Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 66

I didn’t know how many days had passed.

There was no day or night in this place.

The only thing that existed here was a girl.

There was no such thing as death here.

Even as I writhed in hunger, thinking it might be better to die, I tried to let myself wither away. 

But when the treacherous mercy falling from the sky came down, I cursed it, stuck out my tongue, and caught the water.

There was almost nothing unpleasant about this place.

If I had to choose the most unpleasant thing, it would be the fact that the girl named Erica wasn’t a cruel person, not even close. 

She wasn’t someone harboring resentment against the world, nor was she anything like the pitiful Lydia, a bug who self-gratified by crushing the heads of worthless creatures like herself.

The Erica I had imagined—cruel, cold, and capable of blowing someone’s head off with a bullet at any moment—was nothing like this. 

She wasn’t even remotely extraordinary. She was awkward, insect-like, and no different from Lydia—a wretched, incomplete creature.

She wasn’t even vile enough to be a villain, nor ruthless enough to be an assassin, and certainly not virtuous or good-hearted. It felt apt to call her a useless insect-like being, an unfinished fetus at best.

In this small room, I turned back the clock, wallowing in my futile sense of superiority. 

I told myself that being different from others was enough, that wise and clever people achieve nothing, and that only the foolish, those blessed by the divine, could accomplish anything. It was ridiculous, pointless thinking.

Looking back, I couldn’t even call myself a bug.

At least bugs could eat whenever they wanted, spread filth, and cling to others as they pleased. 

But I couldn’t even do that. I was nothing but a starving creature trapped in a corner.

Even as water trickled into my nose, unable to speak because my mouth was sealed, I couldn’t stop the grotesque joy that filled me.

It felt like three weeks had passed.

Or maybe three days.

It could have been a month.

Or perhaps just one day.

The ambiguity of not knowing the time, combined with hunger, exhaustion, and the pain of broken bones, was enough to render my mind confused and vulnerable.

In those moments, I imagined tearing the Crown Prince apart, cursed Evan for not saving me, burned Vivian in my mind, and dismembered Lydia over and over.

The more I imagined it, the more the anguish in my body transformed into a sweet, self-inflicted torment laced with shame.

And so, this white, fluffy place that offered just enough moisture to sustain me brought me an unbearable kind of pleasure.

Some might argue that I was nothing more than a degenerate lunatic, grinning foolishly as I let my imagination run wild. But I would argue otherwise: this was pure joy.

There was no one here to disagree with me, so I could only conclude that I was right.

Of course, I knew better than anyone that this was absurd nonsense. 

But in this space, I was the only one who could make decisions and accept them.

It was just me. Only me. Only me.

Damn it, I was alone.

If I said something, it became law. If I accepted something, it became universally accepted.

Since I was effectively the entirety of this space, my sense of self-importance might as well have pierced the heavens.

Like a disabled person missing all their limbs or a war-traumatized patient trembling at the sound of a loud noise… They had nothing, but they clung to their experiences with pride, as though they were fools filled with self-importance.

Let me out.

I said, let me out.

I’m suffering.

Anyone. Please, just get me out of here.

I crawled across the floor on my belly, dragging myself toward where the door used to open, banging my head against it over and over.

The door wouldn’t open.

Knocking was supposed to be a signal for opening a door.

Perhaps another day had passed.

The room was filthy.

No, I wasn’t filthy, so the things that came from my body couldn’t be filthy.

So, the room wasn’t filthy.

But why did I want to escape so badly?

Humans are mortal creatures.

Maybe that’s why.

Even if it meant annihilation, I wanted to resist until the end.

Even if what awaited us was emptiness, it didn’t mean everything would return to its rightful place.

Rebellion was life’s true movement; to live without giving up was to affirm the necessity of rebellion. Did I have to accept even that?

Even in this wretched state, writhing and catching water with my nose as it dripped from above, coughing but unable to due to my sealed mouth, I had to accept it and rebel endlessly.

Damn romanticists who gorge on snails could talk prettily all they wanted.

At least they hadn’t been trapped in a room, unsure how much time had passed, surviving days by gulping down water through their nose.

