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 [18+] Rule 1 of Therapy: Do Not Kill the Therapist | ft. Ong Jin Ae

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Choe Boon No
Âge : 24
Occupation : Avocat Criminel Junior
Quartier : Busanjin
Situation : C'est compliqué
Don : Amplification des sentiments
Niveau : 7
Multicompte : Dang Hyeon Tae
Voir le profil de l'utilisateur http://awib.forumactif.com/t783-choe-boon-no-it-s-always-worse-t
Mer 18 Oct - 4:27

I’m a little ray of pitch black


I had taken them all by the end of the first week. Her pills. As if they would have lasted anyone two weeks. It was ridiculous and we both knew it. Tao had made a copy of the script within hours: going to the pharmacy was just like going to the candy store now. I’ll have a bit of this and half a dozen of those. Sleeping pills are something else. They’ll make you sleep if you let them. But if you don’t, if you fight them off with all of your will and wait until the grogginess wears off… They get you high as a kite, drunk like 2 bottle of that nasty soju, without that ugly, throbbing hangover the next morning. I’d mostly used them to sleep though, you know: that’s what they were for. They were great, like a mute button for your mind. No more nightmares. No more drowning.

Fatigue had slipped away like an old friend who grew tired of never getting any calls returned. And my hunger came back. I was thirsty for pain. Yearning for the dread. Impatient for my art, I took this girl, the night after meeting Dr. Ong. She looked a bit like her, I suppose, too serious, too dressed up, with the emotional capacity of a dead fish. Dead inside. Or dying. Maybe someone had been there before me, someone a bit like me, but not exactly. Someone who broke something without ravaging it all like he should have. It was simple, really: pick it up, make it twirl, and kick it in the guts when it reaches its apex. Feelings are easy to manipulate, they dance in your hands like little flames, begging you to tell them what to do next. It’s getting easier with time, with more practice. Now even trust will accept to dance with me, for a while.

That girl. I think she had the same heels as her too. Do they wear them to look more intimidating? They make it harder to run away, you know? She didn't look very intimidating with her head pressed against the wall, her dress ripped open over her thighs, uncovering everything that she wanted covered. It wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t an art piece: recycled is never as good as brand new and she was more than second hand. She cried just the same, plead for her life, like all of the others. They always do. With their voices or with their heads. They wonder ‘why me’ and I think ‘because you were there’. Wrong place, wrong time. The universe is not working against you, but it is working with me. There’s no use going to the police darling. You don’t know me, you have nothing against me. I’m a shadow on the wall, just another nightmare in your dreams.

It’s friday, again. Two weeks later with Doctor Icy Cunt. The appointment was at 11pm. I told dad it was at 8 and I went for a little hunt. It needed to be fast, something quick, easy. Something to relax before getting under the attentive eye of my psychologist, my head covered in wires to analyse my state of mind. I stayed late at Busan-dae after giving my lecture, hanging around the campus aimlessly, waiting for the night to fall. There’s sort of a forest that runs along the eastern side of the university ground. There’s a path that goes right through it, right in between the medicine and the engineering faculties. Both deans are asking the other one to take care of it, to assign a maintenance team to it. It would be a matter of minutes, really. Replace that light bulb there, that someone broke with a big rock. Cut some of these branches that makes it hard to run away - even without heels. Freshman think it’s a good place to cross to get to the other district, instead of going all the way around. It’s also a good place to pick up some early meal, some innocent doe that won’t know what hit her before it’s way, way too late.

It’s dark. She’s using her cellphone’s flashlight to see in front of her. Walking alone, are we? That’s never a very good idea. I could’ve told her, but I believe in learning through experience. And she’s interesting, she has a lot to learn. Her nervousness is stimulating her eagerness and I can guess what is going on: she’s made friends, it’s their first night out together. My fingers caress her hair for a second, eager and amused at the same time: she’s expecting a good time and I’m going to rob her from it. I pull her back, grabbing her locks in my hand like a leash. She gasps. I smile.

I wonder if it’s worse to see or not to see. To imagine who is hitting you, yanking at you, hurting you while you’re blind or to have his face burned into your mind for the rest of your life. You tell me.

Her panic tries to choke me as I descend on her. Sometimes they fight. But as I pull on her despair, she just goes weak, faint. She gives up as I enter her, going soft, waiting for it to stop, praying for it to stop. It does. I do. Leave her there. On the floor. Between a tree and a big rock covered in moss, like a disturbing work of art. I wrap the condom in a tissue, stuffing it in my pocket to throw later - always take the evidence with you. As I walk away, I feel the wetness on my knees. I shouldn’t crawl in dead leaves I guess, but then I shouldn’be doing a lot of things I do either.

I walk back on campus to pick up my bag and shower at the gym. It’s still early, there’s no need to rush to the laboratory. So I don’t. I take my time in the hot water, unphased by the other guys around me. Some people feel threatened when they’re naked. They’re afraid of foreign eyes on their body. It’s silly, foreign hands are much more dangerous.

The offices are mostly empty when I show up. I guess people are sleeping well in this city, not much work for the sleep scientists. The secretary is not there so I just make my way to the room I was assigned to. No one to talk down to me. I can even knock on the door this time, like a big boy. And so I do. Good evening, I’m here for the drugs.

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