Chapter 5 fifth counseling session

On the way to your clinic, I went into the coffee shop on the corner of this street.The shabby exterior of the coffee shop made excellent coffee, enough to reward me for traveling all the way to the city.What's in that mug of yours? I don't know if it's probably Scotch whiskey, but I guess you have the habit of drinking tea, so I brought you a cup.Putting me last should at least do some good. By the way, I like the heavy silver jewelry you wear every time, it matches your hair very well, adds a little bit of grandma charm to you, and it is the kind that can enjoy sex.Don't worry, I'm not trying to troll you about your personal affairs. I know that psychiatrists don't like to reveal their private lives, and I've been too self-centered lately to listen to your personal affairs.

The reason I like your jewelry is probably because your jewelry reminds me of my biological father. Look, I'm so self-centered.I'm not saying that my dad likes to wear gold and silver, but his grandfather passed him a traditional Irish Claddagh (designed as two hands holding a heart: the heart has a crown.) ring.My grandparents, who immigrated across the sea from Ireland, owned a jewelry store in the United States.Not long after my parents got married, my grandparents were burned to death, and all the inheritance was taken over by the bank.After the fire, I asked my mother what happened to the ring, and she said she lost it.

I tend to think that if my dad was still alive, he would do everything in his power to save me, but I'm not sure how he would have dealt with it.He is a man who doesn't force anything. In my mind, he will always be forty years old, and he will always wear that nice furry sweater and khaki trousers.He didn't get emotional very often, and I remember he was only happy to tell me when there were new books in the library where he worked. During the days when I was kidnapped and went up the mountain, I sometimes missed him and even wondered if he would bless me.Thinking of this makes me lose my temper.If he really is my guardian angel, as he told me when I was a kid, why doesn't he stop this kind of thing?

On the second night of my kidnapping, the pervert gently rubbed my back in the bathtub.Let me know if you want to heat the water.He twisted the towel to let the rose-scented bath water drip on my shoulders and back. You are so quiet tonight.He pushed his nose into the wet hair at the nape of my neck, then squeezed a pinch into his mouth to suck.I resisted the urge to put my shoulder in his face and smash his nose.I just stare into the tub, counting how many seconds the water can stay before slipping off.Every woman's hair has a unique fragrance, you know?Your hair smells of nutmeg and cloves.I can't help but tremble.

I knew the water wasn't hot enough.He turned on the hot water for a minute.I can guess what a woman is like just by looking at her appearance.Some men can be deceived by color.With your mother's youthful face and blond hair, it's easy to think she tastes good and clean, but I know how to look past the surface and seek the truth.He moved in front of me and began to gently wash my legs.I continued to stare at the wall.He just wants to use psychological tactics on me and I can't let him know that I'm out of proportion. But ah, she is a beauty.It made me wonder how many of the boyfriends you've ever had wanted to sleep with her.I don't know if they were thinking of her when they made love to you.

My stomach churns.In the past few years, I have long been familiar with the idiotic behavior of several boyfriends drooling at my mother.They were either munching on the dinner she had cooked, or staring at her whole mouth.One boyfriend even told me that my mom looked like a cougar version of a fairy (Tinkerbell, Tinkerbell, the fairy from the Peter Pan story.), hotter than the fairies flying around Peter Pan.Even Luke sometimes stutters suddenly when my mother comes. The drop of seventeen seconds, eighteen seconds is super slow. Your boyfriends are probably not like me. They can't guess that she tastes like a green apple, the kind that you don't know it's not ripe until you take a bite.As for your friend Christina, her long blond hair is used to being tied up, and she always looks like a pink-collar worker in a shopping mall, and the inside is even more difficult to guess.I can't count the time it took for the drops of water to drip.

Yes, I know you have a friend like Christina.She's a real estate agent too, isn't she?As far as I know, her performance is stellar.Strange, how you like to be friends with this kind of people who make you jealous. I want to say back that I'm not jealous of Christina, I'm proud of her and she's been my best friend since childhood.All I know about real estate is from her teachings.In fact, in many ways, she is my teacher, but I pursed my lips.Once I say it, this guy will use it against me. Does she remind you of your sister Daisy?Daisy is marshmallow, Christina well Christina.I bet she tastes like imported pears.I met his eyes.He started to soap my feet.I hate being tricked like this.

Where is your mother?How does she feel?I asked.The hand holding my foot stopped, and the grip strengthened. my mother?Do you think I have an Oedipus complex?He laughed and pressed my foot into the bathwater, then took the razor out of the cupboard. This time, as he gripped my leg, I started counting the lines on the tiles on the wall.By the time the cold razor slid down my calf, I lost count, so I started counting again.He told me to stand up so he could shave me all over while I divided the total number of tiles by the number of cracks in the grout.When he helped me apply the lotion with his hands, he hummed a song, and I counted how many drops of candle tears had solidified on the candle body.

I memorize everything in sight, make mental lists, multiply and divide by totals.If I am disturbed by distracting thoughts or emotions, I will eliminate them and start from scratch. The second time he tried to rape me, I was completely still, not crying, just staring at the bedroom wall.If I don't respond, he can't get hard.Rescuers should be here soon, and I just need to grit my teeth and hold on for a while to be rescued.So no matter how much he sexually assaulted me, I kept doing math or thinking about airplanes, lying in bed like a rag doll.He grabbed my face, stared into my eyes, and kept trying to squeeze his hard-on cock into me.I counted the bloodshot eyeballs.His cock was softer.He yelled at me to call his name.Seeing that I was silent, he beat the pillow next to my ear with his fist and shouted: You stupid, stupid bitch!Every sentence comes with a punch.

