Chapter 16 Sixteenth psychological consultation

Doctor, I consider your suggestion, but I don't think it works.I know that no one really wants to hurt me, it's all my imagination.If I do what you suggest and write down all the people who might want to hurt me, I think it would be too silly.I have my own way to deal with suspicious people. Next time I am suspicious again, I will write down suspicious people in my mind. If I really can’t even think of a name, I will feel like a donkey. This is better than feeling suspicious. By the way, this blue scarf you are wearing matches your eyes very well.Although you are old, you are dressed in a black turtleneck with a narrow long skirt, which is still fashionable. This style is not elegant, it should be streamlined.This can reveal that your personality has no time for some messy things, even the choice of clothing.My clothing style has always been conservative, which is the opposite of my mother's style, which is more of a Hollywood housewife (Hollyood Housewife).Christina was different.Christina is my personal shopping mentor.Before I was kidnapped, she had been trying to induce me to open up a bit.

It's a pity that she can't do anything about me, a boring gourd.I don't usually like to go shopping, and I even avoid the famous brand stores that she likes to visit most.My favorite suit is an accidental product that I like when I pass by the window one day, and I must buy it.If there was an occasion where I had to be there, I would go to Christina's and ask for help.She would run around, pull out a bunch of clothes from the closet, wrap the scarf and necklace around my neck, and compliment me on how good I looked in this or that color.She likes to help people match clothes, and I like to have people make decisions for me.

For old clothes, Christina is even more generous.A week after new clothes come into her house, she gets tired of my closet having a lot of stuff she doesn't want.After I went down the mountain, she wanted to give me clothes, why I was so angry with her, I really couldn't figure it out. I found out that Mom had cleared out my closet, so I went shopping at the Goodwill Bazaar.I bought a bunch of jogging clothes and sports trousers that were a few sizes too big. My mother was dumbfounded when she saw it, and it was so funny.I don't care about the color of the clothes, as long as they are soft and warm, and the looser the better.

Perverts love to see me in ladylike clothes, it makes me feel so revealing in those clothes every day.What comments will I get on what I'm wearing now?No one will be so excited that they want to explore the scenery inside the clothes. Luke called on Sunday morning and asked me if I wanted to get together and take the dog for a walk.What I blurted out was no!Before I had time to make up an excuse to evade, he began to detail the big and small things in the restaurant. When I think of meeting him, I get chills in my heart.What if I cringe when he tries to touch me?I've seen his hurt eyes twice, and I can't bear to see him for the third time.What if he doesn't want to touch me?Does it mean that his heart has drifted away?Now that I had refused to meet, I doubted he would propose a walk together.I'm not sure if I'll be braver next time, I just know I don't want him to stop asking.When I finally forced myself to take Emma out for a walk, I kept thinking about Luke.What would it be like to come out with him?

The next morning, instead of disguising myself in a baggy jogging outfit, I hauled out of the basement the box of old clothes that Kristina had left on the doorstep a few months earlier.Putting on faded jeans and a sage-colored sweater, I looked in the mirror and realized how long it had been since I looked in the mirror. I’m not wearing sexy jeans, loose jeans, and a sweater that’s not tight, but it’s been a long time since I’ve taken a fancy to a certain dress because I like a certain color, and it’s been a long time since I’ve worn clothes that reveal curves vaguely.Looking at the stranger in Christina's clothes in the mirror, I almost saw myself in the past for a moment, and I was so scared that I wanted to take off all my clothes.Fortunately, Emma was humming at my feet, eager to go for a walk, so I didn't change it.I don't care how she looks and she doesn't care what I wear.

