Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
In the early hours of February 2, 2025, it marked the fifth year since I had been with him. Today, he laid his hands on me. In the past, no matter how much he hurt me, I would comfort myself by reminiscing about our beautiful memories, telling myself that he didn’t mean it, at least he hadn’t hit me. People often say that domestic violence happens once or countless times.
I never expected that today he would actually hit me. My mind went blank. I thought to myself, if someone truly loves another person, no matter what happens or what circumstances arise, they wouldn’t resort to violence, right? Because that person is the one they love most? How could they bring themselves to do such a thing? How could they bear to hurt them?
The reason for our argument was really trivial; it was simply because I was hungry and ordered takeout. After placing the order, I felt a bit uncomfortable in my stomach, as if I had gas. I took some digestive tablets to ease the pain. My stomach had always been sensitive; perhaps it was because I had eaten too many radishes during the day that caused my discomfort.
Not long after, the takeout arrived—a small portion of fried chicken and turkey noodles. I offered him some, but he merely grunted in response. I ate a bit of the turkey noodles but felt too unwell to continue, so I decided to wait a while before eating more. At that moment, he came over to eat and seemed to think it was a waste; he asked why I didn’t finish what I ordered. I told him I couldn’t eat anymore and would do so later. He then forcibly grabbed the fried chicken and shoved it into my mouth, insisting that I eat a piece.
However, my stomach was in agony, and I didn’t want to eat anymore. I buried my head under the blanket, but he yanked it away, determined to make me eat. Then, out of nowhere, he decided to twist my neck. As someone who often looks down at their phone for long periods, my neck rarely lifted up. Can you imagine that moment? My neck was suddenly yanked back by someone much larger than me—it was excruciatingly painful. I felt utterly miserable and struggled to breathe; it was an indescribable sensation that made me feel like I might lose control of my bladder from the pain! It hurt so much! He shoved the fried chicken into my mouth and walked away.
I cried from the pain and told him how much it hurt, but he dismissed my feelings. In retaliation, I tried to mimic his actions and twisted his neck for a moment. Perhaps he felt pain too because he immediately exploded with rage, yelling and throwing the fried chicken at me before grabbing a cup from the table and hurling it in my direction. The room filled with loud crashing sounds as everything fell apart around us. In that instant, my mind went blank as disappointment flooded through me—had he really laid his hands on me?
I felt honey mustard sauce from the fried chicken all over my hair, neck, and collar; I had just washed my hair today. The spot where the chicken hit me was my neck—I couldn’t bear to think about what would have happened if one of those cups had struck me there instead. Had he really attacked me? Was this domestic violence? Did he intend to hit me with that cup? Why would he do such a thing to me? Wasn’t I the person he loved most? My mind was overwhelmed with questions that trapped me in despair; that feeling of disappointment consumed my entire world.
I couldn’t believe it as I questioned him: “Did you just hit me?” He remained silent. At that moment, my heart sank; he didn’t even try to deny it.
I said directly to him: “Let’s just end things here!” He didn’t argue back; did he want to abuse me? I truly couldn’t believe it…
Upon hearing those words, he said coldly: “So you want to leave? You can go right now; call your mother!”
How could he not know it was raining outside? As a daughter married far from home, where could I go at this late hour in the rain? In this unfamiliar city, I had no friends or family nearby; I felt like a walking corpse…
I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore. I didn’t know if he intended to abuse me or if this even counted as abuse. I had no idea where to go from here; perhaps I should just leave with our child without looking back. But where could we go? I was drowning in debt and completely broke…
I don't even know why I've ended up like this. I used to be such a cheerful little girl, full of hope for life and dreams for the future. I loved animals, stood up for what was right, and would give money to poor homeless people, even if I only had a single coin on me, even if that was all I had for breakfast the next day...
I can't even count how many times I've been disappointed. Perhaps it started when I was pregnant, and he joked about other girls, saying that such beautiful women wouldn't cry during childbirth. Or maybe it was when I discovered he had watched videos featuring naked women. It could have begun when I found out he browsed adult websites. Or perhaps it was when, while comforting my mother-in-law about her job search, he said that men should earn money to support the family while women should stay home and look beautiful. His intention was to ease her worries so she could take her time finding work, but then he questioned me about why I wasn't looking for a job quickly enough, asking if I thought the same way. I was only 16 or 17 at the time and finding a job was already difficult. That moment left a deep impression on me; I cried from anger, shaking uncontrollably. Later, I found it somewhat self-deprecating—he was the one who slept in late and arrived late to work, and he didn't even go sometimes. I never said a word about it; after work, I still had to do house chores or take care of the children.
Disappointment perhaps peaked that night when our baby, just a few months old, cried incessantly. He didn't help but instead yelled at us. The little one was so frightened that he shook and cried even harder. In his anger, he slammed down furniture and even hit the baby on the bed. No matter how much I tried to intervene or shouted in protest, it was all in vain. There were countless moments that let me down; I feel like I could write endlessly about them.
I can rewrite others' endings with my pen, yet I cannot write my own life...
Comment 0 Comment Count