The beating of the pillow stopped, and his breathing eased.He hummed on the way to the bathroom. While he was in the shower, I grabbed the pillow to cover my face and yelled into the pillow: You sick bastard!You soft dick bastard!You picked the wrong person, I'm not that easy to bully.Then weep into the depths of the pillow.As soon as I heard the sound of the shower head stop, I quickly put down the pillow and put it under my head, dry side up, while I faced the wall. Unfortunately, repeated rapes failed, and he didn't give up.Each time he starts with the same steps, first the tub which is his most talkative moment, then shaving, lotion, and then dressing.I felt like a Broadway actor: same stage, set, lighting, costumes, night after night.The only thing that has changed is his growing frustration, and the way he vents it.

The third time was unsuccessful. He slapped me twice so hard that I bit my tongue.This time, I had no sense of satisfaction, not even the satisfaction of cursing him secretly.I sobbed into my pillow, sucking on my bloody tongue, dreading his post-shower movements. On the fourth night, he beat my stomach twice!I was dying of pain, and the psychological shock was as severe as the physical pain.He punched me on the jaw, and it hurt my heart.The light in the room suddenly dimmed, and I prayed that everything would turn black as soon as possible.It's a pity that I didn't get my wish.I stopped crying into my pillow. On the fifth night, he turned me over on my stomach, knelt on my two palms, and pressed my face into the mattress so hard that I couldn't breathe.My chest burns.He did the same thing three times, each time stopping before I passed out. When it was over, he got up with a mostly deadpan face, and then I heard the shower.Back in bed, he would hug me and chat about trivial things, such as how the aborigines processed and preserved meat, what constellations he saw during his night watch, what fruits he liked or hated. But one night, lying down beside me, he said: I want to know what kind of woman Christina is.She's so calm, so composed, isn't she?I wonder what happens to a woman like her before she breaks down. He held my stiff hand, clasped my fingers, rubbed my thumb lightly with his thumb, and I tried to take a deep breath to relax.His snoring rose and fell beside me, and the thought of his hands trying to mess with Christina, or the thought that she might have fallen into his clutches, might feel the fear I'm in now, just cuts my heart. .I can't just sit back and watch.If I proceed with my current plan, I will either lose my own life, or maybe even Christina will be buried with her.After dragging on for so long, I have not been rescued. In the end, it is impossible for the pervert to say to me: There is no way to go on like this, so I will send you home now.I can continue to risk my own life, but I can't make fun of Christina. I am ready to help him rape me. The key to success is to understand his habits.I dug out as much as I could of the rapist articles I'd read, recalling the TV shows I'd seen about rapists, like SVU, Criminal Minds, and two or three A&E specials.I focus on analyzing the quirks of rapists and studying the circumstances under which they kill their victims. I remember some rapists fantasizing about their victims enjoying being in the clutches of their victims.Maybe the pervert has a way to think that I was tortured by him to be full of lust, but it's a pity that he still has a little doubt in his heart, so he can't lift it.At this stage this slight doubt makes him impotent.If doubts grow, I'm doomed. When taking a bath the next night, I said: You are so gentle.He stared at me, and I forced myself to look directly into his eyes. Yeah? Most men are, well, kind of rude.As for you, you move very lightly. He smiled. I'm sorry, I've been rough because I wasn't sure, well, of course I wasn't sure at first, but I kept thinking, maybe maybe it's not too late to start a new life.How long should I hesitate?If my tone is too cheerful, I can't fool him. disobedient? I mean, it took me a while to get used to it all, but I'm starting to think that maybe I'll grow to like life in the mountains.stay with you. Do you think so?He draws out each syllable very long. I then forced myself to face him squarely and try my best to convey my sincerity. yes, really.You understand what a lot of men don't. Yeah, of course I understand what a lot of men don't.The best actor smile on his face.Hooked. As he put on the lotion for me, I said: I really like the scent.His smile was wider. I put on a foreign dress, walked around to show him, and said to him: If I go shopping, I will also choose the same style of clothes. Back in the bedroom, I groaned to him and responded to his kisses, but I acted discreetly to show that I had just awakened under his caresses.His panting became more and more rapid, and I counted the seconds between his panting intervals as if they were labor pains.In my heart, I am a dead body. He panted heavily, blushed, and pressed against me.I was afraid that he would go soft again and throw a tantrum, so I reached under him to fondle him, so as not to worsen the situation.It must be done. I curled up into a ball deep in my heart and isolated myself from the following passage: I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time. His arms tensed up, anger covered his face, and his expression darkened.He grabbed my throat with one hand, but I used the cat's claw skill to deal with his hand, but it was useless, he just worked harder. I can kill you at any time, how dare you speak like a prostitute?You should be afraid.You should be begging.You should fight to survive.Don't you have an idea? He finally let go of my throat, and I was relieved for only half a second before I got another punch in the stomach.He repeatedly hit my chest, face, and lower body with two fists.Although I was struggling, the fists seemed to hit all parts of my body simultaneously, and the rain of fists beat me unconscious.I passed out. Strange to say, doctor, when the pervert hits me and calls me a whore, I feel the pain but not the anger because I want him to hurt me.Even when my body struggled against it, I rooted for him inwardly.You deserve the beating.How can I say that?How could I caress him like that? I've done a lot of things on the mountain, a lot of things I didn't want to do, a lot of things I wouldn't believe I could do.But that night was the key.Whenever I think about how I became this walking corpse, helpless, it always comes down to that moment when I put my soul aside and asked the devil to come in and sit.