During my disappearance, Emma lived at my mother's house. If I could decide, her house was definitely not my first choice, and Emma would definitely not go.I learned afterwards that Luke and a few friends of mine offered to take care of her, but my mother declined.I asked her why she adopted Emma, ​​and she said: Otherwise, what would I do with her?Can you imagine what gossip others will gossip about after sending her away? After I was free, the first time she saw me she was so emotional that she leaked urine even though she never had incontinence as a child and she was shaking so much I thought she was going to have a heart attack.I knelt down to hug her, she put her whole head into my arms, moaned for a long time, and said all her bitterness to me.She does have the right to complain.Among other things, Emma was tied to a maple tree in the backyard by my mother, and she had never been restrained in her life.Ma said she was digging around in the nursery.It's no wonder that she probably thought she was thrown into the dog hell and wanted to dig a tunnel to escape.

Judging by Emma's extra-long nails, she's been chained to a tree trunk for most of the past year.Her hair was clotted, and her bright eyes were dimmed.The cheapest kind of dog food I could find in a bag on the porch and it smelled musty. She used to sleep with me every night, and I would take her out for walks two, sometimes three times a day.She has eaten every brand of dog toys and dog treats.I don't put her to bed when it's too hot, so get her the softest dog bed possible.I also schedule my work hours with Emma in mind so she doesn't have to be alone for too long. I was blown away by how she was treated and wanted to talk to my mother, but I had just come home so I held back.If getting along with people is like crawling uphill on muddy ground, having a theory with mom is like crawling uphill with a heavy backpack on your back.What's more, where do I start scolding?You can't say: Hey, Mom, next time I'm kidnapped, my dog ​​won't belong to you.

After moving back to her own house, Emma liked to be outside, but after only two or three days, she remembered the good old days and was probably drooling on the cushions of the sofa now.Her hair returned to a shiny golden color, and her eyes became brighter.However, she is no longer the original her.On walks, she clings to me more than ever, and if she runs too far, she comes back to me every few minutes. I don't think my mom abused my dog ​​on purpose.If I accused her of cruelty to animals, she would be shocked.She hasn't hit Emma as far as I know and I guess she couldn't have done it either.However, for a year, she did not love Emma, ​​which was as painful as the physical damage as far as I was concerned.What Mom will never understand is that lack of love is also abuse.

After the baby died, I put all my energies into hating the pervert as a means of warding off the grief, and the pervert forced me to keep doing the housework as if the child had never been born. I lived the walking dead days for about a week, and one day near noon, he went outside chopping wood to prepare early for winter.I think it was near the end of July, but I can't be sure.Dates are meaningful when there is purpose in life.Sometimes I forget to mark the wall, and that's okay I know I've been kidnapped for almost a year, because when he opened the door, I could smell the heat of the earth and the warmth of the fir trees.I had the same breath the day I was kidnapped.

He went out chopping wood while I sewed buttons on his shirt.I kept peeking in the direction of the baby basket, only to see her blankets hanging neatly by the bed, and the needles didn't go through the clothes, but stuck into my fingers. After about 20 minutes, he went back to the room and said: I have a task to tell you. He had only asked me to help him once before, the day he disposed of the dead deer.He motioned for me to go out with him, and my legs became limp and uncontrollable.I held his shirt in one hand and the needle in the other, and kept my hands in mid-air, keeping my eyes on him.His face was covered with a thin layer of sweat!I couldn't tell if he was sweating with anger or tired, but there was no emotion in the tone of his speech.

