When he called me for dinner, I was just in the living room watching a movie.
At the climax of the scene, the male and female leads were in a passionate embrace when Arthur turned it off.
"Let's eat."
"I don't want to."
I pouted, "I don't want to eat food that's been made after you unclogged the toilet."
Completely unreasonable. Very willful.
I thought Arthur would be angry, but he wasn't. He simply glanced at his palm in helplessness and said:
"I'll go take a shower, then make you something new. Wait for me."
My eyes narrowed. This felt off.
That strange feeling came back again... He was trying to calm me down, like he was soothing a petulant child, unconditionally fulfilling my every whim.
Spoiling me, carefully trying to make me happy. Why was he doing this?
I pondered, and then saw an apple on the table. I picked up a knife to peel it. The moment the handle touched my palm, I heard Arthur shout:
"What are you doing!"
I froze. The knife slipped and sliced my fingertip, blood pouring out.
Arthur rushed over, grabbed the knife away, and tossed it far. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, his face pale like a corpse.
He took my injured hand and trembled as he wiped the blood away with a tissue...
"You think I'm trying to kill myself with a knife?"
Looking at him in his panicked state, I couldn't help but wonder: "Arthur, are you afraid that I'll die?"
Afraid of me being unhappy, afraid of me using a knife... Was it all because he was afraid I would take my own life?
---
"Why do you think I would want to kill myself?" I asked him, puzzled.
Though I did have some psychological issues, it wasn't to the extent that I'd want to end my life. I was still trying to live well.
Arthur looked at me deeply:
"Your parents told me, they said your mental state wasn't right, and asked me to keep an eye on you."
I froze for a moment, then smiled.
"They told you that? How strange."
Back in university, my counselor had reminded them to pay attention to my mental health. My mom, at the time, was playing cards and nonchalantly said:
"She's just pretending, don't mind her. A good smack will fix her."
"How could she be having psychological issues when she eats and drinks just fine? She's just being dramatic, unlike Arthur, who doesn't have these issues..."
At that moment, I was sitting directly across from my counselor.
Hearing that voice leak from my phone, I smiled awkwardly at the embarrassed her:
"It's okay, Miss. I'm used to it."
I had long stopped expecting anything from them.
Thinking about this now was honestly a little funny.
"I'm fine," I said, patting Arthur's shoulder.
"I don't think I'll kill myself. You don't need to worry about me."
Death is the most powerless form of rebellion.
They're the ones who are wrong, yet I would be the one to die. How irrational...
If one day I really reached a point where I couldn't bear the pain anymore, I'd make sure everyone who pushed me to that point went to hell with me.
"But still, thank you," I said softly.
"Arthur, I never expected that the first person to genuinely care about my mental state, from childhood to now, would be you."
---
"Don't hate me anymore?"
"What?"
"Since you're thanking me, that means you don't hate me, right?"
"...It's not the same."
Arthur smiled lightly, as if it didn't matter to him. I cleared my throat and changed the topic:
"So, when you were being so compliant earlier, agreeing to everything I said without objection, was it because you were worried about my mental state?"
"No," he shook his head.
"I just want you to feel better."
After dressing my wound, he lifted his head to look at me:
"By putting me under your foot, by tormenting me, doesn't it make you feel better inside?"
"You say I'm an idol in your parents' eyes, and now you've trampled me underfoot, isn't that like denying your parents? Doesn't it feel good?"