Thinking that, I laughed at how pathetic they seemed.

But the thing stuck in my mouth—whether a ball or something else—made it hard even to smile.

I slammed my head against the floor repeatedly.

It was so soft that all I felt was a cozy sensation.

Even though I had done this many times before, I was disappointed and despairing all over again.

I twisted my body.

Having been beaten so thoroughly, there wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t in pain. I couldn’t move properly.

I tried screaming.

My mouth was blocked.

Even though my mouth was open, my jaw lacked strength. My tongue, pressed down, couldn’t move, leaving me utterly helpless.

The sheer torment of being confined this way was something I had never imagined.

At this point, I almost wished for the terror of explosions around me, buried in craters, trembling in fear of death.

Still, I began to recall Evan’s tearful expression as he muttered that he would save me. The chaos in my mind cleared a little.

I felt miserable all over again, realizing Evan was my only thread of hope.

It would have been better if I could just die.

But the Crown Prince would never allow that.

Should I have shot myself instead of him back then?

But even after going through this, if the same situation arose again, I would undoubtedly make the same choice.

I wasn’t someone who acted on reason or logic. I was a pathetic human who moved based on emotions in the moment.

This was just bad luck.

Terribly bad luck.

What had I done wrong? What sins had I committed to deserve this?

And then, the door opened.

And the Crown Prince, whom I had resented so much, suddenly seemed like a savior.

It felt so cruel that I wept.

All the experience of suffering through death and enduring painful lives was utterly trampled on with a simple act of confinement and the provision of water.

My will was nothing—so trivial and meaningless.

“At last, it seems some of the venom that used to shine in your eyes has faded. That’s a relief.

Even when you glare, the way your pupils dull with fear that the door might close again—seeing that is always such a delight.”

Saying so, he started toward me but stopped short, pinching his nose and grimacing at the stench emanating from the room.

“Wash her first. Then bring her to that room.”

At his words, a beautiful woman with lifeless eyes standing behind the Crown Prince nodded and approached me.

She lifted my filthy body as if it were nothing, cradling me like a child, and began to carry me somewhere.

Since arriving in this place, I had been dragged around by others as if my will didn’t matter at all—whether it was Vivian, Evan, the Crown Prince, Lydia, or even strangers.

As if I couldn’t do anything on my own.

The woman glanced around cautiously, then spoke to me in a hushed voice.

Perhaps she was ensuring that the Crown Prince wouldn’t hear us from this distance.

“I don’t know if you’ll become a flower like me or a piece of furniture like the last child who came here, but you’ve found yourself in a truly miserable life.”

My throat was parched, so I couldn’t respond.

I was simply overwhelmed by the sensation of leaving the room, the endless corridor that stretched out before me, and the warmth of the person carrying me.

She gently placed me into a bathtub and began washing me with warm water.

Even though the stench of all kinds of filth must have risen with the steam, she didn’t show any sign of disgust. With delicate, practiced movements, she carefully cleansed my body.

The hardened, rotting blood that reeked with a unique stench, the smell of filth, my parched and shriveled lips, and my matted, dirty hair—

The merciful water washed it all away.

“Child, what’s your name?”

“…Eri…ca.”

Even after drinking water, I hadn’t eaten anything, so my words came out slurred.

“What a lovely name.”

Though the meaning of my name had long been erased.

“Erica. Erica.”

She murmured my name for a long time as she washed me. Then she fetched a towel and dried me off.

Next, she moved me to a dressing area and brought out several plain outfits for me to choose from.

She told me to pick one to wear.

The dressing area had several large full-length mirrors.

When I looked at myself, I saw that where my right eye had been, only something rotting remained. My body was so emaciated that my ribs and pelvis were entirely exposed.

I didn’t even have the strength to dress myself.

So, I ended up wearing a plain white outfit and sitting back down on the floor.

Ugly.

There was nothing beautiful about me.

The bones of my face were gaunt and exposed.

Still, I wondered if smiling might make me look a little prettier, a little less hideous. So I tried smiling.

I was still ugly.

So, I turned my head away.