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On my birthday, Lucas called me many times.
I watched the phone screen light up, then go dark.
In the end, I picked up.
“Why did it take you so long to answer?” His voice was a bit noisy on the other end.
“I was asleep,” I said softly.
“Did you eat cake?” he asked.
I nodded, “I did.”
“Did Mom and Dad celebrate with you?”
How could I let Aunt and Uncle see me in my current state?
So I lied to them, saying I went traveling, wanting to see another side of the world, and wouldn’t be back for a long time.
“No,” I said with a smile. “I celebrated with friends.”
He was silent for a second. “Ryan?”
He was indeed the closest friend I’d stayed in touch with all these years.
“Yeah, he bought the cake. Annoyingly, he got one a year older. He even tried to convince me that I’m mature for my age, so one year older is fine. He’s so annoying.”
In reality, I hadn’t seen him in quite a while.
Lucas made a sound of acknowledgment.
“I’ve been having stomach pains lately, and my heart hurts too. It hurts so much I roll around on the floor,” I wanted to act coquettish, but my voice was hoarse, so the effect wasn’t great. “Can you come back soon? I want to see you.”
Have you heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?
Before, when Lucas was going on a business trip with Zoe, I wanted to go too. Lucas wouldn’t agree, so I threatened suicide. The night before they left, I sent a message saying if he didn’t take me, I would end my life.
I was just saying it out of anger, I didn’t think he would really believe it.
Lucas rushed over in a hurry. I was sitting cross–legged on the floor, holding an unsharpened dinner knife to my wrist.
His initially anxious expression immediately turned cold.
After that, whenever I said I was unwell, Lucas would become very impatient.
The more I begged him to come back quickly, the less likely he was to return.
I knew this well.
Sure enough, he coldly said to wait until work was finished, then hung up the phone.
How to put it… Making him like me wasn’t easy. I tried for twenty years without success.
But I knew exactly how to make him hate me.
This way, when he hears news of my death, maybe he’ll be a little less sad.
If he would be sad for me at all.
