that I found some joy in these times feels a little bit wrong again, because it’s like saying that it’s all okay — no, that’s absolutely not okay.However, after having a child, I do feel a little bit happier every day. The freak would only let me out if he was working outside himself, but he always had things to do like chopping wood, waterproofing the shutters, and so on, so I was able to go out a lot.He asked me to repaint the rocking chairs on the balcony, and I took them all to the river to paint and enjoy the sunshine with my daughter. If he is satisfied with me, he will let me sit by the river to rest when my work is done.It was such a beautiful day, how I wanted to have a sketchbook, to draw my daughter's milk-white skin and dark green vegetable field, and to draw the appearance of her scratching when an ant crawled across her little face.The dense weeds and flowers, the shimmering sunlight on the river, and the fir trees reflected on the river all make my hands itchy, and I really want to draw.I thought, if I could draw all this beauty on paper, then I could remember that there is another world outside, and when things go wrong here, I can go back to that world outside, but, when When I asked the freak for his sketchbook, he turned me down. It was very hot and he made me wash clothes in the river every two days - he was very strict about saving water.But let me take a bath with him every night. A bath needs at least a ton of water, but I never dare to say anything.I like the smell of river water and sunlight on clothes.There is an apple tree in the corner of the hut. I don’t know who planted it many years ago. We tied a rope and it became a place for us to dry our clothes.This is the life of that pervert and me, just like a pair of ordinary young couples who came to cultivate wasteland. When I had not yet had a baby, I noticed a mallard that often circled around the river where the current was moderate.Sometimes it is surrounded by other ducks, most of the time it is alone.If the freak wasn't staring at me, I'd stop what I was doing and look at the duck.The first few times I went to the river to do my laundry or sit by the river, the ducks swam away as soon as they spotted me.When the baby was a week old, one day, I was sitting on a rock by the river washing a blanket, enjoying the feeling of the cool water flowing over my hand, and the duck didn’t swim away, it just swam to the other side of the river and circled, pecking at it from time to time. Pecking the river water, sometimes catching bugs. The freak walked to the river and handed me some slices of bread.It took me by surprise and I was very happy that he allowed me to feed the ducks. Over the next few days, I lured the duck closer and closer with the bread.Soon, it ate the bread from my hand.It reminds me of life outside this small world, and every day, I can't wait to get to the river to see it, but I have to be careful not to let my excitement show.I had to act nonchalant - if the freak knew what I liked, that was the quickest way to end it, and I learned that the hard way. He never let us out of his sight or run very far, but he generally left us alone by the river.Sometimes, I can even pretend that he doesn't exist, that I'm just taking my daughter to rest by the river on an ordinary summer day, smiling and watching her learn about the world a little bit.Before she was born, I often wondered if she would feel the evil around her. After she was born, I realized that she is the happiest child I have ever seen. I've stopped looking around for ways to escape.I can't walk very fast with a baby, and I can't imagine what he would do if he caught me. One day when my daughter was two weeks old, the pervert came to the river and squatted down next to me.As soon as the duck saw him, it swam away from me and into the middle of the pond.The pervert held a piece of bread and wanted it to swim over, but it just ignored it, and the pervert's neck gradually turned red.I felt like I couldn't breathe, how I wished the duck would take his bread, but it just wouldn't, and finally the freak threw the bread and walked back to the hut saying he was going to make dinner.As soon as he was gone, the duck came back. Suddenly, I heard a loud explosion, and the duck's beautiful head was blown away right in front of me.Its feathers flew here and there—on me, on the child, on the river.My ears buzzed, and I heard a horrific scream, only to realize later that it was myself.I jumped to my feet and spun around in place.The pervert was standing on the balcony in front of the house with a rifle in his hand.I covered my mouth to keep myself from screaming and stared at him. "Bring it in." My mouth was trembling, and it was difficult to speak: "Why are you..." I found that I was talking to the air.Because he had already walked away from the balcony. The baby was crying and I