Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Every call I made and every text I sent vanished like a stone sinking into the ocean. When I tried to question his subordinates, they deflected my inquiries with practiced ease. I even went to his company, but the young receptionist looked at me with a troubled expression and reached out to stop me. “The boss isn’t in,” she said.

I really wanted to barge in right then, but I didn’t want to make a scene. I suppressed my frustration, forced a nonchalant smile at the receptionist, and said, “Then let me know when he gets to the office.”

The receptionist let out a sigh of relief, looking as if she were thanking the heavens, though she couldn’t hide the pity in her eyes. She nodded repeatedly. “Of course, of course.”

I pretended not to see his silhouette behind the glass door of his office.

That night, I went home and drank a bottle of baijiu, sipping it slowly. I sat on the balcony, watching the orange sunset glow stretch across the horizon, and thought back to our high school days.

We were desk-mates for all three years of high school. My grades were excellent, though I struggled slightly with math. At the time, our homeroom teacher asked him to tutor me whenever he had a spare moment. I don’t know what most people remember about their senior year, but in my mind, it was a sweltering summer: the ceiling fans spinning lazily in the classroom, the blackboards that never seemed to get fully clean regardless of the subject, the black pen constantly spinning between Bai Yan’s fingers, and his faint breath as he leaned over during those humid evening self-study sessions. His well-defined fingers would press down on the exercise book as he spoke in a low voice, creating a gentle illusion. “Which problem are you stuck on now?” he would murmur.

The innocent, shy heart-fluttering of youth was buried beneath the endless months of test prep.

Actually, Bai Yan and I started dating during our freshman year of college.

We had gotten into the same university. Perhaps out of the familiarity of being former classmates, he looked after me often. In my freshman year, I joined the college activities department. The department head was often inappropriate with me, his hands wandering where they shouldn’t. Once, after a group dinner, everyone was heading to a quiet bar for a few drinks. I wanted to head back to the dorms early, so the department head stood up and offered to walk me out. When we reached the exit of a small alley on West Street, he suddenly pinned me against the wall. Gripping my shoulders, he launched into a rambling, incoherent confession, demanding that I agree to be his girlfriend. As he spoke, he tried to force a kiss on me. I must have panicked because I screamed.

The next second, the department head was thrown to the ground. Bai Yan was there, his basketball jacket still draped over his arm. He fought savagely, throwing punch after desperate punch as if his life depended on it. I tried to pull him away, shouting his name, but it was useless. Finally, I stood behind him, frantic and helpless, and was forced to cry out, “Bai Yan, stop! Please, I’m going to cry!”

His eyes were bloodshot when he stopped. He turned to look at me, his handsome, spirited face still clouded with unbridled rage, but his gaze softened the instant he saw me. “Don’t cry,” he coaxed.

He stood up and walked over, clumsily using his jacket to wipe the tears from my face. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if trying to steady his emotions. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at me, looking somewhat chagrined. “I’m sorry. I just… I’ve had a crush on you for so long and never dared to touch you, yet this guy… Did he scare you? I’m sorry.”

He paused and looked down at me, his expression sincere and his eyes tender. “I didn’t want to scare you; I wanted to wait a bit longer to say this. Zhu Tong, I like you. Do you like me?”

Those memories are still vivid, as if they happened yesterday. But the boy who once struggled to stay calm while asking me that question has turned into a stranger. Now, all he says to me is: “Aren’t you tired of this? Can you just stop bothering me?” “Don’t call me.” “I’m not at the office, don’t come looking for me.” “I’m begging you, let’s just have a clean break. Can’t you just let me go?”

Tears fell drop by drop as I finished the entire bottle of baijiu. This was my second suicide attempt.