ill-fated relationship

A Twisted Fate

An Ting is causing trouble again.

But I've made up my mind to ignore her completely.

Let her make a scene if she wants.

I refuse to believe she's really willing to die.

She used to be like this too, always threatening suicide, crying and wailing until I had a mental breakdown. Her dramatic suicide attempts, such as taking ten or eight sleeping pills, cutting her wrist, turning on the gas with the window closed... of course, she never died.

At first, I wouldn't let her die, and later, she herself wouldn't actually let herself die. However, she kept using suicide as a threat to blackmail me, and while she wasn't tired of it, I was.

Not only do I dislike it, I absolutely hate it.

This was truly a fatal flaw in our relationship, yet it wasn't the catalyst for our breakup. I am by no means a fickle, easily tempted man. Although my love for An Ting had gradually faded and disappeared, all that remained was a sense of responsibility—it was this damn sense of responsibility that made me endure, endure, endure, endure and continue living with her.

When I started seeing An Ting, I did have the desire and impulse to marry her.

I loved her back then.

Oh no, to put it more accurately, I love her very, very much.

I love her so much that I obey her every word, and I treat her words as sacred decrees; if she frowns, I panic; if she gives an order, I will risk my life; if she smiles, I will be shattered to pieces.

I love An Ting so much that I'd give my life for her.

She almost killed me too.

But that happened later.

Let me go back to the time when I first met her: I worked as an accountant in an accounting firm, my office was on the second floor, and there was a bakery downstairs. An Ting worked as a cashier there. I've never liked cookies and cakes, so for the entire six months that the bakery downstairs had been open, I hadn't been inside even once, and thus missed the opportunity to meet An Ting. Until one day, my sister, who lived in the First Garden, called my office and invited me to her house for dinner after get off work, saying it was to celebrate her nephew's third birthday. I agreed, and when I got off work, I planned to buy a toy or something as a gift. When I came downstairs, I realized it was pouring rain, so I stood in front of the bakery to take shelter. Seeing all sorts of exquisite cakes displayed in the window, I had a sudden thought, so I pushed open the bakery door. Before I even smelled the rich aroma of the cakes, I saw a pretty face standing at the cash register.

That night at my sister's house, I felt lost and absent-minded. Restless, I stared blankly at the birthday cake I'd given to my nephew, my mind filled with the image of her shapely hands as she took the money—a soft, beautiful sight. At twenty-five, this was the first time in my life I'd ever experienced insomnia. She had me completely disoriented, my soul adrift.

The next day, I launched my pursuit.

A bouquet of red roses a day, twelve roses in total. Because twelve roses represent love.

I sent her roses for a full six months, until Anting signaled me to stop, saying it would be better to save the money for her spending money instead. My rose offensive finally ended. Of course, on the ninth day after I started sending flowers, Anting went on a date. For our first date, I took her to the revolving restaurant at the Federal Hotel for Western food. Afterwards, I took her home. As she said goodbye and turned to go inside, I pulled her back, embraced her, and kissed her in the fragrant night. After three months of dating like this, Anting was mine; she gave me her virginity. That night, I buried my face in her shoulder, gently rubbing my cheek, filled with endless tenderness. I proposed to her; she didn't refuse, but she didn't accept either. However, she suggested we live together for a while. We had both been renting, so since we were going to live together, I simply took out a sum of savings, paid the down payment, and then took out a bank loan to buy two apartments in the First Garden where my sister lived. After renovating them, we began living together.

We lived together for three whole years.

The first year was like being in paradise.

---janeadam

Reply [2]: The next two years, sigh...

I spoiled her.

So when things don't go her way, she throws a tantrum.

When she gets angry, it's unbelievable. Smashing cosmetics and breaking mirrors are child's play; the most terrifying thing is when she threatens suicide. Often, for the tiniest of things, she'll threaten me with death.

For example, one time, I promised to take her to see a 7:30 movie in the evening when I left home in the morning, but because of the unexpected overtime at the accounting firm, I didn't get home until 1 a.m. As soon as I stepped into the house, I was terrified. I saw her crying and preparing to cut her wrist with my razor. If I had been a minute later, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

That time, I was extremely careful and even added a pearl ring before she stopped crying and started smiling.

Another time, my nephew came over to play and accidentally broke one of her perfume bottles. Without saying a word, she slapped me twice. I was furious and said a few words to her, then immediately locked myself in the shower room and remained silent for a long time. I panicked, broke down the door, and found her had drunk half a cup of soapy water; she ended up having to have her stomach pumped. After that, I never dared to say a bad word about her again.

Another time, I went to the bakery to pick her up after work as usual, but the people there said she had left early. She didn't come back until after midnight that night, leaving me exhausted, angry, and hungry. I suppressed my anger and just said to her in a half-joking tone, "Where did you go? Smuggling things?"

Her reaction was to turn bright red, yell, grab a fruit knife from the table, and stab it towards her chest: "You don't believe me? I'll kill myself!"

Terrified, I cried out, "I believe you! I believe you!" Only then did she put down the knife, looking at me coldly with a sinister smile.

An Ting's suicide attempt, which she did every three to five days, initially terrified me. But as time went on, I became numb to it. On the surface, I still coaxed her, but deep down I had long seen through her tricks.

To be honest, those two years of living together were incredibly frustrating for me, but she kept putting on her dramatic suicide attempts. Sometimes, just facing her made me feel uneasy, so I'd grab a newspaper and sneak into the bathroom to escape. Yes, only during those times sitting on the toilet rea

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