wanted to cry too, and I stepped into the river and grabbed what was left of the duck's torso.Its head was basically gone, and its whole body was covered with blood. I was holding it upside down, and the blood flowed into the distance along the river. In the evening, I learned how to pluck ducks.I will never forget that smell.Throughout the night, I was in tears, he repeatedly told me not to cry, I was trying to hold back, but I couldn't control myself.Every feather I plucked from that duck made me feel more guilty.If I hadn't messed with it, it would still be alive by now. When it was time to sit down to eat roast duck, I didn't move.The pervert sat across from me, and on a big plate between us was the duck I used to feed.I begged him again and again, he was indifferent, watching him chop up that duck, I feel like he chopped up my freedom too, I have never hated him more than now.I couldn't lift a knife and fork with my hands at all.He soon found out. "Eat your supper quickly, Anne." I didn't move, I was already in tears.I killed it, and it was terrible enough that I couldn't eat it anymore.The pervert grabbed a handful of duck meat, walked up to me, opened my mouth, and stuffed it in.I choked—choked on my mouthful of duck meat, when he yelled at me, "Chew!" One of his hands grabbed the hair at the back of my head, and I couldn't move. After he stuffed my mouth full, he covered my mouth with the other hand.I ate the duck.I have to eat. The pervert sat back in his seat and continued eating.He carefully cut the duck meat on his plate into small pieces with a knife and fork. The metallic luster reflected by the knife and fork made me feel dazed.He noticed my lack of focus, and slowly brought the fork to his mouth, and slowly bit off a piece of duck meat on the fork with his teeth.He closed his mouth, closed his eyes, and ate to his heart's content.Just as he was chewing the duck meat contentedly, he opened his eyes again and stared at me.Finally, he swallowed the piece of duck meat. Then, he just laughed. That night, for the first time, I was afraid to look at my daughter while I was breastfeeding her.As if what she drank was not the milk, but the duck, my beautiful duck, and I wondered if she could taste my pain. Last night, although I didn't sleep in the closet, I didn't sleep well, doctor.My room was so dark that I couldn't see my fingers. I always felt that something was coming to grab me. I turned on the flashlight next to the bed, but there was nothing.I tried to sleep with a candle, but the candlelight projected on the wall made it even more ghostly.I turned on all the lights and was wide awake.It made it easier for me to hear every movement in the house - it's an old house and it creaks a lot.So, doc, the good news is that I didn't sleep in the closet last night; the bad news is that I didn't fall asleep either, and, you know, some late-night TV shows are ugly. It gave me time to think about what you said to me about the different manifestations of PTSD, and I can't tell you exactly why sleeping in the closet makes me feel safer.All I know is that the bed always leaves me feeling exposed.It always feels like you're being attacked from all directions - the left, the right, the direction of your feet, even the top, there's just too much space around. The more painful experiences I tell you, the more I want and need to sleep in my closet.You ask me, what the hell am I running from, maybe now is the time to figure it out - this paranoid paranoia of mine is like an itch that no matter how hard I scratch it, it won't stop. I can't seem to get rid of an oppressive feeling that I'm still not safe.I know this feeling is unwarranted, because the police have been keeping me updated on the investigation, especially a policeman named Gary - the poor guy probably regrets giving me his cell phone number.If I'm still in danger, they'll tell me.They also have to tell me.This is their job - to protect the people.So, what is wrong with me? Don't give me crap that this is just a natural manifestation of PTSD.I understand that when I came back, I still had a lot of anxiety and fear in my mind.As I said, I have carefully thought about everything you said to me, and even checked some information on the Internet.Shit, I wish it was just stress disorder too, but my symptoms are different from that.These feelings are so real to me. This is when you need to make a difference, Doc.I always feel insecure.It always feels like someone or something is out to get me.You gotta help me get out of this feeling.Don't worry, I don't expect any immediate answers from you.think carefully.Maybe by the time you get back from vacation in a few weeks, I've found a solution myself - wouldn't it be nice if it was that easy. Thank you for recommending another therapist, but I'll wait for your return.For some reason, I have a hard time trusting people.