23
I remember that Cary wasn't good at studying and often skipped classes to play, so he asked me to do his homework.
I was living at his house, already feeling inferior, so I started out writing his homework without complaint. But I was still a child, and I got tired, one time I refused him.
Cary got very angry and tore up my homework.
When my uncle found out, he punished Cary by locking him up and not allowing him to eat.
I didn't expect Cary to be punished so severely. Knowing how awful it feels to be hungry, I got up in the middle of the night, sneaked out of my room, and brought him some bread and fruit I had secretly saved from dinner.
Then I heard a door open.
The sound came from the direction of my uncle and aunt's bedroom, and they started talking.
"What are you doing?" It was my uncle's voice.
"Bringing food to my son!" My aunt's voice was low but filled with anger. "How could you? He's only twelve and still growing, and you refuse to let him eat dinner? Are you even his real father?"
There was dim light in the hallway, and I gripped the food in my hand, hiding myself in the shadows of the corner.
"But Cary was clearly in the wrong today..."
"I think you love that girl more than your own son!"
They started to shove each other. Their shadows moved on the carpet.
Finally, I heard my uncle say, "I killed his father and got all the family property. So what if I treat her a little better?"
Then the bedroom door closed.
I was thirteen that year.
Later, I asked my mother to confirm what I had heard. She said that the night my father had his accident, he was supposed to come home early, but instead, he detoured to the company, saying he had something to do.
He didn't specify what it was over the phone, and then he had the accident.
The police ruled out foul play, saying it was just brake failure.
Thirteen-year-old me stayed in that corner for a long time. I couldn't believe what I had heard.
It wasn't until nearly dawn that I realized people would soon be waking up, so I returned to my room.
I thought for a long time about what I could do.
I had no evidence, no recording. All I had was a sick mother and myself, still in middle school.
So, I kept smiling and ate at the same table as the murderer.
My aunt's attitude towards me worsened year by year, and my uncle's initial guilt towards me faded as well—everyone moved on, but I couldn't.
I knew that Cary was their only hope and weakness.
Even as Cary grew up, he still didn't like studying and was easily drawn to anything unrelated to it, like online games, alcohol, and girls. But with a little discipline from his parents, he could have grown into a bright young man.
I took Cary to a bar.
I ate some candy made of starch, saying it was drugs. He was curious and wanted to try, so I gave him the real drugs.
When I tell Lincoln this story through the door, I feel very calm.
But the door eventually has to be opened.
Lincoln walks in and turns on the light. "When it gets dark, you should turn on the light, otherwise, what did Edison invent the lightbulb for?" As he speaks, the room suddenly lights up.
My eyes aren't used to the brightness, and I squint slightly.
"Why are you packing your luggage?" He stares at the suitcase on the floor, his tone suddenly rising, "Going back to the old mansion?"
"My brother still seems to have some feelings for you. I haven't told you this, but these days, he's come by several times, saying he's on a business trip, but he just wants to see you. I know him too damn well."
"But you chose me, so you can't change your mind anymore."
Lincoln's arm suddenly reaches around me from behind. He pulls me into his embrace; his chest is warm.
It takes me a long time to come back to my senses. "Are we... not getting a divorce?"
Wouldn't any man feel scared discovering that the wife he shares a bed with every night has spent seven years plotting revenge?
Lincoln carries me to the bed, wraps me in a blanket, and gently wipes my swollen eyelids with his thumb.
"Did you pry open his mouth and pour the drugs into him?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"You only let him try it once, but after he went to the U.S., he got worse. Was it you who pushed him?" he asks.
I shake my head again.
"Do your uncle and aunt know he's using drugs?"
I shake my head.
After Cary went to the U.S., he used all sorts of excuses not to go home, always saying he was busy with school. They were pleased.
Lincoln chuckles softly. "So what does this have to do with you? You just understood human weakness and used it against him."
"Honestly, if I were you, Ali, I'd have done things much more terrifying than what you did. They killed your father, forced you to marry by using your mother as leverage, and then pretended to be saints, claiming they raised you. If it were me, none of those bastards would still be alive."
The quiet room is filled with light.
"But I won't go to heaven," I say softly after a long pause.
"Then let's trade a little secret, Ali," Lincoln says, gently stroking my back.
"I've told you how bad my brother was, how he pushed my mom down the stairs, causing my premature birth, and how he took pleasure in hiting me when I was young."
The light casts long shadows from his eyelashes, making him look innocent, like a baby.
"Yes, I remember."
He smiles. "But did you think I'm a good person?"
"Take my brother's accident for example.
He was fighting over shares with other shareholders at the company, and one of them got so angry that they tampered with his car.
I thought, since you refused to divorce him, if he died, you'd be mine.
So, I let it happen. That shareholder just didn't plan it well—my brother survived and ended up falling for you. "
Lincoln shrugs. "Most of the time, I don't regret what I did, but when I see how he looks at you now, I do feel a bit of regret."
"So, if you're going to hell, I'll go with you. We'll fall together."
"In this life, we'll never be apart, not even in death."
The room returns to silence, and we stop talking. Lincoln strokes my hair, and our bodies are pressed close together. We've never been this close before.
It's the first time he's met the real, unfamiliar me.
Lincoln entered my world playing the role of a savior, bestowing infinite kindness from above.
So, I was assumed to be the pure lamb waiting to be saved.
I start to cry.
"I have a question," Lincoln says, looking at me.
"What?" My voice is choked.
"In the future, if I treat you badly—if I change my heart—will you hurt me?" Lincoln asks.
I wipe my nose on him, clutching his shirt and sobbing, "Are you afraid of me now?"
"They hurt me first... I was just fighting back..." I begin to cry loudly. "Are you going to hurt me too?"
I cry harder and harder.
Lincoln wipes my tears. As I keep crying, he keeps wiping my tears.
"Baby, you should say yes."
Lincoln pulls me onto his lap, placing my hand over his left chest. "If I ever treat you badly, you should put a knife right here. Understand?"
He kisses my lips.
This night, we don't make love; we just kiss, like two animals huddled together for warmth.
Lincoln says "I love you" about a thousand times.