Still procrastinating?The sun is almost setting.I followed him out and saw a pile of fir trunks. He turned his head and said: Listen carefully, after I chop the firewood, your task is to pick up the firewood and move it to the side to pile it up.He pointed to the half-house-high pile of timber next to the hut. Sometimes I'd be inside and he'd be outside and I'd hear the whirring of the chainsaw, but I couldn't see the freshly cut tree trunks at the edge of the clearing, or the trails of dragged trunks.There was a wheelbarrow next to the trunk where he was chopping wood, so I figured he must have gone to the forest to cut the tree first, and pushed back the big chunks of the trunk to wait for the smaller pieces of wood. The place where the tree trunks are stacked is only about three or four meters away from the wall where the firewood is stacked. I think it is more convenient to chop the firewood directly at the place where the trees are cut, or push the large tree trunks to the wall to split into small pieces and then stack them. .I think he just wants to show off, and his mentality is similar to the last time he asked me to help him dissect a wild deer. Since the baby died, I have had no chance to go out.I was holding the firewood to stack it, my eyes were busy searching for signs of the recent digging of the soil, but unfortunately I couldn't find it.I only had a quick glance in the direction of the river, and the memories of babies basking in a blanket overwhelmed me. We were busy for about an hour, and I carried a handful of logs to pile them up, and then came back and stood less than a meter behind him, waiting for him to finish swinging the axe, so that I could lean over and cut the firewood.He took off his shirt, his back glistening with sweat.He paused for a moment to catch his breath, his back to me, the ax slung over his shoulder. It must not distract us from the ultimate goal, he said.Nature has its own plan.What is he talking about?I also have my own plans.He held his ax aloft, the light reflecting off the edge of the axe.It's a good thing that we found out she was an underdog early on. I suddenly understood, and my frozen heart instantly shattered in my chest.He continued to chop wood, swung it down once, then gave a small hum, and used the gap between chopping wood to speak. The next one will be stronger. Next. It's not even six weeks, but you've recovered, so I'm going to get you pregnant early.We start tonight. I was dumbfounded, but there was a scream in my head.There will be endless children: never ending. He raised the ax to his head, ready to chop wood again, and the silver light of the ax flashed in the bright sun. Why don't you say anything, Annie? As soon as I finished speaking, the ax smashed into a piece of wood and got stuck, so I didn't have to answer.He stepped on the log, drew the ax, and rested it against the pile of logs to his right.He stepped on the unsplit piece with his foot, so that his body was slightly out of position with the axe, and then he bent down, trying to break the wood with his bare hands. I gently walked to his right side from behind, and his body turned to the left at this time.I can flick the sweat off his back with my hand.He groaned and tried hard to break the wood. Ouch! I paused for breath and watched him put his fingers in his mouth, trying to suck out the little splinters.If he turns around, I'll be face to face with him. He bent down again and continued to wrestle the half-open log.I stayed right behind him, facing the same direction as him, and watched his back intently, watching out for him turning around suddenly.My hand reaches for the axe.I run my hands over the warm, smooth wooden handle, still stained with his sweat, and hold it tight.I lifted it up and carried it on my shoulders, the weight of the ax felt heavy. He spoke with all his strength: There will be another one next spring. I hold the ax high. I yelled: Shut up, shut up, shut up!Simultaneously hacked at the back of his head. The ax made an extremely strange sound, and there was a wet tap. He remained in the stooped position for a few seconds, then dropped face-to-face, covering his hands and half-split wood.After a few twitches, he didn't move again. Trembling with anger, I bent over and cursed: Go eat shit, fucking stinky man! The forest is so quiet. Blood flowed down the side of his head, drawing a red streak in the blond hair, dripping, splashing, dripping on the dry ground, accumulating into a pool of blood, expanding rapidly, and then the dripping stopped. I waited for him to turn around and hit me, but as the minutes passed and my heart slowed, I managed to take a few deep breaths.I didn't split his head, the ax was only halfway into the skull, and the blond hair around the wound was bloody, and some of it seemed to have been chopped into the brain.A fly came, landed on the wound, circled around, and then two more. My feet were