My lover suffers from delusional disorder. He imagines me as his enemy, his nemesis, the person he hates the most. Day after day, I play along with his delusion. Until one day, I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. When I returned home, the room was dark. I put down my bag, took off my shoes, and slowly felt my way along the wall. The moment I touched the switch, a plate flew towards me. I tilted my head and dodged it. The lights came on. The man standing on the stairs looked at me expressionlessly. “So you remember to come back.” “…” I smiled and walked towards him. I reached out and hugged him. “Can you stop acting like a resentful housewife, Lucas?” He had a faint floral scent, the one I had chosen. I thought it might neutralize the coldness he emitted. But it didn’t. His eyes still looked at me with disgust.
The crystal chandelier scattered fine light. But the living room, though lit, was unusually cold, and the man sitting beside me had no warmth at all. I placed the tablet on my knees, showing him page after page. “Look, for our wedding, how about I wear this?” “This skirt design is mermaid style.” “It’s so beautiful, like light flowing over it.” “I also really like this one, the veil has a star design, just like the one you took me to see-” A sneer interrupted my words. He looked up, his dark eyes staring straight at me. “Do we have a past?” I wanted to tell the man in front of me that we did, we had many, many good memories. But the person in front of me always saw me as a heinous villain. He turned my chin and kissed the corner of my lips. His cool voice carried a hint of wanton allure, elegant yet dark with desire. “Be good, give me the medicine.”
The reason Lucas listens to me so obediently is because I have something he desperately craves. If he had looked through the internal reports from the bureau a few years ago, he would have found his name in the columns for drug enforcement commendation and injuries in the line of duty. Lucas became addicted to drugs during his undercover period. And after ending his undercover career, he developed paranoid personality disorder. In other words, delusional disorder. He categorized almost everyone around him as enemies, including me. Including me, whom he once said he loved the most and would protect with his life. The once gentle person was long gone, dragged into a hell of no return, looking at me with eyes as cold as a thousand-year-old cave. The bedroom light was dim. I grabbed his collar, and though I had him pinned beneath me, his gaze remained calm. Though addicted to drugs, he remained as pure as a high and mighty god. Even a slight curl of his lips was pleasing to the eye. I leaned down to kiss him, but with a deft move, he flipped me underneath him. He felt around in the pocket on my chest for a while, found the syringe. Skillfully, he injected it into his right arm. … This syringe, to him, was like a drug. In fact, it wasn’t. It was a mental medication containing sedatives, specially formulated for him. Quitting drugs can’t be done overnight; the dosage needs to be gradually reduced. I suddenly understood why he hated me so much. Because in his eyes, I wasn’t his closest lover. I was someone who got him addicted to drugs, and then hypocritically dangled a bit of drugs in front of him every day… Just a bad person…
I had a dream. I dreamed of several years ago, when Lucas was still undercover. One Christmas Eve, I went to see him. We passed through the crowds, but could only see each other from behind the cover of newspapers. He had his hands in his pockets, leaning against the railing as if boneless. Lucas was handsome; even a slight curl of his lips was both cool and bad, attracting glances from the girls nearby. Right in front of me, he whistled at those two girls. I kicked his foot. He yelped, then called to me in a low voice. “Babe, I have to play the part fully, you know.” He had already started to take on the air of the underworld, but his eyes remained clear. As the sound of Christmas carols drifted by, he tilted his head back, his words tinged with teasing. “Three years, then another three years, then another three years.” That was a line from the movie “Infernal Affairs”, our favorite cop and gangster film. He turned his head, our eyes meeting through the reflection in the glass. “When will I be able to marry you?” … I put down the newspaper and brushed past him. “When the mission is over, I’ll be waiting for you to marry me.” … The mission was over, but I didn’t get to wait for him to marry me. The next morning when I woke up, the space beside me was empty, no one there. Of course, I knew he hated me and didn’t want to stay in the same bed with me. But when I went downstairs and couldn’t find him anywhere, I panicked. I searched every corner of the house, but couldn’t find him. I called my friends, my hand shaking as I held the phone. But he was nowhere to be found. I hugged my head and crouched down. Lately, I often got headaches when I thought too hard about things. The increasingly throbbing head made my vision swim, but the anxiety of not finding him was the real torture. I frantically typed out messages, even thinking of asking my former colleagues at the bureau to help me search. My wildly beating heart grew hotter and hotter, until a pair of white shoes appeared in front of me. “What are you doing?” A steady voice, still cold and indifferent. Lucas wasn’t Lucas anymore, yet Lucas was still Lucas. But the man standing before me with an indifferent expression could no longer be reconciled with the boy in my memories. I stood up and hugged him. I don’t know why, but I really liked hugging him. It was as if I could leave my warmth on his body this way, even though he never hugged me back. “I thought you left, Lucas.” He stepped back, subtly pushing me away. “I just went to water the flowers.” “…” I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll cook…” “Stop pretending. You don’t even let me go out.” He cut me off, picked up a book from the dining table, and went upstairs. I didn’t let Lucas go out because I was afraid he might be targeted by remnants of the drug organization he had infiltrated. But the more I did this, the more he became like a white dove trapped in a cage. The more he hated me.
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