Infinite Tribulation (Part 2)
"Why did you betray me!" I roared.
"Betray?" She gave a cold, barely perceptible laugh. "What's there to betray? You've got no money, your family's ordinary. Look at this rental—like a damn slum. Is it even ten square meters? Shawn's father is a government official—the family owns seven or eight apartments. Shawn says if I go with him, he'll get me a Beijing hukou the moment I graduate, and even arrange a job."
"Cassie, you..." My heart was shredded. "What about everything you told me? No matter if I was rich or poor, whether I had money or not, you'd never look down on me, you'd always stay with me!"
"Hahaha—that was just talk, and you took it seriously? Are you three years old? Let me ask you: every month I need to buy cosmetics, clothes, bags—can you afford that? If you can't meet even these most basic requirements, don't expect me to be faithful to you."
"So you hooked up with that bastard Shawn?" The hand gripping the scissors was white at the knuckles, trembling faintly.
"That's right, I hooked up with him. I came on to him first—so what?" She glanced at me. "You want to stab me?"
"Bitch!" I lunged onto the bed, the scissors pressed against her throat. Cassie's face flushed crimson as she shrieked, "That's right, I'm a bitch! A bitch is still better than a broke loser! Come on, stab me! If you've got the guts, stab me to death!"
Furious beyond reason, I pressed the scissors hard against her neck. She was still screaming madly, the red mole on her throat rising and falling with her ragged breaths. The taste of betrayal filled me with despair—despair so total that all hope was extinguished...
I let out a roar and drove the scissors into my own throat.
There was a wet "puh," and blood spurted from my artery, spraying all over her face.
3
"Ahh!" I screamed, my legs giving way, and my eyes flew open.
"You're awake?" Across from me sat a woman in a white lab coat, studying me intently. Her skin was very fair, her neck slender, graced with a tiny red mole.
I remembered—everything came rushing back. She was Dr. West, my psychiatrist. I came here three times a week, each session lasting an hour and a half.
"Did you see everything?"
"Yes, I saw it," I murmured. "I saw my master... and I saw my girlfriend..."
"It seems the hypnotherapy is working." Dr. West nodded. "Now you understand the root of your condition, don't you?"
"Root? What root?"
"You suffer from severe delusional disorder—so advanced it's reached the level of personality dissociation. Through the hypnosis I just performed, I've become even more certain of the diagnosis." Dr. West flipped through my medical file as she spoke. "You were raised by adoptive parents. Perhaps because you lacked a mother's love from an early age, over time your subconscious created another personality to substitute for the maternal role. Whether it's your 'Master' or your 'Girlfriend,' they're both projections of your yearning for a mother's love. But deep in your consciousness, you also resented your mother for abandoning you as a child, so the personalities you fantasized always ended by betraying you. That is your core conflict."
I let out a long breath, feeling an unaccountable relaxation wash over me. But then something else occurred to me. "Why do the figures I saw in my dream look exactly like you?"
"That's not surprising. A hypnotized person incorporates the last image they see into the hypnotic scenario. I was the one conducting your hypnosis—you saw me just before falling asleep, so naturally my appearance carried into your dream."
"I see." I shook my heavy head. "Dr. West, thank you for the trouble."
"Don't mention it—it's my job. Mr. Eldric, I must warn you: your delusional disorder is getting worse. Treatment must begin immediately, or you'll eventually suffer a complete psychotic break." Dr. West took out a medicine bottle and shook two red capsules into her palm. "This is the latest formulation from Factory Six—diacid piperidinol. It's a neuro-inhibitory drug. By destroying redundant synaptic connections, it effectively suppresses abnormal cortical discharge—in other words, it can chemically eliminate the alternate personality your brain has conjured."
I took the two red capsules and examined them closely in my palm. The coating was very red, glistening and vivid, just like the red mole at her throat. I thought for a moment, then handed the capsules back. "Dr. West, I can't take this medicine."
"Why?" She stared at me.
"Because..." I thought about it and didn't know how to answer. Perhaps, for someone who had always been lonely, I wasn't ready to lose the companionship of that other personality.
"Anyway, I don't think this medicine is right for me. That's it—today's session ends here. See you tomorrow."
"You can't leave!" Dr. West rose abruptly, blocking my path. "Your delusional disorder is severe—if you don't take the medication promptly, there will be dangerous consequences! Providing thorough treatment is my duty as a physician!"
I laughed. "Since when do doctors force patients to take pills? Come on."
"Who's joking with you!" Dr. West clapped twice, and two burly male nurses rushed in through the back door. They seized my arms from either side and forced me down into the treatment chair. A powerful hand gripped my jaw, tilting my face toward the ceiling. I mumbled incoherently, "You... what are you trying to do..."
Dr. West walked slowly toward me. In my field of vision, her face had turned utterly cold—like a butcher preparing to castrate a boar. She pinched the two capsules and brought them to my lips. "Take them. Take the medicine, and your illness will be cured."
"I won't!" I clenched my teeth with all my might, squeezing the words through the gaps.
The male nurse's grip on my jaw tightened. My masseter muscles suddenly gave way in exhaustion, and my mouth opened involuntarily. Dr. West gave a cold smile and popped the two capsules into my mouth.
"Gulp." The capsules slid down my throat into my esophagus. A wave of nausea hit me, my head splitting with pain, as though ten thousand steel needles had been driven into my skull.