weak, and I walked backwards towards the cabin, wrapping my trembling hands around myself.What fascinates me is the sight of the ax with its handle turned upside down and its hair circled in red. Safely inside the hut, I peeled off my sweaty dress and jumped under the shower head, the water was so hot it almost burned my skin.Trembling violently, I sat down at the end of the tub, knees tucked in to my chin, hands clasped tightly around my legs to stop the twitching muscles.The water rushed over my drooping head like a fiery bath, and I shook my whole body, trying to understand what I had just done.My mind couldn't comprehend the fact that he was dead.How could a man like him be killed without silver bullets, crosses, and stakes going through his heart?What if he didn't die?You should have checked your pulse just now.What if he was walking back to the cottage?I shivered even though the hot water was pouring straight down. I slowly opened the bathroom door, expecting him to swoop in.Large clouds of steam drifted into the empty house.I slowly picked up the dress on the ground and put it on.Walk slowly towards the door of the hut.Slowly put your ear against the cool metal door.Quietly. I turned the doorknob to try it out, Qi Tao was not locked after entering the door just now.The doorknob moved.I only opened the door by two centimeters and peeked out. His body was in the middle of the open space, still maintaining the same posture, but the sun moved its position, and the shadow of the ax handle moved like a sundial. My legs are ready for battle, just in case, I can run away.I walked quietly behind him, stopping every two or three steps, widening my eyes and ears, paying attention to his movements.Finally walked to his side, his body was still pressing his hands, his posture was awkward, which also made him a size smaller. I held my breath and stretched my hand to his neck on the other side of the river of blood to check his pulse.he died. I backed away slowly, then sat down in the rocking chair on the porch, thinking about what to do next.With each creak of the chair, I repeat in my head, he is dead.he died.he died.he died.he died. On hot summer afternoons, the clearing has a rustic feel to it.After the heavy spring rains had passed, the sound of the river softened into a soft murmur, occasionally interspersed with the twittering of robins, swallows, or blue-backed kennels.The only sign of someone dying was a swarm of flies, which grew in numbers and covered the wounds and pools of blood.His words entered my reverie leisurely: Nature has a plan. I was free, but I couldn't feel the atmosphere of freedom.As long as I can see him, he still exists in this world.I must find a way to dispose of his body.What should I do? I'd love to just start a fire and burn this son of a bitch down, but I figured it's summer and the clearing is dry, and it wouldn't be good to start a forest fire.Dig a pit to bury?The soil here is so dry and hard that digging is almost impossible.But I can't just leave him there.Even though I've verified that he's showing no signs of life, my head refuses to accept the fact that he can no longer be used against me. Don't have a studio?I can lock him in. I walked back to his burial place, opened him a little, put him on his side, and reached into his front pocket for the keys.I bit the key ring between my teeth, held his ankles, and found that his skin was still warm, so I immediately let go.How long does it take to get cold after death?I have no idea.He lay on his stomach under the sun, and his body temperature should be maintained for a while.I was horrified to check his pulse again. I held his ankle again, pretending that he had no body temperature, and tried to drag him back, but I could only drag him away from the piece of wood he was pressing on.As soon as his body touched the ground, the ax embedded in his skull shook.Stomach acid rushed up, I swallowed it hard, turned my back to him, and tried to see if I could move it.I only pulled thirty centimeters and had to stop to catch my breath.The dress was soaked and sweat dripped into my eyes.Although the studio is not far away, I feel far away on the other side of the open space.I looked around for an alternative and saw a wheelbarrow. I pushed the wheelbarrow over and crouched, ready to bear the sensation of skin to skin with him.I avoided the direction of the axe, grabbed his arm, and finally pulled out the hands that were under my body.Still not looking at the axe, I grabbed his armpit and used his heel as a fulcrum, trying to use my whole body weight to prop him up, but I only moved a few centimeters.I straddled him directly above him, trying to hug him up from his waist, but my strength was only enough to lift him thirty centimeters, and my hands began to tremble due to excessive force.It wouldn't work unless he came back to life and climbed into the wheelbarrow himself. Think again.If I can find something to lay under him, I might drag him into the workshop.The rug under the bed was not flat enough.The firewood is supposed to be covered with a tarp to keep out rain and snow, but I can't find a tarp nearby.It stands to reason that there must be tarpaulins, perhaps placed in the studio. His bunch of painting keys is quite big. I tried five keys and finally opened the big lock.My hands were shaking, like a thief breaking into an empty door for the first time, and it took a lot of effort to succeed. I kind of expected to see the deer still hanging from the ceiling, but I couldn't see any dead deer anywhere.I found a folded light colored tarp on the shelf above the freezer.Holding him close to his body, I opened the tarp and thought about how to turn him on his back because he had an ax stuck in his head. Damn it, the ax must be pulled out. I held the handle of the ax with both hands, closed my eyes and pulled it, but the ax didn't move like a mountain.I push a little harder, and the feeling of flesh and blood clinging to the ax makes me nauseous.We can only make a quick decision.I stepped on the place where his neck connects to his chest, closed my eyelids, took a big breath, and twisted the ax out.I dropped the ax and bent over retching. When the nausea stopped, I knelt on the other side of the pool of blood and rolled him onto the tarp.He shifted to a supine position, blank blue eyes gazing up at the sky, his head drawing a blood-red arc across the orange tarp.His face had lost all color, and his mouth could not be closed. I quickly reached out and closed his eyelids not out of respect for the dead, but because I recalled the days when I was forced to look into the eyes.All right, bear with it for a few more seconds, and when I get rid of him, I won't have to look at those eyes again. With my back to him, I grabbed the edge of the tarp and leaned forward like a ox pulling a cart with a disgusting load behind me.I pulled him all the way to the studio.The threshold was a problem because the corpses on the tarp kept pushing the threshold.I had to pull back a little, push him towards the middle of the tarp, and fold the tarp in half like a napkin.I took hold of the fold and twisted and pushed and tugged and pulled until I got him into the studio.In a hurry, he dropped his hand and touched my knee.I dropped the tarp and jumped back, hitting my head against a post and screaming in pain, but I couldn't care less, I just wanted to get this done. I tucked his hands back into the tarp, around his body and to the other side to secure.I found elastic ropes, bound his feet and upper body tightly, and mummified him, yelling to myself: He can never hurt me again.But every cell in my body doesn't believe it. My mouth was dry, my body was drenched, I had a headache, and my whole body was sore from overwork. When I left, I did not forget to lock the studio and went back to the hut to find water.After quenching my thirst, I lay on the bed holding the key and looked at the pocket watch on the key ring.It was five o'clock, and for the first time in nearly a year, I checked the time myself. At first I couldn't move my mind, I just listened to the ticking of the second hand, and it didn't occur until the headache subsided that I was free.Fuck, I'm really free.But why don't I feel free?I killed a man.I am a murderer.I am no different from him. All I got rid of was one body. I thought holding a press conference would be the end of it all. I thought that from then on, reporters would no longer harass me with phone calls, and would no longer ambush outside my mother's container house.After regaining freedom, during the first few press conferences, there was a bald man in the auditorium holding up the Bible and shouting slogans: The Bible says: You shall not kill.You will go to hell.Thou shalt not kill.You will go to hell.The crowd screamed in unison, and he was dragged away by other people, and then everyone turned their heads to look at me.Camera flashes go up and down, and someone sticks a microphone in front of me. How did you respond to his words, Anne? I was looking at the crowd, looking at the back of the bald man, hearing him still yelling, and I thought, I'm already in hell, goddamn it. Doctor, I sometimes wish I could discuss guilt, remorse, and shame with my mother, but I never had the chance.I am best at shouldering all the mistakes on my shoulders, and my mother is best at avoiding responsibility.So after fighting with her on the phone, I have yet to speak to her, and she has not reached out to me herself.I wasn't surprised, but I thought stepfather Wayne would be calling. Damn, I've been so lonely lately, maybe I'll follow your advice and experiment with your method of confronting fear head-on.However, I still feel that I am in danger, and I feel stupid when I think about it.The pervert is dead.I'm too safe to say anything.Well, now please pass this on to my intellect.